Even If You Never Ask

They say help must be earned or begged… but when she asked, something in her had already commanded him—and even if she never asks again, he will still answer.

~~~~~

Shaamvi kneels by a sacred lake outside the town, to perform the final ritual— one that will release the spirit trapped inside the brass box from its burden of dark deeds and lingering karmas.

The box rests before her, half lit by the pale moonlight. She works in near silence, murmuring low chants under her breath, each word pulling the spirit closer to peace. Around her incense coils into the night air, mingling with the faint scent of sandalwood, and the quiet offering of rice for the spirit before the unseen gate of afterworld.

Shaamvi performs the ritual slowly, each movement deliberate, each gesture heavy with meaning.

Above her—high in the sky, cloaked in clouds, a streak of shadow twists, a curse born of dark magic —blacker than the night itself.

It slithers downward, unseen, unannounced.

It strikes—like a thunderclap.

Sharp. Merciless

The sudden blow crashes into her back, just beneath her shoulder. Pain rips through her ribs—sharp and deep. She gasps, nearly falling forward, one hand catching the earth to stay upright. Her vision wavers. Something inside her feels broken.

But she is almost done.

Grinding her teeth, she forces herself to finish the chant. The ritual is too close to completion. Her fingers tremble. Her lips keep moving. The final syllables fall from her mouth like drops of fire.

She places the box in one hand, the rice in the other. With a prayer sealed in her heart, she leans forward and lets them go. The brass box and rice slips into the lake, vanishing beneath its mirrored surface.

The ritual is complete.

Another jolt of pain bursts through her left ear.

She cries out.

Her hand flies to the side of her face, and when she pulls it away, it's red. Blood—warm and wet slips between her fingers.

She doesn't know who did this. Or why. But she knows one thing…..She's been targeted.

Her limbs barely obey, but she stumbles to her feet. She doesn't even know how she makes it back to the place she's been staying—half limping, half dragging herself along the empty path.

 Inside, she collapses onto a mat, gripping her ribs, trying to breathe through the pain. Her ear throbs. Her bones feel splintered.

And then she remembers.

KaanKuwar.

He knew before. He had sensed the dark spell that night. He had shielded her. If anyone understands what's happening now, it's him.

Without thinking, she stands again. Her movements are shaky, but her mind is clear. She has to find him. Ask him. Get answers. Her feet hit the earth and don't stop. She runs—toward the riverbank where she met him last time.

She reaches the riverbank, where the air is thick with mist and silence. The water of KaanKuwar glows faintly, unmoved and timeless.

She stumbles forward, her voice breaking between gasps.

"I… I call you… I call you…"

It's barely louder than a whisper, her voice cracked, trembling.

But he hears.

Deep beneath the river's surface, he stirs.

The Dragon—the demigod had been resting in its depthless heart. But when her voice reached him, fragile as it was, it struck through the stillness like a vow.

He opens his eyes.

Then he sees her.

Shaamvi—bloodied, swaying, barely standing. Her body is fighting to stay upright, but it's losing.

For a moment, he doesn't move. He just watches. Something tightens inside him…..a protective force.

"I call you… please… come…" Shaamvi murmurs.

And beneath the water he shifts, Scales give way to skin, silver fades to flesh. By the time he reaches the shore, he walks as a man, though power still trails behind him.

She lifts her eyes to him, dazed and desperate.

"I need… I need your help…"

And she collapses.

He's already there—arms catching her before she hits the ground. She falls into him, unconscious, limp in his hold.

Blood streaks from her ear, tracing her cheek and down the smooth line of her neck.

His eyes linger on her face—ivory skin soft as light, a nose finely carved, lips parted in breathless surrender. Even unconscious, she looks radiant.

Gently, he brushes the blood from her cheek with his fingers and thinks,

Even if you never ask again… I will still help. Because something in you commands me.