The temple gates stood tall behind them, the carved wood gleaming under the morning sun. The path ahead stretched wide and uncertain, disappearing into the thick forest that bordered the temple's sacred grounds. The air carried the scent of damp earth and wild jasmine, a promise of something untamed and unknown.
Aaravi took a deep breath.
She had walked these grounds since childhood, memorized every stone, every tree, every turn in the winding roads leading down to the valley. Yet, today, as she stepped past the threshold, it felt different.
Because this time, she was not returning.
Beside her, Vihan adjusted the strap of his satchel, his golden eyes scanning the treeline. He carried no armor today, only a long, dark tunic and a belt holding his dagger, yet he still looked like a man ready for battle. Or a man who did not know how to be anything else.
Aaravi let her fingers skim the edge of her shawl, grounding herself.
"You could have waited for me to pack," she muttered, shifting the weight of her own satchel.
Vihan smirked. "You had time."
Aaravi shot him a look. "You gave me five minutes."
Mira, who had insisted on seeing them off, sighed dramatically. "Honestly, I don't know how you two haven't killed each other yet."
Aaravi huffed. "The day is young."
Vihan's lips twitched.
Mira, infuriatingly amused as always, handed Aaravi a small pouch wrapped in cloth. "For the road."
Aaravi frowned but took it, unwrapping the edges to find dried mango slices, roasted nuts, and a bundle of fragrant tea leaves.
She blinked. "Mira…"
The elder woman waved a hand. "You'll thank me when you realize your companion eats like a bear and refuses to admit when he's hungry."
Vihan arched a brow. "I do not—"
Mira cut him off with a look. "I'll hear no protests, Phoenix."
Vihan shut his mouth.
Aaravi smirked, tucking the pouch into her satchel. "I'll make sure he eats."
Mira beamed. "See? She's already taking care of you."
Vihan sighed heavily.
Aaravi turned toward the temple one last time, her gaze lingering on the figures watching them from the terrace. The other healers stood in a quiet row, their robes fluttering in the breeze. At the center, her father.
Ravindra did not call out to her, did not ask her to stay.
Instead, he simply nodded.
A silent blessing.
Aaravi inhaled deeply. Then, with one last glance at Mira, she turned to Vihan.
But before she could take her first step, a voice stopped her.
"Aaravi."
She froze.
Her mother stood at the temple's archway.
Rani rarely left the sanctum, and she never came to bid farewell. But today, she had come.
Aaravi's breath hitched. She had spent years learning to not expect anything.
And yet, here she was.
Rani stepped forward, her hands pressed together in front of her. The lines on her face were deeper than Aaravi remembered, but her gaze was softer.
"You are leaving," her mother murmured.
It was not a question.
Aaravi nodded.
Her mother's throat bobbed slightly. "I never wanted you to go."
Aaravi swallowed hard, her voice careful. "And yet, you never asked me to stay."
Something flickered in Rani's eyes—not anger, not sadness. Regret.
For years, Aaravi had buried the ache of not knowing why her mother had never held her as tightly as she once had.
Now, she saw it clearly.
Rani had not been absent out of cruelty.
She had stayed away out of fear.
"I thought," her mother said quietly, "that if I kept my distance, I could protect you."
Aaravi's breath hitched. "From what?"
Rani's lips pressed into a thin line. "From loss."
The words landed like a stone.
Loss.
The thing that had shaped them both.
Rani had lost a son and, in grieving him, she had let herself lose a daughter too.
For the first time in years, Rani took a step closer.
Then another.
And before Aaravi could process it, her mother pulled her into an embrace.
Aaravi froze.
Her mother had never held her like this—not since she was a child, not since grief had stolen warmth from her hands.
It took a moment, but then, slowly, hesitantly, Aaravi lifted her arms and embraced her back.
For so long, she had convinced herself she did not need this.
But now, standing in her mother's arms, she realized how much she had always wanted it.
When they pulled apart, Rani reached up, her fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind Aaravi's ear like she had done when Aaravi was a child.
She turned to Vihan next, her gaze sharp but not unkind. "And you?"
Vihan met her stare head-on. "I will protect her."
Rani studied him for a long moment before nodding.
"Good."
She looked back to Aaravi.
Then, in the softest whisper, she said, "Come home when you can."
Aaravi nodded, her throat too tight to speak.
And just like that, her mother stepped back.
This time, when Aaravi turned to Vihan, she did not hesitate.
"Let's go."
Vihan nodded.
And together, they stepped onto the path.
The descent through the forest was slow at first. The trees loomed tall, their branches heavy with the last remnants of the morning mist. The sounds of the temple faded behind them, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the occasional trill of unseen birds.
Aaravi adjusted the strap of her satchel, breaking the silence. "Do you actually know where we're going?"
Vihan smirked. "South."
Aaravi sighed. "That's a direction, not a destination."
Vihan shrugged. "It's both."
Aaravi gave him a flat look. "Enlightening."
His smirk widened. "You asked."
Aaravi muttered something under her breath but let it go. For now.
As they walked, the tension in Vihan's shoulders never fully faded. Even in the stillness of the forest, he moved like a man waiting for an ambush.
They reached a small clearing just as the sun rose higher, the golden light spilling through the trees and onto the soft grass. A shallow stream trickled nearby, its waters clear and cool.
Vihan knelt beside it, cupping a handful of water and splashing it over his face. Aaravi set down her pack, stretching her arms above her head.
She unwrapped the pouch Mira had given her, pulling out a piece of dried mango. "Hungry?"
Vihan shook the water from his hands. "No."
Aaravi bit into the mango anyway.
She chewed slowly, watching him out of the corner of her eye. After a few moments, she casually held out another piece.
Vihan stared at it.
Then, with great reluctance, he took it.
Aaravi smirked. "Told you."
Before he could answer, a shadow passed overhead.
A hawk swooped low, landing on a nearby branch. A strip of parchment was tied to its leg.
Vihan untied the message quickly. Aaravi watched as his expression shifted—his shoulders tightening, his grip firming around the paper.
She already knew.
"Varun?" she asked.
Vihan nodded, scanning the note.
Vihan,
Message received. Watch your back. The lioness stirs.
Varun.
Vihan folded the parchment carefully, slipping it into his belt.
His voice was steady when he spoke.
"We need to keep moving."
Aaravi nodded, gripping her satchel tighter.
Sharvani was still watching.
And the road ahead had just become far more dangerous.
But neither of them were turning back.