Chapter 2: A Scale, A Scream, and the First Task Complete

The true naga king has been dead for years.

People say his funeral pyre was so bright, it could be seen from every riverbank. Since then, silence settled over the waters, broken only by the gossipy crows and turtles sunning themselves.

Now, the merfolk rule the four rivers.

Our festivals have changed—now there’s more pomp, more colours. Even the river children wear shiny new bangles during Makar Sankranti, hoping the merfolk king will notice.

But not long ago, General Arjun, who served under the merfolk, suddenly grew naga scales.

The rumour mills spun faster than the temple charkha. ‘Scales? On Arjun? Impossible!’ the aunties whispered. Some said it was black magic, others blamed the eclipse.

Arjun was immediately thrown into the water cell by my royal father.

Our palace guards didn’t even let him speak. Baba is strict—rules are rules, he’d say, as he chewed his paan and spat it into the current. The water cell is cold, lined with sharp oyster shells. You can hear the river’s heartbeat in there—thump, thump, thump.

I’ve become the beautiful villainous mermaid princess.

That’s what they say—beautiful, but with a wicked streak. As if kajal and a sharp tongue alone could make a villain.

The system sends me to the water cell to pull out the naga scale on his chest.

The system’s mission flashes in my mind, brighter than any Bollywood dance number. My stomach twists as I imagine myself—delicate hands trembling—reaching out to that forbidden scale.

I’m slowly swimming towards the water cell.

Each stroke feels heavy, as if my tail is weighed down by invisible ghungroos. The water is thick with tension, and my thoughts are tangled like old fishing nets.

The system is nagging in my head.

Come on, even the jellyfish next to you are moving faster. Why are you already crying after just a few words? Arrey, pearls everywhere!

I can almost picture a sassy, invisible aunty floating beside me, tut-tutting and clapping her hands. ‘Dekho, shuru ho gayi iski nautanki!’

You’re so detailed with your sadness—hurry up and scoop those pearls up with your lehenga. Finish this quest, revive back in the real world, and you could open a jewellery store. (💎)

Hain, lehenga underwater? But the system’s sarcasm makes me almost smile. I gather my pearls in a handful, clutching them close to my heart—memories of my old life, or maybe just my nervous habit.

I clutch a chestful of pearls, panting, finally making it to the water cell.

The water is cold here, tinged with the metallic smell of old blood. My hands tremble as I pause, breath catching in my throat. The pearls feel heavier now, slipping through my fingers and clinking softly on the rocky floor. The sound echoes in the cell, little tinkling drops. It reminds me of Holi, when glass bangles would slip from my wrists and roll under the sofa, lost until next Diwali cleaning.

Arjun is tied up in the centre of the cell.

He sits upright, dignity unbroken despite his bonds. Even tied up, there’s a fierce grace about him—the sort you’d see in a tiger, not a captive. His hair falls messily over his eyes, dark against his sharp cheekbones.

His kurta is in tatters, stained with blood.

Red stains bloom across his chest, some fresh, some dried—a harsh contrast to the milky blue scales now peeking out from his skin. It hurts to look, but I force myself to see him, really see him.

He opens his eyes as I approach, a cold, fierce glint flashing in his gaze.

His stare is like the slap of winter air, sharp and unyielding. I flinch, almost dropping the pearls again. I remind myself, 'Steady, Priya. Don’t let him see you shake.'

I get so scared I drop my pearls, scattering them everywhere.

The sound echoes in the cell, little tinkling drops—memories of Holi celebrations, but now just the soundtrack to my humiliation. I scramble to gather them, feeling the heat creep up my neck.

The system is annoyed again.

I can’t even with you. If someone didn’t know better, they’d think you’re here to deliver a wedding trousseau.

Now, I imagine my old Dadi’s voice—‘Shaadi ka joda lekar aayi hai kya?’—and I almost giggle through my fear. The system really has a way with words.

Forget it. Just follow the script and pull out the naga scale on his chest. Can you do it?

Script, script—why does it sound so simple on paper? I gulp, clenching my fist so tightly my nails dig crescents into my palm.

I sniffle, swallow my tears, clench my fist and say:

I can.

My voice is soft, but determination flickers inside me, like the diya we light on Diwali when the electricity goes.

The system sighs.

Hurry up. And remember to say something mean.

‘Be mean,’ it says—as if I grew up in a house where we spoke with daggers for tongues. I steel myself, trying to remember every scolding I ever got from my school teachers.

I clutch my sleeve, walk up to the male lead, and, shaking, recite the lines the system gave me:

B-besharam, you think you deserve... naga scales, Arjun.

My words come out all wrong, tripping over themselves like new shoes on a wet market floor. Still, I meet his eyes, if only for a moment.

The system nearly blows a fuse.

It’s Arjun.

The system is hissing at me, like a pressure cooker about to whistle. My cheeks burn, and I wish I could vanish behind a cloud of river silt.

Arjun.

The system says it, I repeat it.

Arjun.

Arjun.

We sound like parrots at the Sunday bazaar, repeating names as if they’re magical chants. Even Arjun raises an eyebrow at this strange exchange.

...

After more than a dozen rounds, the system gives up.

Fine, Arjun it is. Sounds humiliating anyway.

I want to apologize, but the system’s dry tone makes me almost laugh. In some ways, it’s more human than most people I know.

Arjun eyes me, cold and guarded.

His eyes narrow—suspicion, anger, maybe a flicker of hurt. The silence between us stretches, thick as ghee.

What’s the princess up to now? If you want to kill me, just do it.

His voice has that roughness you hear when someone’s pretending not to care, but you know they’re hurting inside. It tugs at something in me I thought I’d locked away.

I bite my lip, holding back tears, hand shaking as I reach for his chest.

I remind myself of the script, but my heart beats louder than any instructions in my head. My fingers tremble—not just with fear, but with the weight of everything unsaid.

I want to pull out your heart-protecting scale. Is that okay?

The words spill out, softer than I intended. I look away, blinking fast, as if the river water will hide my tears.

My touch makes Arjun’s chest twitch, but he quickly steels himself, gritting his teeth:

Let’s see if the princess has the guts.

He’s daring me—but there’s a challenge in his eyes too. I hesitate, gathering all the courage I can muster, knowing that whatever happens next, nothing will be the same.

As I stare at the blood swirling in the water, a shadow falls across the cell door—someone else is coming.