Time: 1900 IST, 2100
Location: Godavari River, near Rajahmundry, Andhra Pradesh
By the time they left Mithila, the sky had turned to saffron. A battered cargo drone—once used to carry temple relics and now repurposed by Chitti into a makeshift air-chariot—carried them southward across the length of India.
They flew over the glowing ghats of Varanasi, past the sun-drenched rice paddies of Odisha, and skimmed the edge of Telangana's vertical wind towers. Finally, the land below shimmered with the silver threads of the Godavari River. She cut through Andhra like a living myth—wide, ancient, and watching.
"Rajahmundry," Mythili whispered as they descended. "Land of river music."
The air hit them with a hot breath of tamarind smoke, incense, and river salt. Rajahmundry pulsed with color and old-world chaos. Electric lotuses floated on the water, and temple priests—now in exo-suits with dhotis stitched in neon—chanted mantras laced with code.
"This place smells like turmeric and time travel," Myra said, squinting at a nearby temple where a holographic Sathya Narayana Swamy shimmered mid-air.
"And mild sewage," Chitti grumbled. "Let's not forget the nose-tingling truth, ra."
On the muddy jetty, boatmakers still shaped skiffs using bamboo fused with biotech resin. An old woman with a glowing veena tattoo on her neck recognized Mythili by the mala she wore—a Mithila healer's thread.
"Your grandmother once healed my son," she said, touching Mythili's feet. "Take this skiff. It knows the river better than we do."
The boat was weathered but proud, its front carved with a fading Narasimha yantra and lined with copper wiring. Hanush touched the yantra, his eyes briefly glowing green again.
"Blessed vessel," he murmured.
They climbed in. Pinkki set down her spice kit like it was a divine offering. Vishnu adjusted his scarf dramatically and jumped to the helm.
"Alright, my people! This is Captain Vishnu of the SS Masala on a journey through the Godavari! Free tamarind burps with every splash!"
Raghu stood at the prow, eyes locked on the horizon. He didn't laugh. Not yet.
The river stretched out before them like a coiled dragon under twilight. Dragonflies with LED wings hovered above its surface. Devotion danced along the banks in the form of floating diya circuits and temple drones offering synthetic camphor to the skies.
"Myraaaa," Chitti whined from the center of the skiff. "If I get one more mosquito bite, naa circuits will file an HR complaint!"
"You don't even have blood," Myra muttered.
"But I have dignity, ra! That mosquito disrespected me."
Pinkki rolled her eyes while checking her spice jars. "You're lucky it didn't fall into my garam masala. You'd be seasoning for fishes."
Vishnu turned dramatically. "Leave my boy Chitti alone! He's the spice of this crew!"
Hanush, silent as always, leaned against the side of the boat. The greenish glow had not left his arms since Mithila. Mythili sat cross-legged beside him, eyes closed in meditation.
Raghu stayed silent, jaw tight. Rivers weren't peaceful for him. His brother had died on one—lost chasing relics, chasing myths. Water held ghosts.
"Hey." Myra slid beside him, holding the red shard from Mithila. It pulsed faintly.
"It's reacting," she said.
"Or warning us," Raghu replied, eyes sharp.
Chitti's sensors beeped. "Contact ahead, ra! Drones incoming!"
The peace shattered. From the treeline, a swarm of black-winged drones swooped down like vultures. Behind them, gliding atop a golden hover-barge, was Daku Devmani—the mujra-mad queen of chaos.
Devmani lifted a sparkling megaphone. "Namaskaaram, lovebirds! Did you miss your favorite nightmare?"
"You again?" Myra groaned. "Don't you have a dance class to terrorize?"
Devmani grinned, her bangles clinking like death. "I came for the shard. And maybe a front-row seat to your funeral."
BOOM! A chili-blast erupted from Chitti's cannon. One drone fried midair and crashed into the water like a dead bird.
"Captain Raghu!" Vishnu shouted. "They're flanking!"
"Hold positions!" Raghu snapped, unsheathing his karambit. He leapt, slashing a drone clean out of the sky. It sparked and crashed beside Pinkki.
"My chutney!" she yelled, hurling a turmeric smoke-bomb into another drone's face.
Hanush moved like a beast unleashed, grabbing a metal cable midair and swinging it to rip two bots out of the sky. He landed with a splash, arms gleaming.
Vishnu swerved the skiff. "Sharp turn ahead! Hold your chaddis, comrades!"
Myra stumbled. A stun-drone zipped toward her.
"Watch it!" Raghu shouted. He tackled her, sending both of them crashing behind a crate. His hand lingered on her waist.
"You okay?" he asked, breath heavy.
She blinked up at him. "Fine. Why do you always grab me when bots attack?"
He smirked. "Habit."
Before she could reply, CRACK!—a shot hit the skiff's engine. Smoke billowed.
"We're losing thrust!" Chitti screamed. "And naa circuits don't float!"
Raghu grabbed Myra's wrist. "We abandon ship—"
"No." She pulled out a second shard. "We fight back."
She placed it next to the Mithila shard. A brilliant red light pulsed from them—sending a wave through the river.
The drones froze.
Devmani's barge wobbled violently.
"What sorcery is this?!" she shrieked.
Myra's voice was calm. "Let them see. Let the Amrit call who it must."
Vedanth's face flickered onto their cracked holoscreen. His voice was glitchy, urgent.
"Myra… Zerum isn't after the Amrit… he's trying to awaken it…"
Then silence.
The skiff engine died.
And the Godavari pulled them into the shadows.