The ruins of the temple stood silent and waiting. The once-grand structure, now crumbling under time's slow decay, had become something new—a place of gathering, of whispered prayers, of rebirth.
Sharvani moved through the torch-lit halls, her bare feet brushing against ancient stone. She had always hated temples. The gods had never answered her prayers. Not when she had bled for them. Not when she had given everything.
She was not a woman who waited for divine intervention.
She was divine intervention.
The scent of incense thickened as she approached the central chamber, where her most loyal warriors knelt before the broken altar. They worshiped now, not an unseen god—but her.
And she would not fail them.
A man stepped forward—Kiran, her most trusted. He approached with caution, his usual arrogance tempered in her presence.
He knelt before her, pressing his fist to his chest. "My lady, the scouts have returned."
Sharvani did not pause. "And?"
Kiran's hesitation was a mistake.
The air in the chamber shifted, charged with something dangerous.
Then, softly—
"Vihan lives."
The world tilted.
Sharvani's breath remained even, but the fire within her raged.
No.
Impossible.
She had ended him. She had broken him so thoroughly that there had been nothing left to rise from the ashes.
And yet—
He had risen.
The torches flickered, their flames dancing wildly against the chamber walls.
Her hands curled into fists.
She had made him.
He had been nothing before her. A warrior with strength, but no direction. A man burdened by honor, but lacking the will to seize power.
And she—she had been the one to forge him into the Phoenix.
Had she not stood at his side when they conquered their first battlefield together? Had she not whispered into his ear, teaching him the difference between fighting and winning?
She had taken his fire and shaped it into something unstoppable.
And for a time, he had been hers.
Until he had turned weak.
She exhaled through her nose, controlling the tremor of rage clawing its way up her throat.
"Where is he?"
Kiran did not hesitate this time. "Traveling south. With… the healer."
Aaravi.
So, this is what it took.
A woman who whispered kindness instead of war.
Sharvani's lips parted into a slow smile.
"I see."
She turned from the altar, walking past her warriors. They did not look at her. They knew better.
Once, she had mourned the loss of Vihan.
Now, she saw the truth.
He was meant to return to her.
Only—he had strayed.
And it was time to correct that mistake.
He would see.
She had been the one to shape him.
She would be the one to take him back.
Or she would be the one to end him.
As she stepped out onto the temple's highest platform, the past burned behind her eyelids.
The first time she had met Vihan, he had been nothing but potential. A man who carried too much honor and too little ambition.
She had taught him ambition.
She had stood beside him after their first battle together, covered in blood, victorious.
"Do you feel it?" she had asked, gripping his wrist, feeling the pulse of life beneath his skin. "The fire?"
He had nodded, his golden eyes burning with something new.
She had kissed him then.
She had tasted war on his lips.
And she had known.
She had created something unstoppable.
Until he had turned against her.
She had been patient with his weakness. Too patient.
When he had faltered, she had reminded him of who he was. What they were meant to be.
But then he had betrayed her.
He had chosen to walk away.
And she had burned for it.
She had watched as he fell apart without her, and she had known—he would come back.
Only now, he did not return alone.
He had chosen another.
Aaravi.
That fragile, delicate little thing.
A woman who healed, instead of conquered.
A woman who had taken what was hers.
Sharvani's jaw tightened.
It was laughable, really.
Did Aaravi think love could make him strong?
Did she not realize?
Vihan was not meant for peace.
He was meant for war.
And he had forgotten it.
But she—she would remind him.
A gust of wind carried the sound of distant voices—her warriors, her believers.
She looked down at the camp stretching across the valley below.
Torches burned in the night. Men and women sharpened blades, murmured prayers.
She had given them faith.
She had given them purpose.
They did not follow her because she was a ruler.
They followed because she was divine.
She lifted her chin, turning to Kiran. "How many do we have?"
"More come every day," he said. "Rogue warriors, exiled clans, assassins. They believe in your vision." He hesitated. "And… in your divinity."
Good.
She did not correct him.
She had always known—men followed gods, not people.
And now, she was both.
She took a slow breath, letting the night air cool the fury burning in her veins.
"Tell me," she said, "what do they whisper?"
Kiran hesitated. "They say Vihan has fallen under a spell. That the healer has bewitched him."
Sharvani smiled.
Perfect.
Let them believe it.
Aaravi was not a woman—she was a poison.
And poisons could be burned away.
Sharvani turned from the balcony, her mind already shifting into strategy.
"Send a message," she said smoothly.
Kiran straightened. "To whom?"
She smiled.
"To the ones who still believe he is theirs."
She met his gaze, her golden-brown eyes alight with something dangerous.
"Tell them their Phoenix flies too close to the wrong flame."
Kiran bowed and vanished into the shadows.
Sharvani exhaled slowly.
Vihan was alive.
Good.
She wanted him to see what was coming.
She wanted him to understand.
She was not the past.
She was the future.
And he?
He was only delaying the inevitable.