The moon hung low over the Kingdom of Ashwamegh, bathing the stone ruins in a cold silver light. The ancient Temple of Echoes, hidden deep within the forested valley, stood silent yet alive — every whisper in its walls felt like it remembered something.
Devsena stood before its grand, crumbling gates, her torch flickering. Something had drawn her here — not a person, not a vision, but a pull. Like fire pulled toward dry wood.
As she stepped in, the temperature shifted. Warmth gave way to an eerie chill. Her fingers traced the ancient carvings of elemental symbols along the walls — fire, water, earth, and air — but one symbol repeated the most: a crescent moon cradling a flame and a wave.
Inside a chamber, buried behind a collapsed wall, she discovered an old trunk bound in gold filigree. She forced it open — and there it was:
A diary, leather-bound, sealed with a blood-red crystal.
The name embossed on the cover made her breath hitch.
"Vrinda."
Her mother.
Meanwhile…
Avantika sat by a clear spring near her foster palace. The stars reflected in the ripples like broken pieces of memory. As she hummed softly — the melody flowing from her heart — the waters began to swirl, slowly at first, then violently.
Suddenly, the world around her blurred.
Her voice faltered as a vision gripped her — a blinding flash — and she saw herself standing amidst scorched land, facing Devsena.
But it wasn't the sister she remembered. Devsena's eyes burned with fury, her hands engulfed in flames.
And she… she stood with waves crashing around her, a staff of sapphire light in her grip, defending something she couldn't see — or perhaps, someone.
They were fighting.
Sisters turned enemies?
The vision faded. Avantika collapsed to the grass, breathless, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Why would we fight…?"
Far across the realm, Arjuna had taken shelter in an old monastery that once belonged to elemental sages. He searched for a map — anything to help them understand the mystery of the twins.
In a secret crypt beneath the prayer hall, he uncovered a scroll. Ancient. Fragile.
The ink glowed faintly under torchlight.
It spoke of "The Dvandva Prophecy" —
A tale of twin daughters born under the cursed eclipse, destined to either unite the elements or bring the world to ruin if torn apart.
His hands trembled.
He looked up toward the dark sky and whispered,
"They were never just royalty… They're the balance itself."
All three of them — in different corners of the world — now knew pieces of the truth. But the whole puzzle was yet to come together.
And time was no longer on their side.