He isn’t Darkness

They say the dark hides monsters…. but in the hush between her breath and his gaze, she knew—he wasn't darkness.

~~~~~

"What are you doing?" he says, pulling his hands away from hers and without waiting for an answer, he walks off.

KaanKuwar had not expected her to reach out like that. To look into him and know.

'She is sharper than I thought,' he muses. 'Too sharp'

His eyes glance once behind him, not to meet hers but to study her again— the woman whose voice could calm wrathful spirits, who without a weapon, touched the edge of his truth.

A flicker of admiration flashes through his chest, then quietly he turns from the street, disappearing down the narrow path that leads to the riverbank.

Shaamvi stands there, stunned. Caught between questions.

'Who is he? He is not a ghost, definitely not a wandering spirit, not a human, then what is he?'

Her thoughts spin, but she grounds herself. There's still a ritual to complete.

"The spirit is in the box" she says calmly, turning to the family of the woman who just got freed. "I need to perform the final ritual; it must be done by a river. Is there one nearby?"

"There's a river in this town…." A family member begins, hesitantly.

But another cuts in, "Don't talk about that place."

Shaamvi lifts an eyebrow, curious. "Why...?"

The second speaker looks uneasy "that river… It's not ordinary. People say strange things happen near it. Some believe it is cursed or haunted, some say it watches back. That if you stand too close, you will feel eyes on you."

A third voice joins in, a little more thoughtful. "This river passes through many towns. In all those places, no one speaks of hauntings or anything unnatural. But this stretch …..this riverbank here in our town, is different."

Another pauses, and adds in a hush, "Water here doesn't flow like it should, it moves strangely. Swirls rise where the current is calm. Ripples spread when the night is still."

The hush of their voices echoes inside of her, a whisper leading her back to him —'the glow of his eyes, the silence in his steps. His aura…. ethereal. His presence…..unforgettable.'

Perhaps that riverbank holds more than just stories. Perhaps in its shadows, she might find him. Or maybe some answers can find her.

"I will hold the ritual there, alone." Shaamvi says.

They blink at her "there…can you...?"

"Yes" she replies, her voice calm, but firm. "Of course."

She, at night, walks towards the riverbank. A torch in one hand, a brass box steady in the other.

She reaches. The river lies unnaturally still. The moment her feet touch the edge of the earth and water, she halts.

'Surely, there is something different here' she feels.

The dragon, sleeping inside of the river, stirs. Cloaked in darkness at the river's depth, he opens his eyes. 'What is this mystic doing here?' His thoughts coil like smoke.

Woken by her presence, he stays hidden in the deep, watching her from the stillness below.

Shaamvi is observing everything. The quiet. The wordless air yet hums so many words.

And she, drawn to the unseen, the unsaid…..feels it too… Something beneath, something watching.

She yells into the emptiness, "Who is there? Come out now. You can't fool me."

Her voice sharpens.

"Dare to come out. Why are you hiding? Are you afraid?"

The dragon smiles. 'No patience at all' he murmurs. He sinks deeper into the water.

Her voice rises again, softer this time, less anger, more invitation.

"Come out, let's talk. I know you are listening…come out."

He ignores her again.

She waits. Then slowly she sits by the bank, closes her eyes and folds her hands.

Her tone deepens, reverent and solemn.

She begins to chant.

"Whoever dwells in this place, I call them now. In the name of the Holy Lord, Hari, I call them now."

"In the name of the Holy Goddess, the very heart and soul of the lord, she who dwells in the three worlds, and is the mother of all creation…I call them now."

"No veil, no shadow can hide you."

"If you walk in truth and light, come out. Stand before me."

The water listens. So does he.

The dragon cannot ignore a prayer. He is a demigod, bound by laws.

With a low breath, he shifts. 

The water folds away from his body as he takes human form.

He walks out from the river, not in front of her. But near, hidden among trees, half-shadowed in the soft light.

She finishes her prayer. Waits, looks around, but the wind answers nothing. 'Strange', she thinks.

She turns. And then— freezes.

There he stands—closer than before—the man she met in the morning. This time, she sees him clearly. 

His skin shimmers as if the moonlight had kissed every inch of him before sending him ashore. Water clings to him like devotion, tracing the ridges of his broad shoulders. His collarbone carves as though by tide and time.

He doesn't glow, he doesn't shine, but she can feel that the air around him is …..celestial.

She is sure now. Whatever he is, he isn't darkness.