Night had cloaked Aishwarya Palace in a haunting silence, the kind that made even the moonlight tread lightly across its weathered domes. The world outside was sleeping, but inside these walls, something ancient stirred — a slow-burning fire, masked in royalty and veiled threats.

Aaravi walked through the narrow, dimly lit corridors with the elegance of a queen and the exhaustion of a woman waging wars no one could see. Behind her, the lullabies she had whispered to Aishwarya still clung to the air. But now, the echo of her steps was the only melody in the night — steady, regal, and defiant.