The families finally reached the edge of the jungle where the land met the vast, silent sea.
The night air was cold… almost unnaturally so.
The moon hung low, silver light spilling across the shore like a blessing—or a warning.
A small wooden canoe waited there, tied loosely to a crooked post, rocking gently with the faint ripples.
Yuvaan was the first to step forward.
His chest rose and fell sharply.
He whispered, almost to himself,
"Kiara… I'm close. Just hold on."
Vikram Shetty signaled for everyone to move quickly.
"Let's go," he said quietly, urgency laced in every syllable.
Varun untied the rope, hands shaking slightly—whether from the cold breeze or fear, no one could tell.
The families carefully climbed in.
The wood creaked under their combined weight.
The still water shimmered like black glass beneath them.
Yuvaan sat right at the front, his eyes fixed on the distant stretch of nothingness ahead—the direction of the Forgotten Island.
His breaths were shallow, almost painful.
Behind him, Bohomi placed a hand on Chandrika's arm.
"Everything will be fine," Bohomi whispered, trying to convince herself as much as Chandrika.
The oars dipped into the water.
A soft splash.
Then another.
The canoe drifted forward, cutting through the dark sea in slow, rhythmic strokes.
No one spoke.
Only the sound of water.
Only the sound of Yuvaan's trembling breaths.
Only the silent prayer hanging inside every heart.
---
But above them… unseen…
Clouds gathered in the sky.
Thick. Heavy. Unnatural.
And from within those clouds, a shape emerged—
long hair swirling like serpents, eyes glowing like molten gold.
Mohana.
Her silhouette hovered in the sky, a dark goddess riding a storm.
The wind curled around her in wicked devotion.
A smile—feral and triumphant—spread slowly across her lips.
She watched the canoe move across the water, following it without a single sound.
Drifting like a shadow.
Hunting.
Patient.
"Go on…" she whispered into the wind, voice curling like poison.
"Take me… to the child."
Lightning flickered behind her, illuminating her wicked grin.
Unnoticed.
Unheard.
Unstoppable.
She trailed the canoe from above—
the predator following her prey.
And below… the families rowed toward the island, oblivious to the danger descending from the heavens.
The canoe scraped against the sand of the Forgotten Island, and everyone hurried off, hearts pounding with hope and fear tangled together.
Vikram Shetty whispered, "We made it… Kiara must be somewhere close."
But before anyone could take a second step—
Something shot out of the ground.
Roots.
Thick, thorned, alive.
They coiled around ankles, wrists, waists—dragging everyone in different directions. The families shouted in shock as the roots tightened like serpents.
Yuvaan fell to his knees, struggling against the vines cutting into his skin.
A cold, echoing laugh drifted across the air.
Slow.
Cruel.
Triumphant.
From behind a tree of twisted branches, Mohana stepped out, her form rising like a living nightmare.
"Ohh… thank you," she purred, her smile wicked.
"For leading me straight to the island."
Everyone froze.
Their worst fear had followed them.
Mohana walked between them slowly, almost lazily, dragging her long braid across the ground as though savoring the moment.
"Such loyal, foolish people," she mocked, circling them like a vulture.
"You worked so hard to hide the child… and then brought me right to its doorstep."
Bhoomi trembled, whispering, "Yuvaan… do something… please…"
Yuvaan struggled harder, teeth gritted, veins straining under his skin.
"Let her go!" he roared, wrenching his arms, eyes blazing.
"Don't touch Kiara! Don't touch my child!"
Mohana only smiled wider.
"Oh, I will touch them," she said softly.
"I will take them."
She lifted her hand.
The roots pulled tighter.
But Yuvaan's desperation was stronger than pain—stronger than fear.
He twisted, fought, tore at the roots until his palms bled.
And with one final, animalistic pull—
the root snapped.
Vikram gasped.
Varun shouted his name.
But Yuvaan was already running—
charging after Mohana like a storm given human shape.
"Mohana!" he screamed.
"If you reach that hut—I will kill you!"
She turned her head slowly, amused by his rage, and continued walking deeper into the island… toward Kiara… toward the baby…
Yuvaan sprinted after her, breath breaking, feet pounding against wet earth.
---
At the heart of the island…
Through trees covered in silver moss…
past glowing fireflies gathering like guardians…
A small, modest hut came into view.
The hut Kiara had been living in.
A faint diya still flickered inside.
Mohana stopped.
Her eyes gleamed with victory.
"There it is," she whispered.
"Where the little jishwa princess hides."
She stepped forward—
—only to be flung backward by an invisible force.
A barrier.
An ancient protection.
She hissed, anger burning up her spine.
"What is this nonsense?"
Yuvaan arrived, panting, clutching his ribs.
He took one look at the forcefield and exhaled in relief, tears gathering in his eyes.
"Thank you… thank you, Mahadev…" he whispered under his breath.
Mohana shot him a murderous glare.
"Don't celebrate yet," she snarled.
"If I can't go in…
they can come out."
Before Yuvaan could understand—
She raised both her hands to the sky.
Dark magic pulsed.
The clouds twisted.
The sea roared.
A monstrous wave rose, towering over the trees, ready to swallow everything.
"No…" Yuvaan whispered, his voice breaking.
"Mohana, don't—"
But she slammed her palms downward.
The flood began.
Water surged into the forest, tearing branches, uprooting trees, rushing with terrifying force.
The ground trembled as floodwater raced toward the hut.
Inside, Kiara lay unconscious on the bed—pale, still holding her newborn baby weakly against her chest.
The water crept inside the hut.
First touching the doorstep…
Then the floor…
Then rising…
Up her ankles.
Up the legs of the bed.
The baby whimpered.
Kiara didn't wake.
Outside, Yuvaan watched in horror as the water reached the windows.
"Kiara!" he screamed, voice shattering.
"Kiara!"
He threw himself against the forcefield again and again, fists slamming, voice cracking, tears falling uncontrollably.
Inside…
the water reached Kiara's waist level…
…while she lay unconscious.
The baby began to cry.
And Mohana smiled, her voice a whisper of pure evil:
"Let the jishwa drown…"