The Roots of Revenge and a Brother's Fear
The royal chambers of Himgiri were no longer a place of quiet strategy but a cage for Prince Yuvraj's boiling fury. He stormed into Mantri Shamsher's private quarters, not waiting for an announcement. The older man was calmly reviewing a scroll, but he looked up, unsurprised.
"Mantri ji," Yuvraj's voice was a low, dangerous growl, his usual composure shattered. "What have you done? You actually deployed the Kaltatva? You poisoned Chandrapuri's land! This was not what we discussed!"
Mantri Shamsher placed the scroll down slowly, his expression one of calm reason. "My Prince, see the opportunity, not the method. Chandrapuri weakens by the hour. This is the perfect moment to strike. With their people dying and their spirits broken, they will have no choice but to accept any alliance we propose. Even a marital one."
Yuvraj slammed his fist on the table, making the ink pot rattle. "I have told you, again and again, I will not attack Chandrapuri! I do not want a bride who comes to me out of fear and desperation! I want Mrinal to choose me!"
"Then consider the other path," Shamsher's voice was a silken trap. "When Chandrapuri is at its weakest, you go to Maharaja Rohit not as a conqueror, but as a savior. You offer him everything—grain, medicine, soldiers, gold—to save his kingdom. In return, you ask for his daughter's hand. It would be a logical, political decision for him. A life-saving alliance. And Rajkumari Mrinal, seeing you as her kingdom's rescuer, would have no reason to refuse. She already considers you her dearest friend."
Yuvraj stared at him, the twisted logic slithering into his mind. To be seen as a savior... to have Mrinal look at him not just as a friend, but as a hero...
But the image of her tear-streaked face, the sound of her broken sobs, flashed in his mind. "And what if something happens to her because of this plague? What then, Mantri? Your 'savior' plan would be for nothing! And I swear, if any harm comes to Mrinal because of your actions, I will not leave you alive to see your plans succeed." He leaned in, his eyes burning. "And for your information, Prince Devansh has already gone to Mayapuri to find the antidote. We don't need your twisted 'help'."
He turned on his heel and strode out, leaving the Mantri in the sudden silence. The door slammed shut with a finality that echoed through the room.
The moment Yuvraj was gone, the mask of the calm strategist melted from Mantri Shamsher's face. He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the mighty, snow-capped peaks of Himgiri. But he did not see their beauty. He saw another land, a cursed and blighted place.
A deep, shuddering sigh escaped him. His shoulders, usually held so straight, slumped. He was no longer a cunning minister, but a broken man haunted by ghosts.
"Kyun kar raha hoon main yeh sab?" he whispered to the empty room, his voice cracking. (Why am I doing all this?)
His mind drifted back, not to a strategy, but to a memory. A small, humble but happy home in a village on the outskirts of Mayapuri. He was not always Shamsher, the minister. He was just Ravi, a simple man with a loving wife, Lakshmi, whose laughter could light up the darkest day, and a bright-eyed little boy, Anuj, who dreamed of being a warrior.
Mayapuri was not always a land of shadows. Once, it was just a kingdom, with its own struggles, but also its own joys. Their life was simple, but it was full of love.
The change came with the new Raja of Mayapuri. He delved into forbidden, dark arts, seeking power to dominate neighboring kingdoms. The land began to sicken. The skies darkened, and the people lived in fear. When a wealthy merchant's house was robbed, the Raja, paranoid and cruel, needed to make an example. The blame fell on Ravi's neighbor. But the neighbor was cunning and had connections. He falsely testified, pointing the finger at Ravi.
There was no trial. No justice. The Raja's guards stormed into his happy home. He was beaten and dragged away. The last thing he saw was his wife, Lakshmi, screaming his name, trying to shield their son, Anuj, as the guards roughly seized them too.
His voice broke as he remembered the next day. He was forced to watch, from the confines of a filthy cell, as a platform was erected in the central square. His beautiful, kind Lakshmi. His brave, little Anuj, who was only eight years old. The noose...
Tears, hot and shameful, streamed down the old minister's face now. He clutched the windowsill, his knuckles white.
"They hanged them..." he sobbed into the silence, the pain as fresh as if it were yesterday. "For a crime I did not commit... they took my entire world from me... my light, my reason for living..."
He had escaped in the ensuing chaos of a border skirmish, his heart turned to ash, his soul consumed by a single, burning purpose: revenge. Not just on the Raja of Mayapuri, but on the very concept of kingdoms and their unjust rulers. He had shed his identity, becoming Shamsher, "The Sword," and worked his way into the court of Himgiri, the most powerful mountain kingdom. He would make them all pay. He would use Himgiri's power to destroy others, and then, when it was at its peak, he would orchestrate its downfall from within. It was a slow, patient poison of his own.
He wiped his tears with a trembling hand, his grief hardening once more into a familiar, cold resolve.
"Haan..." he whispered, his voice now firm with a terrible certainty. "Main karunga. Apne mission mein main jaroor kamyab hounga." (Yes... I will do it. I will surely succeed in my mission.)
The broken man was gone, replaced once more by the vengeful ghost. The fate of kingdoms was a game to him, a means to an end to soothe a pain that would never heal.
---
In Suryapuri, the atmosphere was equally grim. Prince Virendra sat by his father's bedside. Maharaja Viraj's condition had worsened. His skin was hot to the touch, his breathing labored. Maharani Sheetal tirelessly applied cool cloths to his forehead, her face a mask of silent prayer.
A general entered the room, bowing low. "My Prince," he reported, his voice heavy. "The news from the border villages is dire. The plague spreads unchecked. And... we have confirmed reports. The same sickness has taken hold in Chandrapuri."
Virendra's head snapped up. "Chandrapuri? Are you certain?"
"Yes, My Prince. Their Prince Devansh... he has reportedly gone to Mayapuri to seek a cure."
Virendra's heart clenched. Mayapuri. The name was a curse. If Devansh was there... then Aaditya was almost certainly with him. The two were inseparable, bound by a destiny Virendra was only beginning to understand.
He looked at his father's suffering form, then out the window at his own ailing kingdom. A cold dread settled in his stomach, colder than the highest peaks of Himgiri.
He clenched his fists, a silent, desperate plea sent out across the miles to the brother he loved more than anything.
"Aadi..." he whispered. "I hope you are safe. I hope you are with Dev. Please... just come back soon."
The fate of two kingdoms now rested in the most cursed place on earth, and all he could do was wait, and hope.