The night stretched endlessly over the Raichand estate, its corridors hushed as though the walls themselves carried the burden of secrets. In the secluded chamber where the Hall of Shadows convened, Mukul, Anaya, and Avni sat in silence. The parchment with the faint word—"Andes"—lay on the table, its weight heavier than steel.
Avni's hand lingered near it, trembling ever so slightly. "Every instinct in me screams to go," she admitted, her voice breaking with the raw ache of a mother. "To tear apart those mountains stone by stone until I find her."
Mukul's gaze remained fixed, sharp, unwavering. "And in doing so, you would alert every rival watching us. They would follow your trail, and before you could even reach her, she would vanish again—or worse, be taken."
Anaya leaned back, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. "This is not the time to chase ghosts. The veil must remain. Until we are certain, her existence must be as hidden as the wind."
Avni looked at her daughter—the woman once known as Aralyn Nyx—her eyes brimming with conflict. "How do you carry such coldness? How can you speak of her as though she is just another shadow to protect?"
For the first time, a flicker of emotion cracked Anaya's composure. Her voice softened, almost fragile. "Because I know what it means to live unseen. To survive by being a mystery. If she has endured all these years, it is because she chose silence over revelation. We must respect that choice until she allows us otherwise."
Mukul's jaw tightened. He turned to both women, his tone commanding but laced with respect. "Then it is decided. The elder daughter remains a secret even to our own kin. Not a word to the cousins. Not a whisper to the fiancées. Not until we know more."
Avni closed her eyes, exhaling as though she had been holding her breath for fifteen years. A tear slid down her cheek, but she did not wipe it away. "So be it. She will remain the Lost Star. Hidden even from her own family… until she chooses to shine."
A heavy silence followed.
The three of them rose, each carrying a different weight:
Avni, the pain of restraint.
Mukul, the burden of strategy.
Anaya, the quiet ache of recognition.
Beyond the chamber, the Raichand–Malhotra household bustled with preparations for the next phase of their plans. None knew of the parchment. None knew of the faint word that had shaken Avni's heart. None knew of the silent figure hidden somewhere across the world.
Far away, beneath the icy winds of the Andes, the shadow of a woman moved unseen through mountain passes. No name followed her, no title announced her, no light betrayed her path. She remained nothing more than a whisper in the dark.
And so, the mystery of Avni's elder daughter endured—untouched, unrevealed, waiting for the day when the veil would finally lift.