The palace was not as he had left it. Fourteen years had passed, yet it did not feel like home—because you were not there. The moment Laxman stepped inside, his eyes searched desperately for you, his heart pounding, his soul restless. But the chamber where he had once held you close was empty. The scent of you had faded. Where were you?

His mother’s words were a blade to his chest.

"She has been in the river, beneath the falls, for fourteen years."

Laxman did not wait to hear more. He turned, his body moving before thought could catch up, his feet flying across the palace steps, through the forests, past the winding paths that led to the sacred waterfall. His breath was ragged, his heart a storm, his mind a whirlwind of agony.

And then he saw you.

Kneeling beneath the relentless torrent of the falls, your hands folded in unbroken meditation, your form untouched by time, yet weakened by years of penance. The icy waters crashed over you, but you did not move, did not stir. No food, no water, only devotion had sustained you.

A savage growl tore from Laxman’s throat as he rushed to you, yanking you from the merciless current, cradling you against his chest. You were cold—far too cold. His hands trembled as they traced the contours of your face, memorizing what he had been deprived of for too long.

"Enough." His voice was raw, breaking. "Wake up, my love. I am here. I will never leave you again."