A crimson sun burned low over the towering walls of Vishragarh, the ancient capital of the Ashval Kingdom. Carved into a mountain of obsidian rock and reinforced with layered enchantments, Vishragarh had withstood a hundred wars, a thousand rebellions, and even time itself.
But today, it awaited Shaurya, the first outsider to be formally invited in over five decades.
Inside the Golden Durbar Hall
The Golden Durbar, a massive chamber lined with golden lion pillars and maroon silk banners, shimmered with light from hanging agni-orbs. The Ashval nobles sat on golden seats arranged in a semi-circle.
At the head, on the Diamond Throne of Vishra himself, sat King Rudrapratap Ashval—a sharp-eyed warrior king, cloaked in tiger-hide and flame-orange robes. His thick white beard made him look like a mountain sage, but the steel in his voice could silence storms.
Beside him stood his daughter, Princess Arundhati Ashval, clad in battle armor with her long braid decorated in copper rings.
Her eyes, like burning coals, met Shaurya's the moment he entered.
Shaurya's Grand Arrival
The gates parted with a chorus of horns. Shaurya entered—not as a supplicant, but as a sovereign.
He wore his royal Narasimha robes, dyed in deep indigo and gold, stitched with ancient mantras from his own land. At his side walked:
Acharya Kautikya – Minister of Intelligence, cloaked in ochre and whispering observations.
Rajguru Vedanand – Minister of Rituals, carrying sacred scrolls and a staff of sandalwood.
General Bhaskar Singh – A lion of a man, clad in black chainmail with a golden eagle on his chest.
Ambassador Lavanya – The charming diplomat trained in three languages and ten forms of etiquette.
They represented Shaurya's newly rising domain, and each step they took was met with curious whispers.
The Diplomatic Confrontation
King Rudrapratap rose.
"Shaurya of the Adhipatya System, of the Forest Realm that now dares to call itself a Kingdom—what brings you to my gates?"
Shaurya's voice rang clear and regal.
"I come not to bend the knee, nor to boast. I come to forge a future where we do not burn one another to prove warmth. I offer trade, alliance... and warning."
The nobles gasped.
"Warning?"
"He dares threaten Vishragarh?"
"Foolish arrogance!"
But Rudrapratap raised his hand, silencing the murmurs.
"Let him speak. Fire recognizes fire."
Shaurya nodded toward Acharya Kautikya, who unfurled a scroll: maps of territories taken by a new force in the East—Varkasena, a shadow kingdom rumored to employ forbidden blood rituals.
"They've consumed three villages once loyal to you. My scouts report they march with beasts no sword can wound. This... is not a war of kings. It is a curse reborn."
A Princess Speaks
Princess Arundhati stepped forward, her voice sharp.
"And how do we know your words are not poisoned with ambition? Why should we believe a kingdom born only seasons ago?"
Shaurya met her gaze.
"Because unlike your generals, I've fought these monsters myself. Not in rumors, but in blood."
He reached into his satchel and pulled out a severed horn—black, jagged, and still pulsing with cursed energy.
The Durbar Hall fell silent. Even Rudrapratap's eyes narrowed.
"This… this is Rakshaka horn," said Vedanand. "Long extinct. Cursed beasts from the Age of Darkness."
Rudrapratap's Judgment
King Rudrapratap descended the steps of his throne, towering before Shaurya.
"You are brave. Perhaps mad. But not a liar."
He turned to his court.
"From this day forward, the Kingdom of Ashval will recognize Shaurya as sovereign of his land. A formal treaty will be signed—trade, knowledge, and arms. In return, we prepare for war."
Applause thundered through the court, mixed with the shocked gasps of traditionalists.
The Princess's Private Words
Later that evening, in the moonlit gardens of Vishragarh, Princess Arundhati intercepted Shaurya alone.
"You surprised me. Few men speak to my father like that and live."
Shaurya, sipping tulsi-infused wine, smiled faintly.
"I speak the truth. I do not fear those who live by honor."
She stepped closer, eyes now thoughtful.
"You remind me of the fire before the storm. Dangerous... and necessary. My father sees it too."
"And you?" he asked.
She smirked.
"I haven't decided yet."
In the Shadows…
Far away, in the blackened temples of Varkasena, a masked priest stared into a cauldron of blood and fire.
"The boy king unites the flame and the fang," he hissed. "We must act before the ash settles."
Dark forms emerged from behind him—monsters in half-human form, bearing the mark of the Mirror Cult.
"Let the blood rain begin."
To be continued....