The throne hall of Vaikunth Dham breathed silence heavier than stone.
Massive pillars carved with divine guardians lined the chamber, their eyes seeming to judge every word spoken within.
Golden chandeliers swung slightly from the ceiling, casting restless shadows on the marble floor.
At the end of the hall, raised above a series of black stone steps, sat King Rudrayan, wrapped in robes of crimson and silver, the symbol of Manipura Chakra glowing faintly on his chest.
His aura was steady, controlled, yet one could feel the pulse of power hidden beneath his calm exterior.
Beside him stood Bishop Veera Bhadra, his dark robes falling in folds like coiled serpents, his eyes sharp and merciless.
Rumor said he could see through the soul of a man with a single glance, and the hush that filled the court when he shifted his gaze seemed to prove it true.
And at the center of it all, shackled with thick chains of spirit-forged steel, knelt Ganpat.
Grandpa Ganpat hadn't had any alcohol or wine for several days, and now his mind is sharper and clearer than it has been in a long time.
He looked nothing like a man accused of treason.
His back was bent, yes, his hair silvered with age, his hands marked with the lines of years—but his eyes… his eyes burned steady, calm, and unyielding.
The chains around his wrists and ankles glowed faintly, suppressing every ounce of Chakra left in within him.
He could not move, he could not resist, but his spirit refused to bow.
A minister stepped forward, his voice high and sharp, eager to please his king.
"Your Majesty! This man—this Ganpat—sheltered the fugitive, his cursed grandson. He harbored him knowing full well that the boy is accused of slaughter, of betraying the will of the kingdom. To show leniency is to spit upon the law. I say we end this now. Sentence him to death, and let the people see the justice of Rudrayan's reign!"
Murmurs rose among the other court ministers, each one nodding or whispering hurriedly.
The word death repeated through the chamber like the tolling of a bell.
King Rudrayan raised his hand, and silence fell immediately. His voice was deep, commanding, yet not unkind.
"Ganpat."
The old man lifted his head, chains rattling. His gaze met the king's, unwavering.
"You know why you are here," Rudrayan said. "Your grandson, Aryan, stands accused of mass murder of a whole village. Of betraying the trust of the crown by resisting arrest and flee. Tell me truthfully—did you aid him? Did you help him escape justice?"
Ganpat's lips curved into a faint smile. It was not defiance. It was something quieter—something that unsettled the court more than anger could.
"I taught my grandson to live with honor, Your Majesty. If that is a crime, then yes… I am guilty."
Gasps rippled across the hall. A few ministers shouted at once—
"He mocks the throne!"
"Such insolence, even in chains!"
"Execute him before his words poison the people!"
Rudrayan did not speak. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying Ganpat as though weighing his very soul.
The bishop, Veera Bhadra, finally moved. His voice was soft, yet it carried like thunder through the chamber.
"Your Majesty, this old man's tongue is sharpened with deception. He hides truth behind riddles. His bloodline is tainted—the boy has already begun to wreak havoc beyond these walls. If the root is not severed, the tree of rebellion will grow."
Ganpat chuckled faintly, his chains clinking with the sound.
"Root and tree, Bishop? You speak of life as though it were something you could cut and burn at will. But you forget… even ash carries seeds."
The ministers erupted again, enraged at his cryptic defiance. But Rudrayan lifted his hand once more, commanding silence. His gaze had not left Ganpat.
"You do not fear death," the king said.
Ganpat tilted his head, his eyes shining with a strange peace.
"Fear is for men who think their lives belong to them. Mine was given to my family long ago. If the crown must take it, then take it. But know this, Rudrayan—chains cannot bind truth. Even if my body falls, my words will remain. And words… spread faster than fire."
For the first time, a flicker of unease touched the king's face. Not fear—Rudrayan was too proud for that—but a recognition that the old man's will could not be broken, even here.
The court was restless.
Ministers pressed forward, demanding a verdict, their voices rising like vultures circling a wounded beast.
Veera Bhadra leaned close to the king and whispered, his tone cold and precise:
"The people await blood. A kingdom's strength lies in decisive justice. Delay, and you will appear weak. Execute him at dawn."
Rudrayan's fingers tightened on the armrest of his throne. The decision hung heavy in the air, thick as smoke.
Ganpat closed his eyes, whispering softly, almost like a prayer only he could hear.
"Aryan… the world may call you fugitive, murderer and slaughterer. But remember… you are my blood. My faith rests with you."
The king finally rose from his throne. His robes rustled like storm clouds.
"Very well. At dawn, the execution shall be carried out."
The hall thundered with approval from the ministers, the sound echoing like war drums.
Guards dragged Ganpat to his feet, the chains clattering as they pulled him toward the dungeon below.
His back was straight, his eyes calm, even as the judgment of death was sealed upon him.
The grand hall of Vaikunth Dham's royal court echoed with heavy silence after Ganpat was dragged away. King Rudrayan leaned back on his golden throne, fingers tapping the carved lion head of the armrest. His eyes were sharp, but his voice carried a weight of thought.
"Ganpat's grandson…" Rudrayan muttered, the name slipping off his tongue like an afterthought. "Aryanvaat Rishaan. What a troublesome boy he has become."
A murmur rose among the ministers seated in the marble chamber. Scrolls of reports lay scattered across the polished floor, each filled with fearful words about a child who once had nothing.
Bishop Veerabhadra, his robes flowing like a tide of midnight blue, stepped forward. His voice was measured but heavy with concern.
"Your Majesty, when he was younger, Aryanvaat was a chakra-deficient child. A defect of the heavens. He couldn't even absorb the life-force properly. I remember when village doctor tried to channel chakra into his body—it rejected every attempt. He was fragile. Pathetic. Weak."
One of the elder ministers nodded, his tone sharp with disdain.
"And yet… somehow, he has crawled his way into power. They say he fought at Chakra Stage One, Level Three. How can a boy of six achieve what even grown men cannot?"
Rudrayan's gaze hardened. His golden crown shimmered faintly in the torchlight.
"He is the same age as my daughter, Princess Roshni. Yet while she trains under the guidance of masters, Aryan walks the battlefield as though he was born for it. That… is dangerous."
The court fell into uneasy whispers.
Bishop Veerabhadra raised his staff and struck it lightly against the marble, silencing the murmurs.
"Your Majesty, we must not underestimate him. Rumors suggest he may even attempt to enter the Tournament of Champions. If that is true, then Vaikunth dham's glory will be threatened by a child who knows no chains."
The ministers' voices rose again, fear mixing with anger.
"Execution must be swift!" one shouted.
"He should never be allowed near the Princess!" another cried.
"The kingdom's dignity will be shattered if he walks among our warriors!"
Rudrayan closed his eyes, rubbing his temple. "And yet… can a boy truly shake the throne of Vaikunth dham?"
Just as his words lingered in the air—
BANG!
The massive bronze doors of the royal hall burst open with a violent crack. A soldier stumbled inside, his armor drenched in blood, his face pale with terror. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath.
"Y-Your Majesty!" the man stammered, clutching his chest. "The boy—Aryan—he… he's here!"
The chamber froze. Even the torches seemed to flicker weaker in that moment.
Rudrayan leaned forward, his voice dropping into steel. "What nonsense are you spewing?"
The soldier's eyes bulged with horror. "Not nonsense… truth. He has slaughtered the guard forces outside the palace walls! Five thousand men… gone!"
Gasps filled the hall. Ministers stood to their feet, robes fluttering in panic.
"Five… thousand?!" one whispered, his voice trembling.
The soldier's voice cracked as he spoke, words tumbling out like shards of glass.
"Three thousand warriors—Chakra One, Stage Five. Dead. Two thousand—Chakra Two, Stage One. Dead. He… he cut through them like they were nothing. And then—he left me alive… just to deliver the message."
The court erupted in chaos.
"Impossible!"
"No child can—"
"He's a demon!"
Bishop Veerabhadra's eyes narrowed, his grip on the staff tightening. He said nothing, but a shadow crossed his face.
Rudrayan's expression turned to stone. For the first time, a bead of sweat slid down the king's temple.
And then—
From the broken doors, a small silhouette entered.
Bare feet touched the marble floor, leaving faint prints of crimson. The figure was tiny, fragile even—no taller than a child of six. His head hung low, strands of dark hair covering his face.
He said nothing.
The grand hall trembled with every step he took forward. Ministers backed away instinctively, their hearts pounding like war drums.
The soldier who had crawled inside now realized—he was the five-thousandth offering, the only one left alive to scream the warning.
The boy stopped in the Starting of the hall. His chin remained lowered, eyes hidden in shadow.
And in that silence, all who watched felt it.
It was not a boy who had entered.
It was the shadow of a demon, a walking calamity that had come to claim the last piece of prey—
The throne itself.