One night, a severed head rolled into the throne room. It was the head of his trusted general. A shimmering aaina shard was embedded in its forehead, projecting a flickering image: Prince Tej Singh of Naugarh, once an ally, now surrounded by renegade jaadugars . “The tilism is awakening, Your Majesty,” the image hissed. “Surrender the princess. Her blood is the key. Or I will drown Vijaygarh in an eternal nightmare.”

But she would not return as his daughter.

The labyrinth screamed. Mirrors shattered. The magic feeding on his fear dissolved. On the surface, Tej Singh’s aaina army flickered and vanished. The tilism crumbled into harmless dust.