Eclipse of Fire & Wings

The crackling fire cast flickering shapes against the cavern walls. The scent of damp earth and burning resin curled through the air, but it did nothing to smother the tension that had settled thick in the room.

Sharvani sat cross-legged on a woven mat of black and gold, the fabric soft against her skin, though she barely noticed it. Her long orange-brown hair cascaded down her back in untamed waves, catching the fire's glow like smoldering embers. She rolled a goblet between her fingers, the liquid inside dark and spiced, but she did not drink.

Her patience was wearing thin.

"He is with her," a voice said from the shadows.

Sharvani did not flinch. She didn't even look up.

"Of course he is," she murmured, her voice smooth, unbothered. "It was only a matter of time."

The man who had spoken shifted forward, his boots scuffing against the stone floor. He was broad-shouldered, his presence always more forceful than necessary, but his posture tonight carried something more—unease.

"You don't sound surprised."

Sharvani finally lifted her gaze, a slow, languid smile curving her lips.

"I am not surprised." She set the goblet down with a quiet clink. "I am merely… intrigued."

Her companion frowned, his thick brows pulling together. "You should be concerned."

Sharvani laughed. A quiet, amused sound.

"Concerned?" she echoed, tilting her head, watching him as one might a slow-moving insect. "Why would I be concerned?"

The man stiffened, clearly irritated by her tone. "Because the Phoenix no longer walks alone. He has a healer beside him now."

At that, Sharvani's lips parted slightly, the air in the room shifting just enough to betray the flicker of something in her chest.

Aaravi.

The Peacock to his Fire.

The woman who, even in her absence, had been a whisper in their battles.

She had always known this moment would come.

That the day would arrive when Vihan would step beyond the ruins of their past and into the arms of someone else.

And yet…

Sharvani leaned forward, resting her chin against her palm, tapping her nails idly against the stone table.

"She is clever," she admitted. "A good match, perhaps."

Her companion bristled, his fists curling at his sides. "You sound as if you've already given up."

Sharvani's smile returned, slow and deliberate.

"Oh, no," she said softly.

Then, she leaned back, folding her hands in her lap.

"This is far from over."

The flames flickered wildly as if they, too, could feel the heat rising in her words.

Beyond the cavern walls, the desert stretched endless and hungry, the sand whispering secrets carried by the wind. Somewhere out there, Vihan walked toward his fate. But Sharvani had always been good at watching. And even better at waiting.

The heat of the desert was unrelenting.

The sand stretched for miles, a golden ocean beneath the merciless sun, shifting under the boots of those who dared cross it. The wind carried the scent of dust and distant rain, a storm brewing far beyond the dunes.

And in the heart of it all, a caravan moved.

At its head rode Varun.

He sat tall in the saddle, his dark hair tied back loosely, strands escaping to dance in the wind. His cloak billowed behind him, and his sharp eyes scanned the horizon. Every movement was careful, controlled—the way a man who had spent his life in battle learned to be.

The journey had been long, but he had barely noticed. His thoughts had been occupied by something else.

By his friend.

By the path Vihan had chosen.

He had watched him leave, and for the first time, he had not gone after him.

Vihan had not gone to war.

He had gone for something else.

Something he had never fought for before.

And that unsettled Varun more than anything.

Because Vihan had never fought for himself.

He did not know what it would do to him when he finally did.

A voice cut through his thoughts.

"We're nearing the edge of the dunes."

Varun turned his head, glancing at the soldier who had pulled his horse alongside his own.

"Good," he said.

The man hesitated. Then, quieter, "Do you think he will return?"

Varun looked ahead. The sun burned bright in the sky. The wind carried whispers of old stories across the sand.

And somewhere, beyond the desert, Vihan walked toward his fate.

Varun exhaled.

"If he does," he murmured, "he will not be the same."

And neither, he suspected, would the world.

Meanwhile, past the lengthened desert, through the periless jungle, stood a majestic golden and azure temple. Sounded by a sense of peace that could not be found anywhere else in this vast world.

The temple was rarely ever quiet—not truly.

Even in the dead of night, the wind carried hushed voices through the stone halls, the sound of rustling fabric and flickering flames never ceasing. But Mira had always been good at hearing what was unspoken.

She sat in the temple's open courtyard, a cup of tea in her hands, the night sky stretched vast and endless above her. The stars flickered like forgotten prayers, their glow softer tonight, as if they too were waiting for something.

Aaravi had not come to see her.

Yet.

She would, though. Mira knew that much.

The girl was stubborn, but not blind.

Vihan's arrival had changed something. Shifted the air in a way that even the oldest temple walls could feel.

Mira smiled to herself, taking a slow sip of her tea.

She had seen men like him before.

Men who carried too much on their backs, who had forgotten how to set their burdens down.

But she had also seen what happened when men like that found something worth fighting for.

Or rather, someone.

Aaravi had spent her life giving until she had nothing left.

And Vihan—Vihan had spent his life burning until there was nothing left to burn.

Mira exhaled, watching the steam rise from her cup.

Yes.

This was going to be very, very interesting.