Back in Daksha’s palace, the king awoke from a nightmare: his daughter, wrapped in serpents and moonlight, laughing while his throne turned to ash.
Shiva tilted his head. "Your father will curse the stars. Your sisters will weep. The world will call it an elopement of shame."
That night, under a moon that seemed to mirror Shiva’s crescent, Sati sneaked to the edge of the palace grounds. A guard stopped her. "Princess, the king has forbidden any mention of the name 'Shiva' in these halls."
Prasuti stared, silent.
For the first time, a smile—warm, infinite—broke across the ascetic’s face. "Then let us burn together," he said, and he placed a hand on her head.
Episode 10 of her silent meditation had begun.
He opened his eyes. "You have come far, Sati."
