(Dual POV: Vivaan & Sitara — interwoven with palace subplot and a shared vision)
Vivaan — The Ruins Beyond Windveil
The ruins breathe.
Vivaan had long stopped counting his steps. The desert behind him was scorching, but here, in the forgotten skeleton of a lost temple, the cold had teeth. Breath fogged in the air. Bones cracked underfoot. The arches above whistled with wind that remembered names long buried.
Then—
"The coldest places freeze the heart, not the skin."
The voice came from a man seated in the heart of the ruins — ancient, blind, his robes the color of moss and smoke. His presence was still as stone, but his milky eyes turned to Vivaan as though they'd been watching for centuries.
Nalin.
Prophet. Heretic. Oracle. Monster.
Vivaan had heard every name but never seen the truth. Until now.
"Second Flame," Nalin said, as if greeting an old mistake.
Vivaan stiffened. "How do you—?"
Nalin only smiled, as if all the questions in the world were dull things.
"You've come late. Or perhaps exactly when you shouldn't have."
Vivaan stepped forward. His heart thundered. The prophet smelled of ash and lotus — like burning gardens.
"I want the truth. The prophecy. Sitara. Me."
Nalin tilted his head, amused by Vivaan's urgency.
"You already know. You were just hoping someone else would bleed it into words."
The prophet lifted a bowl of ash.
He poured it into Vivaan's hands —
And it moved.
The ash hissed and danced, warm without heat, alive without breath. Then the visions came.
Sitara, crowned in black, voice silk-wrapped steel: "Kneel."Vivaan, fire tearing from his chest, burning everything he loved.Aasha, a silver blade blooming from her heart.Talan, whispering to Ravindra: "It's the only way to save him."Sitara, hands shaking, whispering: "I didn't mean to hurt him."
Vivaan tore his hands away. "No. That's not real. That's not truth."
"Truth doesn't care what you believe," Nalin said softly. "It waits. It watches. Like she does."
And then — laughter.
Feminine. Familiar.
Mocking.
Sitara — The Dream-Walk
The elixir tasted like starlight and rot.
Sitara didn't sleep. She unraveled.
Lira watched with silver-moon eyes as Sitara's body collapsed, her spirit sliding free. Through time, through blood, through memory. Some hers. Some not.
She saw her mother scream.
She saw her aunt, the Queen, press a burning sigil into her infant skin.
She saw a fire in the dark that answered her cry like a lover.
Then —
Vivaan, as a child. His hand in hers.
Warmth.
Hope before it learned to be afraid.
Then — the future.
She wore the Shadow Crown.
Vivaan knelt below her. But not in devotion. In terror.
She felt his heartbeat through their bond. Wild. Desperate. Afraid.
And she smiled.
And she liked it.
"To rule or to rewrite," Lira's voice whispered through the stars. "But not both. The crown will fit. But it will hollow you. Choose, Sitara. Before it chooses for you."
Sitara didn't answer.
Because somewhere, deep in her chest, a darker voice was beginning to wake.
And it liked the taste of power.
Palace Intrigue — Talan, Ravindra, Aasha
In the torch-lit hallways of the palace, words became weapons.
Ravindra's voice flowed like poisoned wine:
"We were promised a king of fire. And instead, we have a boy playing with sparks. If he does not return soon… perhaps he should not return at all."
Talan stood in the shadows, jaw clenched.
He had once believed in Ravindra. In duty. In order.
Now he saw the truth — Ravindra wanted to claim the prophecy, not protect it.
And behind a tapestry, Aasha listened, heart hammering.
They wanted to name Sitara regent.
The girl who walked like a ghost through the palace.
Who touched Vivaan's discarded tunic like it was sacred.
Who whispered his name like a curse—and a prayer.
Aasha had always thought her fear of Sitara was jealousy.
Now she realized:
"It's not love in her eyes when Vivaan bleeds," Aasha thought. "It's reverence."
The Shared Vision — Vivaan & Sitara
Miles apart.
Same moment.
Same scream.
Their bodies collapsed.
Their souls fell into the vision — together.
The battlefield was ash.
The sky, red.
The wind, full of memory.
They were no longer themselves.
Not entirely.
Sitara (past self): "You chose flame."
Vivaan (past self): "You chose crown."
Sitara (present): "Is this what we become?"
Vivaan (present): "Or what we always were?"
They reached for each other.
Their hands trembled.
Their touch brought blood.
A blade shimmered into being.
Silver. Radiant. Breathing.
Sitara gasped — she had seen it in her dream.
Vivaan recoiled — he had seen it in the ashes.
Both knew it.
One of them would one day hold it.
And plunge it into the other.
Aftermath
Vivaan woke sobbing.
Ash still clung to his fingers. His soul felt scraped raw.
"Is she going to kill me?" he asked.
Nalin smiled, soft as rot.
"Would it matter if she did?"
Sitara stood barefoot beneath the stars, wind weaving through her dark hair.
She whispered Vivaan's name.
Not because she missed him.
But because she needed to understand what he was.
What she was becoming because of him.
"Why does it feel like I want to own him?" she asked Lira.
Lira said nothing. But her silence was heavy with knowing.
Final Lines (Split POV)
Vivaan (whispers): "I love her. Gods help me, I love her. But she'll destroy me."
Sitara (whispers): "I'd rather destroy the world… than let someone else love him."
And somewhere, across time,
deep in the bones of the world,
the blade began to hum.