The sun was sinking behind the horizon, bleeding red and gold into the darkening sky. The Mauryan palace courtyard looked peaceful on the surface—too peaceful. The faint fragrance of jasmine floated in the air, carried by a soft evening breeze. Yet beneath that beauty, Rudura could feel it: the same gnawing tension that had been growing for days.
Sabara was late.
That was unusual. The man had been punctual to a fault ever since Rudura first started observing him closely. But now… there was a gap in the pattern. And gaps meant something was happening. Something Rudura needed to understand before it swallowed him.
He sat on the palace steps, the polished stone cool under his palms. In the fading light, his shadow stretched long and thin across the courtyard, almost as if it wanted to escape him. A servant passed by carrying a tray of brass cups filled with milk. Rudura waved him off. His stomach was tight—not from hunger, but from anticipation.
Footsteps. Finally.
Sabara emerged from the far side of the courtyard, his movements slow, his eyes scanning the surroundings in that deceptively casual way that always gave him away. He didn't walk straight to Rudura; instead, he paused to exchange a few words with a palace guard. His tone was light, even friendly, but his hands stayed clasped behind his back. Controlled. Measured.
When he finally approached, Rudura noticed something else—a faint crease between Sabara's brows. Worry, maybe. Or calculation.
"You seem lost in thought, young master," Sabara said, his voice as steady as ever.
Rudura tilted his head, letting his expression shift into mild curiosity. "I was wondering where you've been."
Sabara's lips curved slightly. "Tending to matters beyond the palace. Not everything can be seen from within these walls."
Rudura studied him. That was a strange way to phrase it. Almost as if Sabara wanted him to know there was more happening—just not enough to tell him directly.
He decided not to push. Not yet.
"I see," Rudura said lightly. "Sometimes I wonder how much the outside world changes while I'm stuck here."
Sabara gave a quiet chuckle, but there was no real amusement in his eyes. "Change is constant, young master. The question is whether one is ready for it."
They began walking together along the edge of the courtyard, their footsteps echoing faintly against the stone. The last light of day was fading into deep blue, and the first stars were beginning to prick the sky. Torches flickered along the palace walls, their flames dancing in the wind.
"You've been asking many questions lately," Sabara said after a pause. "About history. About politics. About people you've never met."
Rudura kept his gaze ahead. "Is curiosity a crime?"
"Not a crime," Sabara said slowly. "But curiosity can be… dangerous. Especially if the wrong ears hear the wrong questions."
The words were gentle, but they landed heavy. Rudura let the silence stretch before answering. "And whose ears would those be?"
Sabara didn't answer immediately. He glanced toward the palace gates, where the guards now stood in pairs, spears glinting in the torchlight. "The palace has more eyes than you think. And more shadows."
Rudura's mind ticked. He could feel the conversation sliding toward something important, something Sabara was tiptoeing around. But he had to be careful—push too hard, and the man might retreat entirely.
"You think I'm careless," Rudura said quietly.
"I think," Sabara replied, "that you are not as young as you pretend to be. And that makes others uneasy."
That hit closer than Rudura liked. His heart gave a small, involuntary jolt, but he kept his face calm. "Perhaps they just underestimate me."
Sabara's gaze lingered on him, sharp and unreadable. "Underestimation can be a weapon. But so can suspicion."
The air between them felt heavier now. The sound of the torches crackling seemed louder, the shadows stretching longer. Rudura wondered—was Sabara warning him out of genuine concern, or was this a test?
He decided to test something of his own.
"Tell me," Rudura said, lowering his voice just enough to make it intimate, "have you ever met anyone from the Roman Empire?"
It was subtle, just a drop into the still water of conversation. But Sabara's reaction was immediate. His shoulders stiffened ever so slightly, his gaze flicking away before returning. "Why do you ask?"
"I read about them," Rudura said with a shrug that was meant to seem harmless. "Allies of the Gupta Empire. Traders. Warriors. It made me wonder what kind of people they are."
Sabara's lips pressed into a thin line. "They are… unlike us. Their ways, their weapons, their ambitions. The Romans do not see the world as we do."
That was vague. Too vague.
"And yet," Rudura said, "we deal with them."
Sabara's eyes hardened, but his voice remained calm. "Gold for steel. That is the arrangement. It has been so for years. Nothing more."
Rudura could tell there was more. The tiny shifts in Sabara's breathing, the way his gaze darted toward the darkened edge of the courtyard—it all hinted at something unspoken. But whatever it was, Sabara wasn't ready to share.
Not yet.
They reached the far side of the courtyard, where a low stone wall overlooked the city. Below, lanterns glowed like scattered stars, and the distant sound of markets winding down drifted up on the breeze. The world beyond the palace seemed alive in a way that the marble halls never were.
Sabara rested his hands on the wall, looking out. "You see that?" he said quietly. "Every light down there is a life. Every life has its own story. Some are harmless. Some are not."
Rudura joined him, letting his gaze sweep over the city. "And some," he said softly, "are dangerous because they believe they're doing the right thing."
Sabara's head turned sharply toward him. The flicker of torchlight caught in his eyes. "Where did you hear that?"
"Nowhere," Rudura said, meeting his gaze. "Just something I thought of."
They stood there for a long moment, the silence between them sharp and taut. Then Sabara straightened, his expression unreadable again. "Be careful with thoughts like that. They can draw attention you do not want."
As they walked back toward the palace entrance, Rudura felt the air shift again. He'd learned something tonight—not facts, but fault lines. Sabara knew more about the Romans than he let on. And he was beginning to suspect that Rudura's curiosity was not the innocent kind.
The game between them had just deepened.
And Rudura intended to win
Sabara's brow furrowed as if my question had dug into a place he rarely allowed anyone to touch."The Romans…" he muttered, tasting the word like it was both familiar and dangerous. "They are not like the kingdoms we know. They are… different."
His tone carried the weight of both admiration and warning. He sat down on the smooth stone floor, motioning for me to do the same. I obeyed—partly because I wanted him to talk more, partly because something in his eyes told me this was a conversation that demanded patience.
"They build cities," Sabara continued, "but not the kind we build. Ours grow slowly—markets, temples, walls. Theirs are… planned. Every road, every building, every archway is placed with thought. They do not waste space. And yet—" he paused, almost hesitating to speak the next part, "—their beauty is not like ours. It is… cold. Perfect, but without soul."
I tilted my head. "Without soul?"
Sabara nodded. "You'll understand if you see it. Their cities are made of stone that feels eternal, yet their people… are restless. Always reaching for more. More gold, more land, more power. It is in their blood."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "The Gupta Empire trades with them. Gold flows from our lands into theirs, and in return they send us weapons—blades sharper than anything our smiths can forge, armor light yet stronger than bronze. And something else…" His eyes shifted briefly, scanning the shadows as though afraid they might overhear him. "Machines. Strange, dangerous machines that only they know how to make."
Machines? My mind instantly jumped to my old world—gears, pulleys, siege weapons, maybe even early mechanical devices. Could the Romans here be centuries ahead of where they should be? If that was true, the balance of power in this world might be very different from what I had learned in history books.
"What kind of machines?" I asked, careful not to sound too eager.
Sabara hesitated, then said, "I've only seen drawings. Carts that move without oxen. Towers that roll on wheels to breach city walls. Even great ships that move against the wind."
Ships that move against the wind… could they have developed early forms of steam power? That would be absurd for this timeline—yet here, absurdity might simply be reality.
Sabara's voice softened, but his eyes stayed sharp."You're asking a lot about things most children never think of," he said. "Even grown men don't concern themselves with who trades with whom. So… why you?"
I tilted my head, letting my face slip into the half-innocent, half-curious expression I'd been perfecting these past few weeks."I just… like knowing things," I replied, dragging my words like a child thinking as he speaks. "If I know things, I can be… ready."
That last word seemed to hang in the air between us.Sabara's gaze narrowed almost imperceptibly."Ready for what?"
I shrugged. "For… whatever comes. My father says kings must always be ready."
It wasn't a lie, not entirely. My father, in this life, was a king. And kings who weren't ready were just decorations on a throne — until someone tore them down.
Sabara didn't answer immediately. His eyes drifted toward the window, where a strip of sunlight had stretched across the floor like a blade of gold."The Romans are… complicated," he began at last. "They are not like us. They build high walls, march in perfect lines, and speak in a tongue that sounds like stone striking metal. They are rich, but their wealth is… restless. They never stop wanting."
His tone grew quieter, almost wary. "When men never stop wanting, they never stop taking."
I let that sentence settle in my mind like a puzzle piece clicking into place."So they'll take from us one day?"
He gave me a sharp look, as though I had overstepped."They take from everyone. But the Gupta Empire is not a lamb. It is a lion. And lions do not fear… though they may still bleed."
It was poetic in its own way, but my mind was already pulling apart his words. They may still bleed. Sabara knew something. Or maybe he'd seen something — the kind of thing advisers keep locked away behind their calm expressions.
I leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice in the way that makes adults instinctively mirror you."Have they… made the lion bleed before?"
Sabara studied me for a long, uncomfortable stretch. Finally, he exhaled."Yes. Once. Long ago. But that's not a story for today."
It was the perfect answer for a child to hear — frustratingly vague, loaded with just enough weight to keep me hooked. Which meant it was exactly what I needed.
"Can you tell me another day?" I pressed, tilting my head like I was asking for a bedtime story.
His lips twitched in something between amusement and hesitation. "Perhaps. But if I do… you must promise never to repeat it."
I nodded quickly. "I promise."Inside, I smiled. Promises are paper — they can be burned.
Sabara shifted the topic abruptly. "You ask about the Romans, but do you know who they ask about?"
That caught me off guard."They… ask about us?"
"They ask about you."
The air in the room seemed to still for a moment.
"Me?" I asked, making sure the surprise in my voice sounded genuine."Yes. Word travels, even across seas. The Romans hear whispers — of a young prince who listens more than he speaks. Who learns too quickly for his age. They are curious. And curiosity…" He trailed off.
"…can be dangerous," I finished for him.
His eyes lingered on me with something unreadable. Perhaps suspicion. Perhaps respect. Perhaps both."You understand more than you should," he said finally.
I met his gaze, letting my expression flicker between innocence and something sharper — just enough for him to wonder which was real."Or maybe," I said quietly, "I understand exactly as much as I should."
He chuckled, but it didn't reach his eyes."You are your father's son."
And just like that, the conversation was over. Or at least, it seemed to be. Sabara excused himself, his sandals whispering against the stone floor as he left the chamber.
But I didn't move for a long time. I sat there, replaying every word, every pause, every shadow in his tone. The Romans weren't just traders. They were predators — patient, calculating. And they knew of me.
That changed everything.
If they were already curious, then one day, they might be interested. And interest from men like that… was never harmless.
A slow breath escaped my lips. I would need to know more — much more — before they decided to come looking. And Sabara, whether he knew it or not, had just confirmed that he was the perfect source.
That night, lying in my small bed, I stared at the ceiling. The flickering light from a dying oil lamp danced across the walls, casting shapes that seemed to whisper possibilities.I thought of Sabara's warning, of his hesitation when he spoke of machines, of his almost fearful respect for the Romans.
And I knew one thing for certain: I had to learn more.
But I also knew something else.The entity that sent me here had said, a gift always has a price.The Romans might be part of that price.
(Continued In Chapter 18)