The queen's hall blazed with firelight.
Torches burned in iron serpents along the walls, their flames licking upwards like tongues of hunger. Golden carpets unfurled across polished stone, and long tables were laden with fruits, meats, jeweled cups, and wine so dark it gleamed like blood. Vajratva's banners fluttered overhead — a serpent swallowing its own tail, a crown glimmering between its fangs.
It was a feast not of celebration, but of power.
Envoys from distant regions sat arrayed in the queen's coils: warriors from the Crimson Dunes, scholars from the River-Kingdom of Sharada, chieftains of the Ashen Tribes, and shadowed figures whose names were whispered but never spoken aloud.
At the head of the hall, upon a throne of coiled bronze, sat Padmashri.
Her crown glowed like dusk over venom, her lips painted crimson, her eyes hooded yet sharp. Every gesture she made was soft, but every word that left her mouth cut like a fang.
---
Lakshya's Entrance
He entered quietly, his cloak plain, his steps unheralded. No trumpets sounded for him. No seats had been reserved. Yet when he stepped into the hall, every gaze turned.
The Marked One.
Some whispered fear. Some whispered envy. Some whispered nothing at all, for fear their words might summon silence itself.
Padmashri's lips curved. "Our guest arrives. The serpent bows once more."
Lakshya bowed his head faintly, neither defiant nor submissive, only steady.
"I bow to no coils, Majesty. Only to truth."
A ripple moved through the hall — tension, intrigue, unease. Padmashri's smile only deepened.
---
The Banquet Begins
The queen raised a jeweled cup.
"To Vajratva, crown of crowns. May her coils encircle the realms, may her silence swallow those who defy her."
The guests echoed the toast, some eagerly, some with hesitation. Food was brought — roasted game, honey-soaked breads, fruits carved into the shapes of serpents. Yet beneath the flavors lay politics, sharper than venom.
The envoy of the Crimson Dunes leaned forward. "Your Majesty promises protection for our caravans. But protection demands tribute. How high must the sun climb before our purses fall dry?"
Padmashri's eyes glinted. "A serpent does not eat the desert dry. It eats only what walks foolishly into its mouth. Tribute is not burden. It is privilege."
Laughter rippled from some corners. Others stiffened.
Lakshya ate little. He listened more. Every word, every pause, every silence was a move on the queen's board.
---
The Serpent's Play
As the feast grew louder, Padmashri unveiled her true coil.
She rose, her silks whispering like scales. "Friends, warriors, kings of soil and shadow — Vajratva offers not chains, but circle. A circle where all voices are heard. Where all crowns may rest… beneath the serpent's hood."
The hall shifted. Some nodded. Some bristled. The serpent's circle was no alliance. It was submission veiled as fellowship.
Lakshya saw it. The way her words drew them, not with force but with invitation. The way each envoy thought themselves free, even as the coils tightened.
The Silent Path whispered in his mind. Not thunder. Not storm. Silence.
---
Lakshya Speaks
When the queen's gaze swept toward him, Lakshya stood. His voice was calm, unraised.
"A circle is not crown, Majesty. A circle is nothing if not empty space within. You say all voices are heard. Yet what of silence? Does silence sit at your table?"
The hall stilled.
Padmashri's eyes narrowed slightly. "Silence does not eat. Silence does not drink. Silence is absence."
Lakshya raised his palm, the mark faintly glowing. "Absence does not mean nothing. Silence holds truth where words drown it. And in silence, Majesty, even serpents hear their own hunger."
A hush swept the feast. The Ashen Chieftain grunted approval. The scholars of Sharada leaned forward, whispering among themselves. Even the Crimson Envoy, so wary of tribute, looked thoughtful.
Padmashri smiled again, but this time, her smile was tighter.
---
The Feast Ends
The night waned. The guests departed, carrying whispers back to their kingdoms — of Padmashri's coils, yes, but also of the Marked One's silence.
As Lakshya prepared to leave, the queen's voice brushed across the hall like a blade drawn slow.
"Careful, Lakshya. Silence sharpens both ways. A blade that cuts crown may also cut bearer."
He met her gaze, unflinching. "Then let it cut. Better a wound of silence than chains of venom."
For the first time, her smile faltered.
---
Shadows Beyond the Feast
That night, in the quiet chambers given to him, Bhairav spoke.
"You challenged her in her own hall. She will not forgive."
Lakshya sat cross-legged, the mark glowing faintly as he closed his eyes.
"I did not speak to her. I spoke to those who listened in silence."
And in the silence of his palm, the Watchers pulsed faintly — not answer, not command, but acknowledgement.
The serpent had feasted. But silence had eaten too.
To be continued....