Chapter: The Shadow of Blood and the Declaration of War
The royal palace of Tejgarh always stood with an aura of unshakeable dignity, but today, a new tremor seemed to run through its very stones. The news had spread like a venomous serpent, slithering from ear to ear in hushed, horrified tones, until it finally coiled itself at the foot of Maharaj Tejendra's throne.
"Maharaj!" A young scout, his uniform caked in dust and sweat, stumbled into the council chamber, gasping for air. His eyes held the kind of terror that comes from witnessing the unspeakable. "Commander Raghuveer… he's gone. His tent… it's empty."
A silence fell, so profound it seemed to swallow even the distant murmur of the marketplace.
"Not empty, Maharaj," the scout stammered, his voice trembling. "Outside… there are blood spatters. Many of them. His shield, shattered, lies on the ground. And pieces of his armor… as if some terrible beast had torn through it."
The words hung in the air, poisonous and heavy. Then, Maharaj Tejendra's fists clenched. A sharp crack echoed from his knuckles. His eyes, usually pools of calm wisdom, ignited with a ferocious fire. This was not anger. This was a blazing hatred, old, bitter, and now freshly watered with blood.
"Neelgarh," his voice thundered through the hall, making every minister flinch. "Those cowards have abducted our most loyal commander… and likely murdered him. Now… now only war is justice. An insult written in blood can only be answered in blood."
The Preparation for War
That night, Tejgarh did not sleep. It awoke, and its awakening was one of iron and fire.
Thud-thud-THUD! The beat of war drums tore through the night's serenity. It was not a frightening sound, but a cruel rhythm that became the heartbeat of every citizen.
The potter's wheels were silent, replaced by the forges of blacksmiths, their sparks flying like angry stars into the dark sky. The clang of hammers clang-clang-CLANG forged a new, deadly melody. The sounds of saddles being cinched and bowstrings being tested echoed from every alley. And above it all, the war cries of young men a mix of exhilaration and rage chanted a single message: war is coming.
From village to village, farmers whose hands were accustomed to ploughs and hoes now felt the unfamiliar weight of heavy swords and sharp spears. Fear of the unknown flickered in their eyes, but a strange fervor was etched on their faces, as if the entire kingdom had become one vast, living creature, its veins pulsing with fury.
And above, in the sky, flocks of crows were more active than usual. They circled in wide, ominous loops, their harsh caw-caw-caw sounding like the first dirge for the coming bloodshed.
Far away, on the edge of the same valley where Vrajanath's blood had spilled, a solitary figure stood upon a high, barren cliff. Moonlight bathed one half of his face in mysterious silver, while the other half remained drowned in deep shadow. In his hand, calm and lethal, was the very sword that had severed Vrajanath's head. On his lips played a faint, dangerous smile—not one of joy, but of satisfaction at a precise plan falling into place.
And below, in the valley, the echoes of two kings' war chants began to rise. The sound was still distant, but it reached the ears of the man on the cliff. His smile widened.
The Council of Tejgarh
The next day's sun rose with a dreadful quiet. The atmosphere in the royal court was like the air before a lightning strike—heavy, and every word a potential spark.
Maharaj Tejendra's face was like carved stone. "Prime Minister," his voice was flat and hard, devoid of any inflection, "issue the orders for full war preparations. Every soldier, every weapon, every grain of rice all is to be dedicated to the war."
"As you command, Maharaj," the Prime Minister bowed, though a shadow of doubt lingered in his eyes that he did not voice.
It was then that Prince Agnivrat stepped forward. His presence was usually one of calm strength, but today it held a different kind of tension. "Maharaj," his voice cut through the chamber's silence, "a moment, please. Yes, Commander Raghuveer is missing, and there are bloodstains outside his tent. But does that directly mean Neelgarh took him? Could he have gone into hiding himself? Could this all be a conspiracy, aimed at pushing us into war?"
Maharaj Tejendra looked at his son. For the first time that night, Agni saw not just anger in his father's eyes, but a deep, personal agony—the pain that had seeped in from the memory of his sister Aparna burning on her pyre.
"No, Prince!" the Maharaj's voice roared. "You know the history between us and Neelgarh! That treachery runs in their veins! And Raghuveer… Raghuveer was my right hand. He does not hide. His blood… his blood is on my hands. And the account for it can only be settled with Neelgarh's blood."
"But Father," Agni said firmly, battling the turmoil within, "we have no concrete proof! No eyewitnesses! This could be the scheme of a third power, seeking to profit by setting us against each other. War without evidence"
"Enough!" The Maharaj's shout was so sharp an elderly minister nearby startled. "Are you ignorant of our history? Do you not know the meaning of loyalty to your commander? Shall we not avenge his blood?"
Agni looked into his father's eyes and saw no room for debate there. He saw only a burning field where no logic could grow.
"There will be war," the Maharaj stated with finality, his gaze locked on Agni. "And now it is up to you, Prince, whether you stand with your kingdom in this war… or not."
The words were a challenge, falling like a crack across the marble floor. The council was adjourned without another word. The declaration of war had been made.
Agni watched his father rise from the throne and walk away without a backward glance. The arguments in his mind stuck in his throat, useless.
At the Mother's Feet
At dusk, Agni went to the chambers of his mother, Maharani Aarunya. The air here held the scent of jasmine and peace, a stark contrast to the smell of steel and fear outside.
"Pranam, Mata Shree," he bowed his head respectfully.
"Ayushmaan Bhav, putra," the Maharani said with a gentle smile, though the same worry visible throughout the palace flickered in her eyes. "But you… seem troubled."
"Mother, the cause for worry is just that," Agni chose his words softly. "Father desires war, while the truth is still shrouded. War without proof… it will only bring destruction to both kingdoms. And have you heard? Outside Commander Raghuveer's tent… they also found the body of a Neelgarh soldier. This whole thing… feels very wrong."
The Maharani took a deep breath. "Son, your father has lost his most trusted commander. He is in grief. But trust, he will not make any decision alone. He will take the council's advice. Do not worry needlessly."
"But Mother," Agni's voice rose slightly, a childlike plea peeking from beneath his stoic strength, "war can be averted! We can negotiate! Send an envoy! Something…!"
The Maharani reached out lightly and touched Agni's cheek. Her touch was tender, but her eyes held a firmness a queen's firmness, who knew that sometimes, statecraft had no room for sentiment. "Your father will decide with wisdom, son. Now go, and have some food. It seems you haven't eaten all day."
Agni bowed his head. The weight on his mind had not lightened; it had grown heavier. "Yes, Mother."
The Council of Neelgarh
In Neelgarh's council hall, fire also raged, but it was the cold, merciless fury of the sea deep, ruthless, and crashing like waves.
"Maharaj!" a minister reported, his face flushed with anger. "Tejgarh has declared war! Using our commander's death as their excuse!"
A soldier, his hand bandaged, stepped forward. "We demand retribution, Maharaj! Vrajanath Sir's blood was spilled! Those cowards attacked by deceit! We must grind their bones to dust!"
Maharaj Anilraj's eyes were closed, as if digesting the pain. When he opened them, they held the solid ice of decision. "It is true. Tejgarh has not only crossed our border but destroyed the last possibility of peace. War… is now inevitable."
It was then that Prince Neervrat raised his voice. His tone lacked its usual vigor, filled instead with a weary pain. "Maharaj… can we not attempt a treaty before war? Send an envoy? Do we even know the full truth? Could this be someone else's conspiracy, wanting to make us fight?"
The Maharaj looked at his son. His gaze held displeasure, but beneath it lay a sorrow. "Prince, what kind of talk is this? Our own soldiers saw it Tejgarh's Commander Raghuveer, standing on our land, beheading Vrajanath. This is betrayal, not misconception. And now… now you must choose. Will you stand with your kingdom in this war, or not?"
The words were the same ones Agni had heard. The same challenge, in two different kingdoms.
Neer clenched his fist, his gaze fixed on the ground. In his mind floated Agni's face—that serious, honest face that had never lied. Did you do this, Agni? Did your men? But then he saw the grief for Vrajanath on his father's face, saw the fire for vengeance on his soldiers' faces.
He took a long, trembling breath. When he raised his eyes, they held no fervor, only a heavy, broken resolve. "Yes, Maharaj," his voice was almost a whisper. "I… am with you."
"Prime Minister," the Maharaj commanded, his voice shaking the room, "war will commence at dawn. The armies are to be ready. Council adjourned!"
Facing Solitude
The night deepened. Neer stood in his chamber, looking out the open window at the sea. Far away, clouds were gathering in the sky, as if nature itself was mourning the coming war.
Words churned in his mind, a painful dialogue that had never happened.
Oh Agni… that message, that warmth you sent… was it true? Or was it just a deception, to lull me into calm so your people could attack?
Will there ever be peace between our kingdoms now? Will this old hatred always stand between us?
This war… what devastation will it bring? How many homes will be ruined? How many mothers will weep? And we… where will we stand at its end?
It's a conspiracy… it has to be. But if not… if your people truly did this… then that friendship, that trust, all that we built… was it all a lie?
A tear, hot and futile, rolled from his eye and traced a path down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, like a prince, like a warrior.
He knew there was no path left now. Whatever the truth, whatever the conspiracy the wheel of war had turned. And he, Neervrat, had to stand with his father, his kingdom, his people. Even if it meant standing against his closest friend.
Far away, the unknown man on the cliff was still smiling. He had heard the war drums from both sides. His plan was succeeding.
War had arrived. And in its flames, the last ember of friendship was perhaps about to be extinguished.