Rajasthan, 1653 AD

The sky bled red.

The desert wind carried the scent of war and roses—like death wrapped in silk.

He stood at the edge of the palace courtyard, drenched in blood. Not all of it was his.

His armor cracked. His sword slipped from his hand.

She lay in the middle of the flames, her face the only calm thing in that chaos.

Zahira.

The moment her eyes closed, his heart screamed louder than the fire that swallowed her body.

He didn’t cry. The Emperor of Rathore never cried.

But that day... the sky wept in his place. Thunder cracked open the heavens. And with his final breath, he fell to his knees.

> “If not in this lifetime, I’ll find you in the next. Even if I have to tear through death itself.”

The curse was sealed that night.

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Present Day – Jaipur, Rajasthan

The air smelled... familiar.

Aaravi Deshmukh adjusted her dupatta and stepped into the ancient Haveli, her boots echoing softly on the cracked marble floor.

She wasn’t supposed to be here alone.

But something called to her.

Pulled her in.

On the far wall hung a massive, faded oil painting—almost buried under layers of dust. She walked closer.

Closer.

Her heart stopped.

The woman in the portrait had her face.

Same eyes. Same lips. Same tiny mole above the brow.

And beside her, stood a man in black armor… his eyes painted with fire and grief.

Before she could even breathe, a gust of wind burst through the window—slamming the doors shut behind her.

And from the dark hallway, a deep voice echoed—

> “I told you, Zahira… no matter how far you run, I will always find you.”