Thanks for reading my stories and sorry for the mistakes , feel free to point out the mistakes

So here we go ....

Raven bowed slightly and said: I’ve come to collect.

Selene leaned forward and said : Ah... the favor. I wondered when you’d cash it in. What is it you want?

Without a word, Raven pulled back the folds of her cloak, revealing the sleeping child in her arms.

Selene’s smile vanished.

She stood, crossing the room in a single breath. Her gaze swept over Ridhima and she froze.

This child… Her voice was low. This isn’t mortal. This isn’t anything I’ve ever seen.

Raven ( said in a tensed voice) : I need protection spells, Something strong. Something ancient. She must not be found. Not by Heaven. Not by Hell. Not even by the stars.

Selene didn’t speak at first. Just stared, watching the slow rise and fall of Ridhima’s breath. Then whispers Raven… this girl , she is everything.

Raven whispered : I know and  that’s why she must survive.

A silence passed between them. Heavy. Unspoken. Then Selene sighed, raising a hand.

From the ceiling, an enchanted pendant drifted down crafted from shadow glass and the root of the World Tree, etched with blood-ink runes that pulsed faintly.

Ridhima's pendant that holds her powers ☝️ ☝️ ☝️

Selene said : This will hide her from most eyes, But not forever. Sooner or later, someone will come looking.

Raven replied : I just need time

Selene touched Ridhima’s forehead gently. She will burn the sky, But maybe... maybe she’ll heal it too.

For a flicker of a moment, the two witches stood not as guardians and legends, but as friends bound by fate, love, and the impossible weight of prophecy.

And outside, the world slowly mended from the destruction it had barely survived… unaware that the storm was only sleeping.

Raven had only one task , to protect the child.

With ancient magic pulsing in her veins, Raven crossed into the human world. Before they entered, she used a concealment spell, altering their appearance-her own feathers now cloaked in the skin of a human woman, and the baby's golden markings hidden beneath a spell of grey. Raven didn't erase Ridhima's power; she only veiled it, for even the scent of her magic could bring gods and demons alike to her doorstep.

Sixteen Years passed in silence. The world moved around Ridhima, but it never moved with her.

In her earliest days, there had been a softness to her heart. She had once found a wounded squirrel beneath a dying tree in the alley behind their small house. Ridhima had fed it, nurtured it, even named it. She laughed quietly when it ran circles around her books, slept beside it, and protected it. For a moment, her world was not a prison, but a fleeting flicker of light.

But the light never stayed.

One afternoon, as she returned from the market with Raven’s herbs, she saw it , the bully boys laughing, the squirrel lifeless beneath their feet. Her feet froze. Her throat burned. Her eyes welled up. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she ran to the chipmunk, pushed the boys away. Seeing her cry, they ran off. She held her pet’s body, walked home silently, and buried it in the garden.

She wept until her throat dried, her eyes hollowed. And then, just like that… the warmth in her heart turned to stone. Her last tear fell that night, marking the end of innocence and the birth of silence.

Since that day, no one has ever seen her smile. She didn't speak unless she had to, and when she did, it was sharp, honest, and impossibly intelligent. The other children avoided her. She didn't care. Teachers admired her brilliance, but she never acknowledged praise. Raven tried to bring back the warmth, cooking her favorite meals, telling her tales of enchanted lands and lost queens, but Ridhima would only nod in silence. Yet, even in her coldness, she was never cruel. She never disrespected Raven, never raised her voice. Her distance was not born from hate-it was born from pain.

At night, she read. By candlelight and moonlight. Spells. Curses. Creatures are older than time. Elemental bonds. Forbidden grimoires. She remembered everything . But she can't practice magic because the pendant holds her back whenever she tries

Meanwhile, far across the veil of reality, The Ghost the demon forged by Lucifer himself was being summoned more often than ever. He answered each call with a smile too sharp and the voice too smooth. He charmed kings, tormented tyrants, and granted foolish wishes that always came at a price. But beneath it all, he had one goal: to keep suspicion away from the real reason he had reopened the door of summoning. Quietly. Secretly.

He waited.

Back in the hidden human town, Raven returned to the witches' underground village with Ridhima due to an emergency. At first, Raven refused to take Ridhima with her, but the girl had insisted calmly, yet firmly that she wanted to come. Despite her worries, Raven agreed.

In the quiet hours of moonrise, Ridhima would sneak to the edge of the training grounds, casting shadows that danced to her will. She never spoke the spells aloud. The pendant always tries to hold her back whenever she tries to practice magic but she is very stubborn every time she ignores the pendant and tries to practice the magic

One day, she noticed the older witches heading down toward the coven basement, and curiosity sparked.

Ridhima: Where is everyone going?

Raven: Just to the basement, little flame.

Ridhima: Can I come?

Raven: No. You can join the others when you're older, little flame.

Ridhima knew Raven was stubborn if she denied something, there was no changing her mind. So instead, she simply asked:

Ridhima: “What are they doing inside?”

Raven hesitated. She knew how dangerous Vansh-the ghost spirit truly was, so she lied.

Raven (hesitant): “We’re summoning… a friend. Now go to your room, little flame.”

Ridhima’s eyes sparkled with interest. A friend. That was something she’d never had. Everyone treated her differently. The girls were jealous of her intelligence and beauty. The boys thought she was a boring, cold nerd. They all hated her, mocked her, and tried to bully her. At first, she ignored them. But when they crossed the line, they were met with her wrath—and that scared them. They whispered behind her back, calling her a curse… a witch.

In the summoning room

The witches gathered in the dimly lit room, each one possessing a unique power : healing, summoning, dark magic, white magic, and more.

Helly, the summoner, stepped forward and began to draw a summoning circle using salt, chalk, and a white, sparkling powder - an extremely potent substance known for summoning the Demon Lord himself. Beneath the circle, she inscribed the ancient runes of the ghost spirit and etched the Ghost's sigil into the center. Every demon and spirit had their own unique runes and symbols, reflecting their powers and legacy.

Vansh Malric Kael Raiven , the most powerful ghost and demon of Hell was forged by Lucifer himself, imbued with powers even greater than Lucifer’s own. He was a being of pure destruction, killing, manipulation, ruthlessness, and vengeance.

The members of the coven stood in a circle, hand in hand, their faces concealed beneath the hoods of their dark cloaks. Candlelight flickered all around them, casting eerie shadows.

“Let’s begin,” Helly said, her voice low and commanding. Her red eyes began to glow, followed by the radiant shimmer of each member’s eyes, each reflecting their unique power.

She raised her voice.

“Vansh! Lord of demons, spirits, and darkness—we call upon you. Enter our realm and join us in contact!”

Seconds passed.

Only the soft flicker of candle flames could be heard.

Then suddenly all the candles in the room began to extinguish, one by one, until only a single candle remained lit at the top point of the summoning circle. All eyes turned to it.

It flickered… and went out.

Now, only the glowing of the witches’ eyes remained visible in the pitch-black room.

Then—a hand rose from the center of the circle.

It was made entirely of darkness. Silent and unseen, it pushed upward from the floor. Vansh’s head emerged slowly, scanning the room with a cold, calculating gaze.

“Who dares to summon me?” he bellowed, his voice deep and thunderous, making the members of the coven shudder.

Helly was the first to find her voice.

“We ask you, Lord Vansh, to terrorize a rival coven that seeks to steal our land , land we have ruled over for centuries,” she said, though a slight tremble betrayed her nerves.

Vansh remained silent, his glowing eyes sweeping across the room as the witches anxiously glanced around, trying to locate him in the darkness.

Idiotic witches, he thought.

Have you never summoned a demon before? We appear in the fuking middle of anything .** Of course, they couldn’t see him. But still he had a point.

“No,” he stated coldly, sinking back into the floor and vanishing into his domain.

The candles instantly re-lit themselves around the room.

Silence.

The witches looked at one another, stunned that he had rejected the contract.

“So now what?” a member muttered.

Frustrated murmurs followed, echoing their disappointment.

Sabreena, the leader, stepped forward, her expression hardening with resolve.

“We attack them ourselves. We’ll gather more members and go to them,” she declared.

The coven nodded in agreement and began to leave the basement, one by one.

Later that night, something tugged at her an invisible pull, luring her toward the basement door. She moved like a shadow, barefoot and silent. But just as she reached the threshold, her pendant , the one she had worn since birth burned cold against her skin. It shimmered with an eerie glow and tightened around her neck, as though trying to hold her back.

Her breath hitched. The pendant had never done that before.

It pulsed again urgent, warning.

But Ridhima didn’t stop. She hesitated for a heartbeat, touched the cool charm with her fingers, and whispered, “I just want to see.”

The pendant resisted. A final tug. Like a mother pulling a child back from fire.

But it couldn’t stop her completely.

She stepped forward anyway.

The summoning room was vast, circular chamber carved from ancient black stone, its air dense with centuries-old magic and secrets not meant for mortal ears. The moment one stepped inside, the temperature dropped, and silence gripped the soul like a warning.

A thick mist hovered just above the obsidian floor, swirling in slow, deliberate patterns as if it were alive. Gothic chandeliers of twisted iron and bone hung low, holding enchanted candles that burned with ghostly blue flames. Shadows danced across the high arched ceiling, forming grotesque shapes that vanished the moment one dared to focus on them.

Despite its age, the room was unnervingly luxurious. Black velvet drapes lined the walls, embroidered with golden runes and blood-red thread. Velvet cushions and antique ritual chairs formed a half-circle near the altar, facing the grand summoning circle that dominated the center of the room. The circle itself was flawless etched into the floor with silver, surrounded by concentric rings of salt, crushed gemstones, and a shimmering white summoner's powder so potent it vibrated under your feet.

Golden candle holder shaped like serpents and ravens lined the path to the altar. Ancient tomes with claw-like locks rested on crimson-covered tables, their pages whispering in tongues long forgotten. The scent of sandalwood, burnt myrrh, and something coppery like old blood clung to the air, making every breath feel forbidden.

At the heart of the room, where power coiled thick like smoke, the summoning circle waited silent and watching.

This was not just a room. It was a doorway. A trap. A throne of shadows.

And only the truly brave or truly foolish dared to use it.

But Ridhima's eyes didn't get away from the summoning circle

Examining the summoning circle, Ridhima found an old grimoire lying open on the side table. Her eyes locked onto a strange symbol an unfamiliar mark scorched into the pages.

She traced it, memorized it.

Then, she recreated the summoning circle: salt, chalk, and the special white sparkling powder Helly always left on the table. Candles stood at the four corners, and the ancient symbol sat at its heart. Her eyes gleamed, and the pendant around her neck tried to stop her.

She whispered the words to herself.

The pendant around her neck pulsed violently, almost burning her skin. It screamed in silence, as if begging her to stop. But Ridhima's eyes were locked on the circle, her voice unwavering. The power within her would not be caged any longer and then

The air cracked.

The circle glowed.

And from within the flames, he emerged Vansh, the Ghost. Tall, graceful, with eyes like collapsing stars. Furious, he shouted, “Can’t you take no for an answer just once?!” But he stopped when he saw who had summoned him.

It wasn’t some ancient witch, wizard, or king.

It was a girl.

A child.

Barely sixteen or seventeen years old.

Not wanting to frighten her, he shifted his form, appearing before her in all the deadly beauty he was known for.

But instead of threatening her or striking a deal, he tilted his head.

“You’re a child,” he said.

“I’m Ridhima,” she replied.

“So, why did you summon me, Ridhima?” Vansh asked.

“I want a friend,” Ridhima said.

Vansh paused, frowning. “A what… a friend?”

Ridhima nodded nervously. “Yup. You know, someone who plays with you, never leaves your side, goes to school with you, studies with you, saves you from trouble, and watches TV and—”

Vansh interrupted, “And kills with you? Or kills for you?”

Ridhima raised an eyebrow. “Kill? But why? Raven told me not to kill anyone unless they give you no other option.”

“No one’s ever summoned me for that before,” he said, amused. “Why me?”

“I don’t know,” she said innocently. “I saw your picture… and your name.” She pointed to the opened grimoire.

A silence passed.

Then, a crooked smile spread across his face.

“Well then… uh… sure.” Vansh smiled. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.

“Really?” Ridhima asked, eyes wide.

“Of course. That’s what friends are for, right?” he smiled. It wasn’t a wicked or manipulative grin but an exciting one. This child didn’t want him as a weapon, but as him. Vansh wasn’t even sure who he truly was, and that made it exciting. “But… what’s your full name?”

Ridhima hesitated. “Raven told me not to tell anyone my full name.”

“Why not?” Vansh asked. “How can we be friends if we don’t even know each other’s real names?”

Ridhima sighed and said nervously, “Ridhima Lilith Rose Morrigan Blackthorn.”

Vansh’s smile deepened as he heard the name. It rang a bell… but he let it go. “I’m Vansh Malric Kael Raiven.”

“I suppose we could make a deal,” he said, suddenly unsure.

“Why a deal? I just want a friendship,” Ridhima said.

Vansh chuckled. “Yes, little one, we can be friends. But first, you have to agree to a deal.”

“Why?” she asked, confused.

“Because I’m a demon… or you could say a ghost. And for my friendship, a deal must be made first.”

Ridhima thought about it, then made an understanding face. Something is better than nothing, she decided. “Okay! Deal!” she said excitedly and reached out to shake his hand.

A glowing symbol appeared on her wrist. She looked at him, confused.

“It’s my symbol,” Vansh said.

And so it was done.

From that moment forward, he became her friend… and her shadow.

That's it for today I hope you all like it votes and comments kar dena please

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