He Cannot Come With Me

They say the strongest journeys are walked alone. But how do you walk, when the one who gave you strength cannot come with you?

~~~~~

She has been praying for an hour now. Her voice is faint, her breath shallow. Her lips turn dry and grey, her skin grows pale—the dragon's power that held her together is slipping away. The dark spell stirs again, alive and raging.

She offers her final bow. Her spine straightens with effort, her knees quake as she stands. But just as she turns to walk away, blood spills from her mouth.

KaanKuwar rushes to her side, catching her. She presses her hand to her lips, stunned by the sight of red. Her vision fractures. A heavy cough bursts out—and she vomits blood.

Without a word, he lifts her gently and carries her to the bedroom. Lays her down.

Her eyes remain open, but the world around her is fading. Her chest feels heavy, her ribs ache with every breath.

KaanKuwar rushes back with the bowl of milk that had been offered during the prayer.

"Drink this," he says softly. "It will ease the pain."

He lifts her head with one hand and places the bowl to her mouth with the other. His touch is steady, reverent. She drinks slowly, guided by his care.

Minutes pass. Her vision begins to return—blurred, but clearer than before. He's sitting beside her, silent. She parts her lips to speak, but her body denies her the strength.

He brings her some water. She drinks, then pushes herself up with effort. Her breath is ragged. Her limbs feels hollow.

With cracked lips, she murmurs, "I need to go back home. I came to this village only for the ritual. It's done. I have to return—to investigate who cursed me. And back there… I have people who can take care of me."

He nods. "But are you in any condition to travel?"

"I must."

There's hesitation in her voice now—then something softer. "Will you come with me?… You could help me with this fivefold spell."

Before she can finish, he cuts in. "No. I can't."

He has been living in the riverbank of this town for centuries. It has been nearly three hundred years since he last stepped beyond this land. The river holds his essence. He cannot leave.

"I understand," she says quietly.

"It will be dawn soon. I'll leave at first light. Can you do me a favour?" Her voice is breaking—lifeless, like the flicker of a candle constantly disturbed by wind.

"Can you… use your powers to dull the spell again? Just until I reach my town."

He nods. "I'll try. But I've already done it once. The curse might begin to resist. My strength might not last long."

"One last thing… could you pack my belongings into my bag? I am too weak." She speaks.

Why would I pack a bag for a human? he thinks. But when he looks at her—pale, shaking, barely breathing—he tells himself: just this time. One act changes nothing.

At dawn, she calls for a taxi. Her body sways as she stands, fragile and drained.

He approaches. "Here," he says softly, and offers his hand.

She takes it.

His palm is warm like a stone soaked for years in water, now placed under the first sun. A wave of heat travels up her arm, and with it, the scent of wet sand fills the air. The pain inside her dulls, the chaos within briefly calmed.

"It's done," he says. "You won't feel the curse for a few hours. Take care."

He lets go.

At the door, he walks her out. "Thank you," she whispers. "For everything you've done."

He nods once. "I hope you break free from this spell."

She gives him a tired smile and climbs into the taxi. The engine hums. As the vehicle pulls away, he watches it vanish into the soft light of morning.

"She won't survive this," he mutters to himself. "The black magic is too heavy."

Inside the taxi, Shaamvi gazes at her hand— still tingling with the warmth of his touch.

Who is he, really?

I don't know. But I hope I heal… so I can return and find out.

Right now the question that burns louder than all the rest is not who he is—

but whether I can survive this fivefold spell… without him.