The court of Vajratva did not sleep.
By day it gleamed with gold, its towers bright against the desert sun. By night it simmered with whispers, each torchlit corridor echoing with rumors of silence, chains, and crowns.
And now, the court itself was splitting.
---
Murmurs in the Shadows
Ministers whispered in alcoves. Generals muttered over maps. Nobles traded gossip like weapons.
"The Marked One broke the Mask of Crowns," said one, voice sharp with disdain.
"No — he bent it to his will," countered another. "That is strength."
"Strength? Or blasphemy?" hissed a third.
Every word carried weight. Every silence carried more.
---
Padmashri's Chamber
In her private hall, Padmashri stood before her obsidian mirror. The reflection that stared back was calm, beautiful, venom-laced — yet beneath her crown, cracks formed like hairline fractures.
The Ashen Envoy bowed. "Majesty, silence breeds rebellion. The tribes already whisper his name as if it were mantra."
The queen's eyes glimmered. "And yet he wears no crown. He builds no throne. He coils in shadows, but shadows leave no scars."
The Envoy hesitated. "For now."
Padmashri's fingers curled against the mirror frame. "Yes. For now."
---
Lakshya's Circle
Meanwhile, Lakshya met quietly with those same shadows.
The freed prisoner of the Crimson Dunes clasped his wrist. "You broke my chains without blade. The dunes owe you."
The scholars of Sharada offered scrolls — fragments of mantras long forbidden. "Silence is scripture, Marked One. Let us walk it with you."
Even a few ministers, disillusioned by the serpent's coils, began slipping whispers his way.
Lakshya did not claim them. He did not bind them. He only listened. And in listening, the silence grew louder than any shout.
Bhairav watched grimly. "You weave a circle without calling it such. Do you know what that means?"
Lakshya nodded faintly. "Yes. A crown does not have to sit on the head. Sometimes, it rests in silence upon the world itself."
---
The Shattered Assembly
The queen called her court again. The nobles gathered, tension thicker than smoke.
"Vajratva is crown of crowns," Padmashri declared, her voice still velvet but edged with steel. "But a crown cannot splinter. Those who whisper in silence — speak now, or coil tighter."
For the first time, the court fractured openly.
The Crimson Envoy stepped forward. "Our loyalty is not to coils, but to justice. The Marked One speaks truth."
The Ashen Envoy snarled. "He is a threat. Strike him down before silence devours all."
Others argued, voices rising, overlapping, echoing — a storm of words where once had been obedience.
And Lakshya stood among them, silent.
---
The Turning Point
The queen's gaze burned toward him. "You watch as crowns splinter. You say nothing. Is this your silence, Lakshya? Is this your truth?"
At last, he spoke — calm, low, steady.
"A crown that breaks under silence was never whole. Let it splinter. From its shards, truth will rise stronger than your coils."
The court gasped. Some cheered. Some cursed.
And Padmashri's smile froze once more.
---
Closing Shadows
That night, as the city buzzed with arguments and loyalties shifting like sand in the wind, Padmashri whispered to her mirror:
"Very well, Marked One. You fracture my court. You split my crown. But silence is no throne. You will learn — the serpent does not lose prey. It waits."
And somewhere in the dark, Lakshya whispered back to the silence:
"Let her wait. A serpent waits for prey. A hunter waits for crown."
To be continued....