The rhythmic chant of mantras echoed through the estate temple, weaving into the scent of burning incense and fresh jasmine. Rows of guests, draped in traditional silk, watched with polite smiles as the ceremony neared completion.
It was a simple wedding—no pomp, no spectacle—yet Dhiviya felt suffocated.
Her fingers clenched the edge of her saree.
This wasn't how her life was supposed to be.
She had dreams—real ones. A career. A future she built with her own hands.
But now, she stood here, about to marry a man she barely knew.
Bound not by love—but by desperation.
Her father's medical bills had spiraled beyond control. Her family's debt had bled into every corner of their lives. And then came the proposal—from Athavan's family.
It was a lifeline. A transaction.
Enough to save her father. Enough to sell her freedom.
No matter how she framed it, the truth cut deep:
She had sold herself for survival.
A year ago, she had believed in possibilities. Now she was part of someone else's plan.
Her eyes flicked toward Athavan.
He looked... plain. Dressed in a simple veshti and shirt. His posture unpolished. Quiet.
No charisma. No warmth. No presence.
He offered brief, almost mechanical replies.
It was as if he wasn't part of this ceremony—just witnessing it from a distance.
The sacred fire flickered between them.
Their eyes met.
And in that single, silent moment, Dhiviya saw it:
No joy.
No curiosity.
No connection.
Only stillness.
A sharp pang of guilt pinched her chest.
Was he just another victim of this deal?
Does he feel trapped too?
"Dhiviya."
Her mother's whisper pulled her back. "It's time."
The priest's chant reached its final verse.
With steady hands, Athavan tied the thaali around her neck.
The crowd erupted in applause. Blessings. Laughter.
But Dhiviya felt... nothing.
It was done.
She was now his wife.
The drive from Larak to Metropore City stretched two hours, but for Dhiviya, time moved like mist—thick, strange, ungraspable.
Outside, the countryside blurred past—rubber trees swaying in rhythm with the late afternoon wind.
But up ahead loomed another world entirely.
Metropore City.
The heart of Walaysia.
A city of contradictions.
To outsiders, it shimmered with ambition. Towering skyscrapers. Neon-lit dreams. The promise that anything was possible.
But Dhiviya knew the truth.
Behind the glossy billboards and marble lobbies was a machinery built on control.
Power moved here like an infection—quiet, infectious, invisible.
Deals were inked in shadows. Influence traded like currency.
And the gap between rich and poor stretched wider than ever.
She had grown up here.
She had tried to fight it.
And now... she was being brought back—not as herself, but as someone else's wife.
She sat stiff in the back seat, hands tight in her lap, gaze locked to the window.
Beside her, Athavan sat like a statue. Eyes closed. Motionless.
Is he meditating? Sleeping? Or just detached?
He hadn't said a single word since the wedding.
She hadn't either.
Two strangers. Married by necessity. Bound by silence.
What she didn't know was that Athavan's silence held more than distance—he was lost in thought, trapped in the lingering shadows of his past.
"Athavan knelt beside an ancient well, head bowed, his eyes burning with vengeance. The stench of blood clung to him—not his own, but that of his enemies."
"An aged figure stepped forward, his long white beard swaying in the evening wind, his battle-scarred chest exposed—a warrior who had seen countless battles, yet stood unwavering."
Nehru Veera Ganapathy, Athavan's grandfather.
Without a word, Nehru took a bucket of water from the well and poured it over Athavan's head.
The ice-cold water sent a shiver down his spine, washing away the blood but not the rage within him.
"Cool yourself, Athavaa." Nehru's voice was deep, yet steady.
"This well holds an ancient history. It is said that Sage Agathiyar once made Lord Veerabhadran bathe here to quell his wrath."
Athavan's breath was heavy. His fists clenched.
"The enemy we are about to face… they are unlike any we have encountered before."
Nehru's tone turned grave.
"Their existence is the very reason our order was founded. They have already placed their moles within our ranks. They watch our every movement like hawks."
Athavan's eyes flickered with renewed fury.
"Who…? Them? How could a mole exist among our own?"
Nehru raised a hand, signaling to an attendant. Another bucket of water was poured over Athavan.
"They still do not know we have found the stone. They believe your mother was merely searching for an artifact."
Athavan's jaw tightened at the mention of his mother.
"I want you to mourn for a year," Nehru continued.
"Until her first death anniversary, you are to stay low. Go to Walaysia. Reunite with your father. Fulfill your mother's wish."
Athavan flinched.
"But, Thatha—"
Nehru Veera Ganapathy's voice was steady, yet filled with authority. He stepped closer, his piercing gaze locking onto Athavan's.
"Nobody knows your father's hometown or even who your father is," he stated.
"I will make our organization believe that you are here, mourning your mother and purging your bloodthirsty aura.
Until the time is right, you must abandon all your current identities."
Athavan clenched his jaw, his fists trembling at his sides.
"You will return as Athavan," Nehru continued.
"No past. No ties. No vengeance—until the day comes when we are ready.
I will get our trusted people to assist you there. You have an important mission to accomplish—only then can we counterattack."
Athavan's grip on his knee tightened. The weight of his grandfather's words still echoed in his mind.
You will return as Athavan. No past. No ties. No vengeance—until the day comes when we are ready.
"Athavan's grip on his knee tightened, his grandfather's words still ringing in his head. No past. No ties. No vengeance. The scent of the ancient well lingered—the icy water trickling down his face, the weight of his past drowning him for just a moment. Then—the hum of the car's engine pulled him back."
But that moment was gone. Just a memory.
A sudden honk snapped him back.
Athavan's eyes opened. Instinctively alert.
Beside him, Dhiviya jerked forward, gripping the edge of her seat.
A black cat darted across the road.
The driver cursed under his breath and offered a nervous chuckle.
"Damn thing came out of nowhere."
Dhiviya didn't laugh.
An old warning coiled in her mind—her grandmother's voice:
If a cat crosses your path before something important... it's a bad omen.
Her chest tightened.
The wedding already felt like a noose.
Now, stepping into her uncle's home felt like walking into a trap.
The car rolled forward.
They arrived.
The bungalow stood tall, pristine, and cold—a palace with no warmth.
A monument to her uncle's power and her family's shame.
The car came to a stop.
Dhiviya stepped out.
Took a breath that did nothing to calm her.
This house had never welcomed her before.
Why would it start now?
She rang the bell.
Nothing.
Five minutes. Ten.
Still nothing.
She rang again.
Still no answer.
Her patience cracked. She pulled out her phone.
Just as the call connected, the door creaked open an inch—and froze.
For a second, Dhiviya allowed herself hope.
A smile. A kind face. Recognition.
Then came the voice.
"Oh, Dhiviya! You're here? Why didn't you call?"
Anjana.
Her voice was syrup. Her smile was performance.
Every syllable a slither.
They didn't call her Snake Anjana for nothing.
The End.
Hindu Mythological / Cultural / Belief Reference – Chapter 2
Thaali (Thali) – A sacred necklace tied by the groom around the bride's neck during a traditional Hindu wedding ceremony. It represents marital commitment and is considered a powerful symbol of union, especially in South Indian culture.
Black Cat Omen – In South Indian and broader Hindu traditions, a black cat crossing one's path—especially before a significant event—is believed to bring misfortune. Though considered superstition, it remains a widely acknowledged symbol of bad luck or warning.
Sage Agathiyar (Agastya) – One of the greatest sages in Hindu mythology, known for balancing cosmic energy in the southern hemisphere. He is credited with spreading Vedic knowledge to South India and is revered in Tamil culture as a spiritual father.
Lord Veerabhadran (Veerabhadra) – A fierce and wrathful avatar of Lord Shiva, created from his rage to destroy Daksha's sacrificial yagna. Veerabhadran is often depicted as an unstoppable divine warrior, symbolizing righteous fury.