Prologue

In my entire life,

I had never felt the rush of adrenaline quite like this. The crunch of dry leaves beneath my feet, the rush of wind slicing across my shoulders. I sprinted through the vast, deep forest, slipping through the narrow gaps between tall, thick trunks, once, twice, and then thrice until everything blurred and faded into the mist of the early morning fog.

The gnawing fear crawls down my spine, gripping me cold. My senses heightened, every prick of breath felt like a sin. The thick blood courses steadily through my heart, feeling unusually heavy, and even the faint sound of it seems to cut through the stillness of the air.

My feet sprinted faster with every second, my hands sliding against tiny branches of leaves, leading the way forward. My eyes long for the shore, everything else fading into a blur.

The splash of blood, the violence, the gut-wrenching smell, it all clings to me. My treacherous, squinting gaze falls upon the piles of human flesh, one over another, as if their lives hold no value against the horrible deeds of mankind.

My feet halted, tracing the hot, wild roaring fire spreading over the once magnificent palace, swallowing everything raw in its way, moving in its fierce form, what took ages to grow was now burning, soaring in the air, flattened trunk, tall, broad trees burned in a flick of a second, mixed with the mist, tiny pieces floating in the air as if it was always longing to fly.

My knees almost gave out, but I forced myself to consider the possibility of my instinct being wrong.

Sprinting through the stairs of the palace, my vision starts to blur, head burning as if something’s choking my throat.

My gut was warning me, letting me know about all the possibilities of what I’m about to witness inside, but that didn’t stop me.

Instead, it made me sprint even faster.

The creak of the door opening stirred something in me. Inside was oddly quiet. felt untouched by what the outside was bearing. As if the fire had never touched this region, each step felt heavy.

Something’s wrong. I’m certain, but what!?

Pushing aside the doubtful thoughts, I focused on what I had actually come for.

Climbing the stairs, walking through the quiet hallways, not a single soul. The whole palace felt abandoned, like everyone had disappeared into thin air. This isn’t possible, he won’t dare to.

“Aarvika”

Her name rolled through my tongue, a silent prayer chanting her safety. Something flickered behind my back, someone’s here.

A shadow, a presence, hiding in the dark, waiting for a chance to leap. My hand silently slid to my vest, where my sword was, and in a flash of light, it sliced, clanking onto the other sword.

And there he was, the king of this palace, as expected, lurking for a chance.

“Where is she!?”

His cruel laugh cracked into the air as our swords clashed again and again, until the whole hallway was filled with clanking, slicing, and panting of our breath.

The movement of our feet, the rush of surviving. Everything blurred after his words made sense to me.

“You’re too late, she’s gone.”

My sword stilled barely for a second, leaping onto the moment, his sword sliced right through my chest, bare of any armour and unprotected.

In the rush of making it on time, I made a foolish mistake of coming unprepared and unprotected. And look where it got me, kneeling, blood gushing out in the form of water.

A loud thunderstorm broke free, soon the water would empty the sky, exactly like the blood rushing out, hollowing me open.

my hand slowly reached the sword still intact, and in a single slice, it betrayed me, carving through my palm. a low grunt escaped my lips.

Eyes down, with guilt of not making it in time, in the shattered promise, and longing to see her one last time.

“Trivaay—”

A scream tore through the heavy air, my eyes lifted and there she was, a delicate figure running toward me. the sound of her anklets, the chiming of her bangles, carried like music through the storm, she looked angelic, like a dream I would wish for every night. her voice laced with worry, and yet makes my heart flutter, the pain long forgotten.

She was here, one hand gripped a sword. She was the kind who doesn’t bow to terror. She fought, she survived. She was safe.

She stood before me, her hand rising towards my cheeks, I leaned into the promise of her touch but before it could graze me, a sword pierced her from behind, stopping right in front of my eyes, barely.

“AARVIKA”

I lunged forward, beads of sweat forming at my forehead. Heavy, hollow breaths, duvet slipping my bare chest as I rose, toward the left, flicking the lamp, the ambient light swallowing the dark space, my feet touching the cold, empty floor.

Moving towards the sliding window, cold air touched my bare chest as I moved inside the balcony.

3:00 AM

Yet the city roared in its glory. New York City never slept. It sparkled with beads of light, the roar of cars rushing on empty roads.

Big, magnificent buildings stood in their glory, twinkling like the brightest star. People could still be spotted on the streets, hanging out, some drunk, some sober.

The city never slept, nor did I.

The nightmares never ended, every night a new fragment rose like a forgotten memory trying to surface its boundary, never stopped, not even when the fragments came together like puzzle pieces.

Instead, it got more vigorous and vivid after my memory returned.

The longing and emptiness felt surreal, even with all the fragments together.

It still lacks the piece, the only piece left to join this puzzle.

Her.

“Aarvika”

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Intezaar—longing, yearning.

They say, if you wait long enough, the universe will place your desires in you hands.

But no one whispers how long is enough, or how many sunsets must burn before it comes.

A month, a year, or a decade!?

Or what exactly is—intezaar.

Maybe it isn’t the waiting for someone, but the yearning to reach where their truth lies, like time itself eroding back to its origin, returning to square one, returning home. to the truth.

Or it's standing at the edge of time, not waiting for footsteps to return, but for the veil to lift.

Hands smudged with paint, transforming the white canvas into a symphony of vibrant hues, paint smudged across her face, and along with the apron she had worn over her red anarkali.

The glaze of red paint dripping, the shade of golden brown mixed with orange and yellow, and many more shades, one can’t figure out by just glazing.

Her mind has been a mess of waves crashing through the shore, the stroke of my paintbrush gliding through the messy canvas, perhaps the mess in itself is revealing the hidden truth, the silent, quiet night sky was gleaming with tiny stars.

The prestigious moon shines in its glory, reluctantly cutting the darkness, and yet it isn’t enough to brighten the hollowness in my thoughts.

The room was filled with numerous paintings, some covered with white cloth, some incomplete, some completed. All in different sizes, destined for different purposes. Paints were scattered all over the floor, and paintbrushes were lying on the floor.

She crouched down to grab a fresh pair of brushes, and with a final streak, she concludes the painting, letting it settle on the vision she had carved.

Taking two steps back, she lets her eyes linger on the portrait for a full five minutes, tracing every stroke, from bottom to top, each corner delicately adorned, wary of any flaw.

After what felt like eternity, she moved. Grabbing the canvas, towards the secluded corner to the left side of the room, her anklets clashing with the ground, making a soft chim sound.

The room was filled with darkness. Only a stripe of light was diverging through the narrow slit of the window.

Keeping the canvas in the middle of the stand, she took a few steps behind

“I have been getting these visions since childhood. every night. same visions”

Her hands slide through the walls, flicking the lights on.

Each corner of the room was filled with paintings, numerous paintings, each combined delicately.

Each painting, from one corner to another, had the same vision, a pair of eyes, not any eyes, amber eyes.

Rarest of all, said only 5% of the population could inherit it.

“One day, I’m going to find you.”

Everyone she shared this part of her life with, told her the same. “It's just your imagination.” Only she knows, it’s more than just imagination.

Shutting the door closed, she stands there staring into the dark.

A hand slid down her waist, a familiar warmth spreading behind her back as a deep voice crackled along the trail of her thoughts.

“Can’t sleep, again!?”

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Hello, dear readers.

The characters names would be revealed in further chapters, i hope you stick around to find what happens next in the story.