The sun streamed through Ruhi's window, cutting through the remnants of her dreams like a blade of golden fire. Her chest felt tight, emotions tangling like threads of excitement and anxiety, sewn into her soul with invisible stitches. She didn't know why she felt this way—but it wasn't a bad feeling. If anything, it felt like something was shifting.
She took a brisk bath and pulled on her favorite shirt and trousers—simple, functional, and familiar. Then, as always, she stepped into the small temple she had lovingly built inside her home. Her devotion to Lord Shiva remained her anchor in this strange world. The scent of sandalwood incense drifted in the air as she lit the lamp, folded her hands, and bowed her head. Her whispered prayers brought her a sense of clarity and grounding.
Her "company"—really just a mismatched setup that doubled as her headquarters—was a testament to how far she'd come since stumbling into this world. The chaos of the new world had been alien at first, overwhelming even. But she had carved her place here—one trade deal, one firm word, one step at a time.
A brisk knock at the door broke her thoughts.
Isaac.
Yes, that Isaac—the same one who had once been Feyre's lover. He arrived with his usual lack of subtlety, bringing with him a familiar air of irritation and urgency.
"How are the sales with the Carews?" Ruhi asked, her voice calm but laced with intent.
"Bad," Isaac said flatly, flopping into the seat across from her. "They said—and I quote—'We don't accept trade from foreigners.' And that's me sugar-coating their actual words."
Ruhi groaned and leaned back. "What the fuck, Isaac?"
He held up his hands in defense. "Hey, I tried. They're just being elitist pricks."
Her eyes flicked toward the window, where a snake had coiled lazily on the sill. Its tongue flicked in and out, sensing the air.
Isaac noticed and grimaced. "Seriously, no one wants to work with you when you've got poison bags like that lounging around."
"Shut up," Ruhi snapped, though a smile tugged at her lips.
Just then, a magnificent bird swooped into the room—a striking creature with the sharp grace of a crow and the size of a small eagle. Tied to its leg was a letter, bound with a silken thread.
Ruhi untied it and tossed it to Isaac. "Read."
Isaac scanned the note, and a grin split across his face. "Dirty water? Oh, this is my kind of business. I got this, boss." He bounced out of the chair, practically dancing on his way out.
Ruhi rolled her eyes but let him go. His enthusiasm was ridiculous, but it was reliable.
The hours slipped by in a blur of tasks and quiet contemplation. By midday, Ruhi returned to her cottage for lunch. But as she neared, her steps slowed.
Something was... off.
An unfamiliar energy shimmered around the protective boundary she had cast around her home. Not just one aura—several. And none of them were human.
Her expression hardened.
From the sleeve of her shirt, a sleek serpent slid down, its body gleaming like sharpened steel. It coiled, alert and ready, hissing softly as she pushed the door open.
And there—seated on her couch—was Feyre. Her little Munna.
Ruhi froze for half a breath. The snake vanished in an instant, the tension in the room dissipating like mist under the morning sun. Yet the other presences lingered nearby—faint echoes, but unmistakable. Their aura felt… related to Feyre somehow, though different.
Before she could speak, Feyre leapt from the couch and crashed into her arms with a force that nearly knocked her over.
"W–Well… Munna," Ruhi wheezed, "are you trying to kill me or what?"
She reached up, fingers automatically going to mess Feyre's hair—only to pause. Her hand brushed against something… pointed.
Ruhi pulled back the hood.
Pointed ears.
She blinked, finally taking in Feyre's appearance fully. Her features were sharper, ethereal even—like a photograph rendered in high definition. Taller. Skin too flawless. Too perfect. The face of a fae. But it was her eyes—those familiar eyes—that gave her pause.
Eyes are the windows to the soul, and hers… hers still belonged to that wide-eyed dreamer. That kitten with claws.
Ruhi noticed how skinny she looked. Hollowed. Tired.
"Munna, is there a food shortage in fae lands, or did your darling lover forget to feed you?" Ruhi said, her tone light, but her eyes searching.
"Ma," Feyre whispered, tears welling in her eyes again.
She dove into Ruhi's arms once more, and despite the fact that she now towered over her, Ruhi cradled her like a child—just like old times. She sat on the couch, holding her, letting her cry.
"Shhh, Munna. It's alright. I'm here now. Everything will be fine, hmm?"
"But Ma—" Feyre sobbed, clutching her.
"Shhh, no more. Just be quiet for now. What have they done to you…"
And then Ruhi felt it.
The auras outside shifted—subtle but telling.
"You brought friends, Munna?"
Feyre stiffened. "Wha—they… When did you—?"
Ruhi raised a brow, and Feyre sighed in defeat. "Yeah, they're my friends. They didn't want to be rude by just barging in. Are you… okay with this?"
"Okay with your friends hiding around my house like they're planning an ambush? No. I don't like people sneaking near my home and definitely not messing with my horse."
Right on cue, Mrityunjay neighed loudly, followed by a dull thud.
Ruhi smirked. "Your friends don't seem like the brightest bunch."
Feyre laughed. "Mrityunjay's here? I wanted to tell you. I mean… I've become a f—"
Ruhi looked up at the sky, her expression unreadable. "Looks like rain's coming. Not wise to leave your guests out there, don't you think?"
Feyre nodded. "Okay, okay. I'll clean up your room. We'll talk after?"
Ruhi gave her a mock glare. "Now get up. You're heavy for someone so skinny."
"Seriously?" Feyre pouted.
"Yeah. Go on now."
And for the first time in what felt like years, the cottage felt like home again.