Chapter 10: The Unknown faith

Zara stared at him, her pulse echoing in her ears. The lights of the club blurred into streaks, the music fading into a soft, pulsing hum behind the tension of her question.

**Zara:** "How do you know all this, Vey?"

He didn't speak immediately.

Instead, he swirled the bourbon in his glass with slow, precise movements. The amber liquid caught the flickering lights above, casting shadows across his face. His eyes—those strange, steady eyes—looked at her with something far older than this lifetime.

Then, he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, voice low and laced with something that tasted like smoke and memory.

**Veytal:** "Because I'm not just Vey."

Her breath caught.

**Zara:** "Then who are you?"

**Veytal:** "Veytal. That's my true name. I'm a Beytal."

The word settled into the space between them like a spell.

**Zara:** "A what?"

**Veytal:** "A Beytal. A being older than language, born of thought and time. We're not spirits, not demons… not gods. We are the ones who see. Hear. Remember. Every truth you try to bury, every lie you wrap in silk—I see through them all."

Zara's throat tightened. His voice wasn't threatening. It was... final. Inevitable. Like gravity.

**Zara:** "You're saying you're—"

**Veytal (gently):** "Not human. Not anymore."

She blinked rapidly, trying to anchor herself in the club's reality, but the weight of his presence blurred everything else.

**Veytal:** "We were once like you. Mortal. Curious. But I chose to become something more... to see everything, hear everything, know everything. The price of truth is isolation, Zara. Beytals are cursed with sight that never looks away."

Zara leaned back slightly, as if the truth itself had pushed her.

**Zara:** "And you knew who I was? From the beginning?"

Veytal nodded, slow and sure.

**Veytal:** "The day before yesterday. When you walked into this club, everything shifted. The music faltered. The air changed. And I felt *her*—Maeraya's magic—wrapped around you like a shroud of stars. I knew then."

He paused, his eyes softening.

**Veytal:** "You're her daughter. And something more."

**Zara:** "But why didn't you say anything?"

**Veytal:** "Because I wasn't sure you were ready. I knew your time hadn't come yet. But tonight... it did."

She searched his face for deception, but there was nothing—only quiet, steady truth.

**Veytal:** "This morning, while I was in the gym, I heard it—*not* through ears, but through the energy that moves beneath the surface. A whisper: 'The witch is captured.'"

Her stomach sank.

**Veytal:** "I knew they had you. I didn't know where, but the world leaves footprints when it shifts. I followed them. Through the echoes. Through the shadows. That's how I found you."

**Zara:** "And why… why did you care?"

**Veytal:** "Because you're the only one who can end what began so long ago."

He leaned closer, the shadows around them curling like protective wings.

**Veytal:** "Your mother wasn't just a witch. She was love and vengeance and prophecy woven into one. She bore twins—one died in the womb, and one lived. You, Zara. You are both loss and survival."

Zara's voice broke when she finally spoke.

**Zara:** "How do you know so much about her?"

Veytal's gaze dropped to his hands for a heartbeat.

**Veytal:** "Because I heard her scream the night her unborn child died. I felt her father's heart stop the moment he heard the news. I remember the storm that raged not outside, but inside her when she cursed the Raisinghanis. I was there, in the silence after it all."

Zara could barely breathe.

**Veytal:** "And now... here you are. The living echo of that curse. And the only one who can decide if it ends... or deepens."

A hush fell between them. The music picked up again, and the club around them returned to motion—but Zara's world had changed forever.

She wasn't just hunted.

She was chosen.

And the man across from her wasn't just some mysterious stranger in a velvet coat.

He was Veytal.

The Beytal who knew everything.

After that Veytal took her to his apartment

The click of the apartment door echoed like a final heartbeat. Zara stood still for a moment, her shoulders stiff, trying to breathe in the unfamiliar calm. The air inside Veytal's apartment smelled of aged wood and sandalwood incense — warm, earthy, grounding — but too still, too clean. Like a calm before a storm she didn't trust.

She didn't move until she heard his voice, casual and composed.

"You can stay here for now," Veytal said, shrugging off his coat. "No one will find you."

No explanation. No pity. Just assurance.

Zara blinked at him, dazed. "The village chief… Varnalok… is he okay?"

Veytal didn't hesitate. He poured her a glass of warm water, his movements calm, measured. "He's safe. I made sure of it."

She didn't ask how. She didn't need to. For some reason, when Veytal said it, she believed it.

As she took the glass, their hands brushed. The warmth of the water seeped into her palms, but the cold in her chest didn't ease.

---

As she went to sleep Night clung to the windows like a forgotten curtain. The apartment, dimly lit by a single amber lamp, felt more like a waiting room between worlds than a sanctuary. Zara lay curled on the couch beneath a thin throw blanket, staring at the ceiling. Not asleep. Not even close.

Her thoughts were like broken glass — sharp, scattered, and impossible to gather.

Maeraya. A mother she never knew. A curse woven in blood and betrayal.

Om Raisinghani. The name that chased her from childhood shadows to city rooftops.

Veytal. A stranger who knew her story better than she did. Who knew her — truly knew her — before she even stepped into his club.

And the man in the blue suit.

Why did his face keep returning to her? A ghost she had never spoken to, but whose eyes refused to leave her mind.

Zara slowly sat up, hugging her knees, gaze locked on the stars beyond the window.

"God…" she whispered, her voice barely carrying through the room, "What am I supposed to do now?"

No answer. Just the humming silence of the night.

"I didn't ask for this," she murmured. "I didn't ask to be born into a curse. To be hunted. To be someone else's revenge."

Her fingers trembled.

"Was it too much to want a normal life? A boring job, maybe a bakery, some good music?"

She gave a dry, bitter laugh and looked up.

"Are you even listening?"

Still nothing. But for once, the silence felt like company.

---

When she woke up Coffee was brewing. The bitter aroma filled the kitchen like armor.

Veytal stood by the window, watching the city stretch beneath dawn's pale fingers. He handed her a mug — strong, black, no sugar.

She blinked. "How did you know I like it this way?"

He just smiled faintly. "I know a lot of things."

Zara sipped. The warmth touched her bones, but didn't quite melt the tension coiled in her chest.

"I need to see him," she said. "The village chief. He deserves to know I'm safe."

Veytal's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "If you must… be careful. I won't be around this time."

She stepped toward him, pausing at the door. "You've done more than enough. Thank you… for everything."

He looked at her — and for a moment, something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

Then she turned and walked away.

On her way back The road to Varnalok was deserted, too quiet for comfort. No chirping birds. No rustling leaves. Just the dull, uneasy rhythm of her boots on cracked stone.

Then, a sound. Barely there. A whisper of breath. A snap of fingers.

Before she could react — pain.

A sting in her arm. A needle. Her vision spun.

She stumbled, then hands grabbed her — steel gloves snapped onto her wrists, locking her powers. A bag smothered her vision. Chains rattled. She kicked, twisted, screamed.

But darkness swallowed everything.

Zara drifted in and out of blurred consciousness — flashes of movement, cold metal biting into her wrists, a dull ache pulsing behind her eyes.

And then the muffled voices.One she knew one she dont

**Om Raisinghani**: "This time, we can't let her escape."

**Another male voice**: "It will be my responsibility to keep her here."

Her blood ran cold.

That voice — it was… familiar.

Footsteps echoed. Slow, deliberate.

She couldn't turn, the metal gloves too tight. The bag suffocated her. She couldn't see. Could barely breathe.

Then — light.

The bag was yanked off her head. Blinding white pierced her vision. She blinked rapidly, gasping for breath.

"How lucky can I be," she rasped, lips cracked and dry, "to get caught again in just twenty-four hours?"

But then her eyes adjusted.

And everything stopped.

There he was.

The man from the club.

The one with storm-blue eyes and a gaze like he already knew her soul.

Her breath hitched.

The world didn't spin — it *tilted*.

She forgot the chains. The pain. Even Om's presence faded into a blur.

The only thing that existed in that moment was him.

He stood there, silent, as if he too had been struck by something he couldn't name.

She didn't know what this was.

But her heart was no longer hers