Kiaan turned on his heel, his movements sharp and unrestrained, and stormed up the staircase. Each step echoed with the fury he refused to release, the golden glow in his eyes dimming only slightly, never fully fading. He did not look back. He did not slow down. The door to his room slammed shut behind him, the sound ringing through the house like a final verdict.
Downstairs, the silence felt heavier than the chaos had been.
Bhoomi sank to her knees, her trembling hands gathering the broken streamers, crushed flowers, and fallen ribbons that had once promised celebration. The decorations cut into her palms, but she did not seem to notice. Tears spilled freely now, soaking into the bright fragments as they slipped through her fingers.
"It was his birthday…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Just one day… just one day of happiness."
Susheela lowered herself beside her, wrapping her arms around Bhoomi's shaking shoulders. She pressed Bhoomi's head gently against her chest, stroking her hair with quiet patience, letting the grief pour out unchecked.
"Let it out," Susheela murmured softly. "This storm will pass. He's just a child… lost between too much pain and too much power."
Bhoomi clutched the torn decorations tighter, her sobs deep and unrestrained, mourning not just a ruined celebration—but the widening crack in a family she feared was slipping beyond her reach.
Meanwhile, in the fox witch realm…
Cold stone pressed against Varun's back as consciousness crept in slowly, unwillingly. The air was thick with the scent of incense and damp earth, tinged with something sharp—magic that had been burned too many times in the same place. Chains rattled faintly somewhere far away, though none bound him. The cage was gone. Only iron bars and a rune-etched door stood between him and freedom.
Varun sat up, wincing slightly, his jaw tightening as memory returned in fragments. Purple fog. Laughter. Her voice.
So this was where they kept him.
He scanned the dungeon carefully, noting the flicker of foxfire torches lining the corridor beyond the bars. His backpack was gone. Of course it was. A slow breath left him, controlled, calculating.
"Amateurs," he muttered under his breath.
His hand slipped into the inner pocket of his jacket, fingers brushing against cold metal. A small smile tugged at his lips.
The key.
Barely bigger than a coin, carved from moon-silver, its surface alive with shifting symbols. A Reeva failsafe. They never found it. They never did.
Varun crouched near the lock, listening. Silence. No footsteps. No whispers. Just the low hum of the realm itself breathing around him.
He slid the key in.
Click.
The sound was soft—but final.
The door creaked open, protesting as ancient magic surrendered. Varun paused, heart steady, senses alert. One step out. Then another. He moved like a shadow, hugging the walls, every muscle coiled and ready.
He was out of the cell.
Now he just had to find her.
Dilruba—the nine-tailed fox witch who had vanished nine years ago after the Great Eclipse War. Not his enemy. Never that. The woman he loved. The reason he had crossed realms, seas, and shadows without hesitation.
And this realm… this prison of illusion and blood magic…
It was too close to be a coincidence.
Before she sensed him.
Before she hid again.
Varun steadied his breath and stepped forward, resolve burning brighter than fear.
Meanwhile, Yuvaan parked his car in a secluded spot near the cliff.
The afternoon sun hung heavy in the sky, pale and unforgiving, casting long shadows across the uneven ground. The world was bright, alive—but inside him, everything felt dim, muted, hollow.
He turned off the engine.
Silence followed, thick and suffocating.
For a moment, he didn't move. His hands remained on the steering wheel, knuckles pale, grip tight—as if letting go would make everything collapse at once. The distant sound of waves crashing far below drifted upward, steady and indifferent.
Finally, he stepped out of the car.
The warm wind brushed past him, carrying the scent of salt and dust. It should have felt calming. It didn't. He walked toward the edge slowly, each step heavier than the last, until the land fell away before him and only sky and sea stretched endlessly ahead.
The brightness hurt his eyes.
And then he broke.
A scream tore out of his chest—ragged, uncontrolled, stripped of pride and restraint. It echoed against the rocks, raw and exposed in the open daylight, before dissolving into nothing.
Yuvaan bent forward, hands braced on his knees, breath coming in sharp, uneven pulls. His chest burned. His throat ached. But the ache inside was worse.
Kiaan's face flashed before him—angry, hurt, defiant.
The shattered decorations.
The words he had spoken without thinking, without mercy.
"It was your birthday…" he murmured, his voice barely holding together. "I ruined your birthday."
His legs finally gave way.
He sank onto the ground, rough stone pressing into his palms, the sun warm against his back as tears escaped despite his will. He had faced darkness without flinching—but this, this quiet guilt, this father's failure, was unbearable.
"I don't know how to do this," he whispered to the wind. "I don't know how to raise him without becoming what I hate."
His hand slipped into his jacket and came out clutching Kiara's photograph. Time had softened its edges, but her smile remained the same—gentle, steady, full of faith in him.
"I promised you," he said, pressing the photo to his chest. "I promised I'd protect him. That I'd guide him. That I wouldn't let the darkness win."
His lips trembled.
"But every time I try to be strong… I end up hurting him."
Tears slid down his face, catching the sunlight as they fell.
"I'm scared, Kiara," he admitted in a broken whisper. "Scared that he's carrying my darkness. Scared that one day he'll hate me for it."
He bowed his head, forehead resting against his clenched fist, shoulders shaking silently in the open afternoon.
"I'm sorry," he breathed. "I failed today."
The sun continued its slow journey across the sky.
The sea continued to roar below.
And Yuvaan remained there—alone, exposed, grieving—not as a warlock, not as a protector…
But as a father who didn't know how to save his son.
To be continued…