The night still trembled with echoes of the power she had unleashed.
The chandeliers lay in molten fragments, the air smelled of smoke and metal, and the floor was split with glowing scars — the last breaths of the chaos she had birthed. Moonlight slid through shattered windows, touching the marble like a blessing from another world.
Maya stood in the center of it all, silent, unmoving.
Her hair fell over her face, strands clinging to the pale curve of her cheek. The black fire that had once surrounded her was gone, leaving only a faint shimmer in the air — like heat rising from the ashes of destruction.
Around her, her brothers struggled to rise. Blood stained their clothes. Their eyes were wide with disbelief, their faces streaked with fear and dust.
"Maya…" Fahad whispered hoarsely, afraid to take a step closer.
She didn't answer. Her gaze remained fixed somewhere far away — not on the broken room, not on them, not even on the fallen doctor lying unconscious at the far wall.
Only silence moved within her now. A hollow, heavy stillness.
The power inside her had quieted, but it hadn't gone. It breathed beneath her skin like a caged storm, waiting, listening.
For a long time, no one dared to move.
Then Maya slowly lifted her hand.
The air stirred, a faint wind whispering across the ruined floor. Her fingers traced a small, fluid motion — a gesture simple yet absolute.
Light — soft, pale, and golden — spilled from her palm. It spread outward like a tide, touching the broken walls, the shattered chandeliers, the torn curtains.
Everywhere it went, the destruction began to reverse.
The marble healed, its cracks closing one by one. Glass shards rose from the floor and returned to their frames, melting back into perfect shape. The chandeliers mended themselves, their crystals reforming like frost in the air.
The torn drapes re-knitted; the fallen candles re-lit themselves, their flames swaying gently as though sighing with relief.
Within moments, the hall that had been a graveyard of ruin became whole again — calm, luminous, pristine.
Only traces of black ash along the walls remained as witness to what had happened.
Maya lowered her hand. Her expression didn't change.
Her brothers stared at her, unable to speak. Even the air felt heavy with reverence.
She turned slightly toward them. Her eyes glowed faintly, two soft rings of light circling endless darkness.
Then, wordlessly, she raised her hand again — this time toward them.
A second wave of light bloomed from her palm. It flowed over them gently, wrapping their broken bodies in warmth.
The blood stains faded. The cuts along their skin sealed and disappeared. Bruises vanished like smoke.
Their breathing steadied. The pain that had bent their backs straightened into silence.
Fahim, still kneeling beside Farhan, gasped as he felt the pain in his ribs dissolve. "She's healing us…" he whispered.
Maya's healing light pulsed once more, softer now, as if reluctant to touch too deeply.
When it faded, all that remained was silence — and awe.
Fahan stepped forward, his voice unsteady. "Maya…"
Her eyes flickered toward him — not with anger, not with warmth either, only with a kind of quiet that could not be reached.
He stopped mid-step. His breath caught. It felt like staring into eternity — a place without welcome, without rejection, only distance.
From the far end of the hall came another voice, hesitant, trembling.
"Maya…"
It was Rahi.
He had survived the chaos, his arm bloodied but his eyes full of tears. He looked at her as though seeing a miracle and a ghost at once.
He took one cautious step forward. "You did it," he said softly. "You saved them… you saved everyone."
No response.
Her breathing was slow, mechanical. Her face, pale and flawless, carried no hint of pride or pain.
He took another step, closer now, his voice breaking. "Maya, please… it's over now. You can rest."
He reached out his hand — trembling, hesitant, filled with something human and desperate.
But before his fingers could touch her, she flinched.
It was sudden, sharp — like a shadow recoiling from flame.
Her eyes widened, and for a brief moment something raw flickered there — not emotion, but memory.
"Don't," she whispered.
Rahi froze.
Her voice was so low it almost didn't exist, but the weight behind it struck harder than any shout.
"Don't touch me."
The words hung in the air, cold and final.
Rahi's hand fell back, trembling.
The room went utterly silent. Even the faint hum of her power seemed to stop.
Maya took a step backward. Then another. The faint light around her dimmed as she moved.
Her expression didn't change, but something in her breathing did — shallow now, unsteady.
Her brothers called her name softly, but she didn't turn.
She walked past them, through the great hall she had destroyed and rebuilt, her footsteps soundless on the marble floor. The moonlight followed her like a companion, sliding along her black clothes, wrapping her in silver light.
She reached the balcony doors and pushed them open.
The night air rushed in, cool and sharp, brushing against her face. Outside, the world was quiet — a city sleeping beneath the bruised glow of the moon. The wind carried faint scents of rain and ashes.
Maya stepped out.
Her eyes lifted toward the sky, where clouds drifted slowly across the face of the moon. The stars were dim — as though the heavens themselves were afraid to shine too brightly near her.
She gripped the railing gently, her pale fingers contrasting against the dark metal.
For the first time, she let herself breathe — long and deep, as though testing the weight of her own lungs.
Her mind was silent. No pain, no joy, no grief. Only the echo of a power too vast to belong to a single heart.
Behind her, she could hear faint voices calling her name again — her brothers, Rahi, others. But they seemed far away, like dreams speaking from another world.
She didn't answer.
The wind tugged at her hair, lifting it from her face. A strand caught the light of the moon, turning silver before falling again against her cheek.
Her vision began to blur.
At first, she thought it was the light. Then the edges of the world began to sway.
A dull sound filled her ears, distant and muffled, as though she were sinking underwater.
Her hands loosened from the railing.
Her knees bent slightly, her balance faltering.
The last thing she saw was the moon — cold, watching, endless — before the world tilted.
"Maya!"
The cry came too late.
Her body crumpled softly, her head striking the marble of the balcony floor. The sound was small, almost fragile — a whisper in the vast silence.
The light around her flickered once, twice, then went out.
Inside the hall, her brothers ran. Rahi reached her first, his steps frantic. He fell beside her, trembling, afraid to touch her but unable not to.
"Maya…" his voice cracked. "Maya, wake up…"
She didn't move.
Her breathing was faint but steady. The glow beneath her skin had faded completely now. The marks — those strange, luminous scars — were gone, leaving only smooth, pale flesh.
Fahad knelt beside them, his face pale. "She's alive," he whispered after a moment, placing a hand near her chest. "Her heart's still beating."
Relief washed over them in silence, but it was a fragile relief — the kind that trembles on the edge of fear.
They looked at her — this sister who was both miracle and mystery, savior and storm — and realized that though she had healed the world around her, she herself had broken in ways they could not reach.
She had given everything — not for love, not for duty, but because she simply could not do otherwise. It was in her design. It was in her curse.
The moonlight fell across her face, painting her in soft silver. Her eyelashes trembled slightly, but her eyes remained closed.
The night deepened. The wind softened.
Somewhere in the distance, a clock struck midnight.
The sound echoed through the empty hall — slow, steady, solemn.
Rahi turned his face away, tears burning in his eyes. He reached out once more, but stopped halfway, his hand hovering in the air above her shoulder — remembering her words.
Don't touch me.
He let his hand fall.
Fahim exhaled shakily, brushing the hair from his forehead. "What do we do now?"
No one answered.
The hall behind them was whole again, but its silence carried weight — the silence of something vast that had ended and begun all at once.
Maya lay still, her face peaceful, her body wrapped in the faint glow of moonlight.
She looked almost human again. Almost.
Farhan whispered, almost to himself, "She saved us all… and now she's gone."
But Fahad shook his head. "No," he said softly. "She's not gone. She's just… For now."
The wind stirred again, lifting a few strands of her hair. For an instant, it almost seemed that the world itself was breathing with her.
The brothers sat beside her in silence, watching the faint rise and fall of her chest.
Behind them, the candles flickered.
The healed walls gleamed faintly in the soft light.
And above, the moon shone — distant, pale, and indifferent.
The storm had ended. The ruin had been undone.
But the girl who had stood at the heart of both still lay motionless on the balcony, caught between the world she had saved and the darkness that now slept inside her.
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