Varun stood at the edge of his encampment, the early dawn light stretching across the horizon like a slow-burning flame. The sky was tinged with gold and crimson, the colors of promise and warning intertwined. His sharp gaze traced the distant line where the heavens met the earth, but his thoughts were miles away—with Vihan.
The message had arrived before the first light, carried by the hawk that bore Vihan's seal. The parchment was small, the words precise, but the weight they carried was immense:
We have arrived. Things have changed. I am not the man you sent here. Aaravi is not the woman she was before last night. The world knows it, and so does this faction.
We are no longer walking separate paths. We are one.
Varun had read the words over and over, feeling the shift in his chest with every repetition. He knew what this meant—not just in words, but in spirit. He had known Vihan for years, had stood by his side through victories and losses, through heartbreak and recovery. He had seen his friend broken, shattered by betrayal, and had watched him piece himself back together, but never quite the same.
Until now.
This was not the voice of a man uncertain or searching. This was the voice of a man anchored.
Vihan had found his home.
And yet, with that joy came a flicker of dread. Power of this kind—the joining of souls, of fire and spirit—was both blessing and curse. The world would not simply watch and celebrate. It would respond.
Varun crumpled the message in his fist before tucking it into his belt. He turned to the circle of warriors waiting behind him. These were his most trusted men and women—fighters who had bled with him, who would follow him into hell if he asked.
"We ride for Vihan and Aaravi," Varun said, his voice low but resolute. "Prepare your gear. We leave within the hour."
There was no hesitation. The warriors dispersed with swift efficiency, knowing better than to question their commander's orders. They, too, had seen the sky shift last night. They had felt the earth hum beneath their feet. They knew—something had changed.
By the time the sun crested the hills, Varun and his warriors were already well on their way. The sound of hooves against packed earth filled the air, steady and rhythmic like a heartbeat. The forest around them was alive—birds calling from the canopy, small creatures rustling through undergrowth—but there was an unnatural stillness beneath it all. As if the world itself was holding its breath.
Varun rode at the head of the group, his black warhorse moving with the grace of a predator. His thoughts drifted between the path ahead and the man he was going to meet.
Vihan. His brother in everything but blood.
They had met as boys, both too proud, too stubborn, and far too eager to prove themselves. It had been a rivalry at first—swords clashing, fists flying—but somewhere along the way, the competition had become respect. Then loyalty. Then brotherhood.
Varun had seen Vihan at his strongest—leading armies into battle, fire in his eyes and victory in his hands. But he had also seen him at his lowest—after his wife's betrayal, after the world he had built crumbled beneath his feet.
He remembered finding him that night, drunk and half-mad with grief, cursing the gods for ever allowing him to love. Varun had dragged him from that pit—not with words of comfort, but with a challenge.
"Live. If not for yourself, then for the man you were born to become."
And now, it seemed, Vihan had done more than survive. He had found her.
Varun's grip tightened on the reins. He had never met Aaravi, but he had heard whispers—of her skill as a healer, of her gentle spirit, of the way she gave everything she had to those around her. And now, she had given herself to Vihan, and he to her.
The Phoenix and the Peacock.
A union like that would reshape more than their lives—it would reshape kingdoms.
But with power came danger.
Varun's jaw tightened as his thoughts turned to Sharvani. The lioness. Vihan's former wife—and the source of much of his pain. She was cunning, unpredictable, and dangerous. And worse—she would not take this union lightly.
She had always believed Vihan belonged to her, not out of love, but out of possession. His strength had been hers to wield, his victories hers to claim. When he had broken from her, he had done more than end a marriage—he had shattered her illusion of control.
And now, hearing of his bond with Aaravi…
Sharvani would move.
Varun knew it in his bones. He had seen her wrath before—sly, patient, like a predator stalking its prey. She would not rush into this with swords drawn. She would wait, she would watch, and then she would strike where it hurt most.
"We need to reach them before she does," Varun muttered under his breath.
Beside him, his second-in-command, Ishaan, glanced over. "Sharvani?"
Varun nodded. "She'll come for them. And when she does, she won't come alone."
Ishaan's expression darkened, but he said nothing more. There was no need. They all understood the stakes.
That night, as they camped beneath the open sky, Varun sat by the fire, his eyes fixed on the flames. He held another parchment in his hand, but this one was meant for Vihan.
Vihan,
We ride to you. We will stand at your side, as we always have. The world shifts, but our bond does not. We are with you.
Varun
He tied the message to his hawk and watched it take flight into the night, cutting across the stars like an arrow.
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to hope. Hope that this bond between Vihan and Aaravi would not only heal his brother—but forge something greater. Something that could withstand even the storm that was coming.
Because the storm was coming.
And when it arrived, they would face it together