The dawn after the feast was not peaceful.
Nandigram usually woke to the clatter of markets, the ringing of temple bells, the chatter of villagers opening their stalls. But on this morning, a heavy stillness lay across the city. Clouds hung low, tinged with a strange grey, and the air itself felt heavier, as though the weight of unseen eyes pressed down on every rooftop.
Whispers spread like sparks: something stood at the northern gate.
By the time Lakshya reached the walls with King Samudra's guards, a crowd had already gathered. Farmers, merchants, and soldiers craned their necks, staring in hushed fear at the figure waiting beyond the gates.
It stood alone.
A cloaked shape, ash drifting faintly from its form as though it carried a fire long extinguished. Where its feet touched the earth, the soil blackened. Its face was hidden by a hood, but two faint sparks glimmered in the shadows — eyes, if they could be called that.
The guards shifted nervously. One muttered, "It hasn't moved since sunrise."
Another added, "Won't speak. Just stands there."
When Lakshya approached, the figure lifted its head slightly, the sparks of its eyes fixing on him.
The air grew colder.
---
King Samudra himself arrived, his copper crown gleaming even in the dim light. He studied the figure with a mix of wariness and defiance. "Stranger," he called, his voice carrying over the hushed crowd. "You stand at the gates of Nandigram. State your purpose."
The figure moved at last, its voice like wind through dry leaves.
"I… am Envoy."
The word echoed unnaturally, as though a thousand whispers repeated it at once.
Samudra's jaw tightened. "Envoy of whom?"
The hood turned slightly. The sparks of its eyes flared brighter. "Of the Ashen Watchers. Of the Silent Circle. Of Judgment."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Soldiers tightened their grips on their spears. Even Samudra's composure wavered for an instant. The Watchers were not myth here — they were omen, curse, and unseen arbiters of oaths. For one to appear openly in daylight, at a city's gate, was unheard of.
Lakshya stepped forward. "Why now?"
The Envoy's head tilted. "Because you… broke their silence."
The crowd murmured. Samudra's gaze snapped to Lakshya, sharp with sudden questions, but he said nothing yet.
---
The Envoy raised a pale hand. Ash scattered from its sleeve like dying embers.
"The Circle does not forget. The Circle does not forgive. Yet the Circle… is not whole."
Its voice deepened, resonating in Lakshya's chest. "You swore apart. You endured trial. The Circle… cannot erase you. It can only… mark you."
The Envoy extended its hand further. In its palm rested a shard of black stone, etched with faint runes that shimmered like dying stars.
"Take it," the Envoy said. "Carry the mark. You are not prey. You are not hunter. You are anomaly. But anomaly… must be bound."
The air thickened, the crowd leaning back instinctively as though the stone itself carried poison.
---
Lakshya did not move at once. His thoughts raced.
To accept might mean submission — but also survival. To refuse might mean open defiance — and perhaps destruction not just for him, but for Nandigram itself.
He glanced back. The people's eyes burned into him. Fear. Hope. Suspicion. They wanted an answer.
King Samudra's voice cut low and sharp at his side. "Choose carefully. This is no courtly game. The whole city will bear what you decide."
Lakshya exhaled slowly. The mark on his own palm pulsed beneath its bandages, as if responding to the shard.
"I'll take it," he said at last.
The Envoy's sparks flared brighter. It stepped closer, its presence heavy as stone. The shard of black stone hovered between its fingers, then pressed itself against Lakshya's palm.
The mark beneath his bandage seared.
Lakshya grit his teeth as fire and ash burned through his veins, images flashing behind his eyes — circles upon circles, hunters and prey, endless watchers in silence. Then, abruptly, it ended. The shard crumbled into dust, sinking into his skin.
The Envoy withdrew.
"It is done. You… are marked. The Circle watches closer now. Speak false, break oath… and the Watchers will not whisper. They will strike."
Its voice thinned into nothing, and as suddenly as it had come, the Envoy dissolved into ash. The wind scattered its remains, leaving only silence.
---
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then the crowd erupted. Fearful shouts, angry murmurs, desperate questions. Some cried Lakshya was cursed. Others shouted that he was chosen. Some begged the king to cast him out. Others demanded he be made protector of the city.
King Samudra raised a hand, silencing them, though his face was pale. "Enough! Return to your homes. The court will decide the meaning of this."
The people hesitated, then slowly dispersed, though their eyes lingered on Lakshya.
At last, Samudra turned to him, voice low. "Whatever else you are, you've tied this city to powers it cannot fight. I pray to the gods you know what you're doing."
Lakshya looked at his palm. The mark was darker now, pulsing faintly like a second heart.
"I don't," he admitted softly. "But I'll endure."
Far above the city, hidden within the drifting grey clouds, other sparks flared faintly. Watchers, unseen, patient, circling closer than ever before.
To be continued....