The Council chamber had never felt so alive. Tall stone pillars rose like sentinels, carrying the weight of centuries, and above them, colored glass spilled beams of light across the hall. Scholars, dignitaries, and students filled every seat. Their hushed voices rippled like the sound of waves, anticipation rolling through the crowd.

And at the center of it all, beneath banners embroidered with the sigils of ancient dynasties, Aarav and Meera stood side by side.

The manuscript was in Meera’s hands, carefully wrapped in silk. The weight of it was both fragile and infinite fragile because it could crumble at the wrong touch, infinite because inside it lived not just history, but memory, sacrifice, love.

The Chairperson of the Archaeological Council stepped forward, her voice echoing through the hall.
“Today,” she said, “we do not simply celebrate a discovery. We honor the reclaiming of truth. For centuries, stories of the lost kingdom were dismissed as myths, fragments too broken to matter. But thanks to these two… history has found its voice again.”

Applause thundered, but Aarav barely heard it. His eyes were on Meera. She looked steady, but he could see the way her fingers tightened around the silk. He reached out discreetly, brushing his hand against hers, grounding her. She didn’t look at him, but her breath eased.

The Chairperson gestured toward them. “Aarav and Meera, please.”

They stepped forward together. Meera placed the manuscript gently on the pedestal in front of the hall. Gasps spread through the room as the silk fell away, revealing the faded, golden-edged pages. The script shimmered faintly under the glass, as though the words themselves had waited centuries for this moment of light.

The applause swelled again, long and unbroken.

But not everyone was clapping.

At the far side of the chamber, the so-called “Sons of Rudra” their long-time rivals shifted uneasily. Their masks of respect had begun to slip ever since the truth surfaced. Today, stripped of their false confidence, they looked like shadows caught in daylight.

The Chairperson turned, her gaze sharp. “Before this council, we must also address deception.”

The hall grew still.

Documents were brought forward evidence of forged excavation reports, stolen artifacts, manipulated data. One by one, the council revealed the lengths to which the Sons of Rudra had gone to sabotage Aarav and Meera’s work, all while parading under false identities.

“You lied to gain glory,” the Chairperson’s voice rang, “but glory built on lies is dust. History does not belong to ambition. It belongs to truth.”

One of the rivals tried to protest. “We only did what was necessary to stay ahead!”

Meera’s voice cut through, steady as stone. “History is not a race. It’s a responsibility. And you betrayed it.”

The silence that followed was heavier than any punishment. The council voted swiftly: the Sons of Rudra were stripped of all recognition, their names erased from records. What they had tried to fake would not survive.

The chamber exhaled in unison. The weight of deceit had been lifted.

At the edge of the gathering, the monk silent until now watched it all unfold. The years had carved sorrow into the lines of his face, but at this moment, his eyes softened. He stepped forward slowly, staff tapping against the stone floor.

When he reached Aarav and Meera, he bowed.

“I am no longer your guide,” he said quietly. “My path ends here. For years, I lived with guilt. I betrayed love once, and I thought by guarding these ruins I might atone. But today… today you have done what I could not. You carried the truth into the light.”

His voice wavered. “I can finally let go.”

Meera’s throat tightened. She took a step closer, her voice low. “You were part of the reason we found it. You stayed, even when you didn’t have to. That matters.”

The monk smiled faintly. “Kindness… even now. You are her daughter in every way.”

For a moment, Aarav thought he saw the shadows lift from the monk’s shoulders. He lowered his staff, placed it against the pedestal, and bowed deeply once to Meera, once to Aarav, once to the manuscript.

Then, without waiting for more words, he turned and walked toward the open doors. Light streamed in from outside, and as he passed through it, his figure seemed to grow lighter, almost transparent, until the crowd could no longer see him.

A silence followed. Not empty but complete.

Meera’s eyes blurred. Aarav placed his hand gently on her back. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

The Chairperson cleared her throat, her voice steady. “Aarav and Meera by the authority of this council, you are hereby promoted to Lead Archaeologists, entrusted with the protection of our cultural heritage.”

The chamber erupted in applause once more. But this time, Aarav and Meera didn’t look at the crowd, or the cameras, or even the medals placed around their necks. Their eyes went only to the manuscript, resting safely behind the protective glass.

Sunlight filtered through the high windows, landing directly on the ancient pages. The ink caught the glow, shining faintly, like an ember refusing to die.

Aarav whispered, more to himself than anyone, “This isn’t just history. It’s their heartbeat.”

Meera nodded, her eyes shining. “And now, it will never be lost again.”

They stood there for a long moment, side by side, watching as the story of Aadhya and Anay, of sacrifice and love, was finally...finally - where it belonged.

Not hidden. Not twisted.

But honored.

For centuries, the truth had been silenced.
Now, it had spoken.

And the world had listened.

_______________________________________________

Writing this chapter… wow. Sometimes heavy, sometimes relief… and sometimes that feeling that finally, the past is speaking. Aarav, Meera, the monk… their choices, their struggles… felt so real while I was writing them.

The manuscript is found. The truth is out. But the story isn’t over. Not yet. There are still questions, shadows, and challenges waiting. Whatever you’re feeling right now, I felt it too while writing.

Just wanted to say thank you for being here, for feeling with them, for hoping with them.

Stay ready. 💫
- Mishti