A Kingdom on the Brink of Revolution
Chaos crept into every corner of the kingdom, from the grand marble halls of the royal palace to the soot-streaked alleys of the capital. The rebellion surged like a tidal wave — unstoppable and wild. Minister Ravindra's forces were closing in, and the kingdom Vivaan and Sitara once cherished was dissolving before their very eyes — not in a single catastrophic moment, but in a thousand small heartbreaks.
To Vivaan, the real storm wasn't in the court — it was her. Sitara, slipping away piece by piece, lost to a legacy darker than any crown. Her eyes no longer held warmth, only shadows.
"They'll say it was war that broke us," Vivaan thought bitterly. "But it was silence. It was distance. It was the space where your hand used to be."
And still, he loved her — even as she drifted beyond reach.
Sitara felt it too — the pull, the transformation. The Shadow Crown was no longer just a symbol of power. It was a part of her, whispering in her blood, demanding allegiance.
"Power doesn't corrupt," she told herself once. "It reveals." But she hadn't expected to see so much of her mother in her own reflection.
Her love for Vivaan had once been her compass. Now it was a wound — tender, ever-bleeding.
"I loved him so fiercely," she thought. "And maybe that's what doomed us. Because love makes you soft, and queens… queens don't have the luxury of softness."
Was she already too far gone? Could love withstand the very crown that had cursed them both?
Alone in the Ruins of Their Love
After months of silence, their reunion unfolded like a dream they both feared to wake from. The palace, once filled with music and mischief, now echoed only with their breath and the soft, haunting shuffle of forgotten memories.
Vivaan found her there — just as he had always known he would — quiet, watching the flames dance, alone in a room too large for one heart.
Sitara didn't turn as he entered. A tear slipped down her cheek, silent and heavy.
Vivaan stood motionless, staring at her like a man watching the last star blink out.
"Why are you crying, Sitara?" His voice cracked.
She inhaled, shaky. "Aren't one of us supposed to wear the crown?" she whispered.
"We're incomplete," he replied softly.
"A page only half-written. The rest… it's yours. We were never meant to do this alone. Only together would we ever make sense."
Vivaan flinched. Her words hit like a blade.
"Are you even listening to yourself, Sitara? You don't know what you're saying."
Frustration broke him. His first struck the mirror, shattering it into pieces. Glass rained down, blood blooming across his hand like a curse.
Sitara gasped, rushing to him. "Why are you hurting yourself like this?" she demanded, voice taut with panic.
"Why do you always carry pain like it's armor?"
She knelt, trembling, tending to his bleeding knuckles.
"You're so careless," she murmured. "You can't keep doing this to yourself. To me."
Vivaan's fury ebbed, replaced by something raw and aching.
He reached for her cheek, voice low. "Sitara…"
Her eyes lifted to meet his.
"If you say my name like that again," she whispered, "I might break."
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. They were no longer prince and prophetess. Not rulers. Not rebels. Just two souls stitched together by history, grief, and something far more fragile.
The Breaking Point
Silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring.
Then, without thinking, Vivaan moved.
He reached for her — one arm around her waist, the other threading through her dark hair — and pulled her closer. Their lips met, tentative, trembling.
"This is a mistake," she breathed against his mouth.
"Then let it be our favorite one," he murmured, and kissed her again.
The kiss deepened — fierce, desperate. Vivaan's hands burned against her skin. Sitara's breath hitched, body pressing into his, as if trying to pull him from the abyss — or be pulled in with him.
She bit his lip, drawing blood.
"I needed to feel something sharp," she whispered. "To remember I'm still real."
"You're the only real thing left," he said, panting.
"Stop… let me breathe," she gasped, chest rising and falling in frantic bursts.
Vivaan leaned back, grinning. "You've got a nose, don't you?"
A broken laugh escaped her lips. She pulled him down again, the kiss reigniting with wild intensity.
But even as the fire flared, they both knew — this wouldn't last.
"We burn too brightly," Sitara thought. "And fire always eats itself in the end."
A sudden knock at the door shattered the spell.
"Prince Vivaan. There's urgent news."
The voice — stiff, formal — dragged them both back to reality like a bucket of cold water.
They froze. Eyes locked. Lips parted. Hearts pounding.
"They need you," Sitara said quietly, not yet moving.
"And I need you," Vivaan replied. "But I've never known how to have both."
The world outside was crumbling, the kingdom teetering on the edge of oblivion. But for one stolen moment, they had touched something sacred — a defiant spark in the storm.
And they both knew: it wouldn't be enough.