The sun was sinking toward the west, casting a warm golden light across the endless grasslands. Six hours of near-continuous travel had left the soldiers sore and thirsty. Even the mighty war-horses, known for their strength, began to snort and slow down.
"Halt!" Vick's voice cut through the wind.
The order spread down the line, and the army stopped. Hooves stamped the earth, chariots creaked, and the air filled with the sound of men and beasts sighing in relief. Some soldiers got down from their horses to stretch stiff legs, while others loosened their armor straps to breathe more easily.
Vid followed their lead, grateful for the pause. His thighs ached from gripping the saddle too long, and a dull pain pulsed behind his eyes. The long ride had left him alone with his thoughts — and that was the problem.
Vick dismounted easily, moving among his men with the calm of a leader who knew each of them. When his gaze settled on Vid, there was no warmth, but no coldness either — just the steady look of someone who measured strength through silence.
"I've read you, boy," Vick said, stopping beside him. "The Rakshas destroyed your town. Killed your family. That's why you're here."
Vid's throat tightened, but he gave a quiet nod.
"You want strength," Vick went on. "Then you'll learn how this world works. We all carry something deeper than muscle or steel — we call it presence. The will made real. It's what turns an ordinary strike into something unstoppable, or keeps you standing when death is a breath away."
He motioned for Vid to sit. "Start with meditation. Close your eyes. Feel your breath. Empty your thoughts and sense the weight of yourself in the world."
Vid obeyed, lowering himself onto the grass. The sounds of the army faded — the chatter, the metal, the restless horses — until only his heartbeat filled the silence.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Then came the memories.
His home burning.
Beams cracking under the flames.
Rakshas shadows moving through the smoke.
His mother's scream.
His father's fall.
And worst of all, his little brother — reaching for him, eyes wide in terror, before disappearing into the chaos.
Vid's breath caught. His fists clenched so hard they hurt. The memories wouldn't fade. They weren't just pictures from the past — they were open wounds that never healed.
The grass blurred. His chest rose and fell, heavy with helplessness.
Vick's voice came from somewhere distant. "Focus, Vid. Presence begins with calm. If your mind is a storm, your blade will always waver."
But Vid shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. "I… can't."
He opened his eyes and stared at his trembling hands. For a moment, he felt small — just a boy among warriors, chasing a dream that felt too far to reach.
Vick crouched beside him, resting a steady hand on his shoulder. "Then we'll make you able," he said. "Step by step, until even the storm listens to you."
And for the first time, Vid believed it might be possible.
Boomipura — The Beating Heart of the Empire
Boomipura, capital of the Boomi Empire, was a city carved from both earth and sky. Golden towers rose into the clouds, and streets of dark basalt stretched far below. Thousands filled the avenues, their cheers rolling like thunder that could be heard even beyond the gates.
Today was no ordinary day — it was a day of celebration. Banners of victory fluttered in crimson and gold, shining under the morning sun. The Boomi army had finally triumphed at Dand Valley, driving the Rakshas back after weeks of brutal fighting.
But behind the joy was a quiet truth — this victory was just a pause before the next storm.
Inside the grand palace, incense thickened the air. Musicians played the veena and blew conch shells in deep, echoing tones. The marble floors gleamed under torchlight. At the center sat Emperor Parth Vij, wrapped in gold-threaded silk, his armor glinting faintly beneath.
He wasn't a king who ruled from comfort. Parth Vij was a warrior emperor — his left arm still wrapped in fresh bandages from Dand Valley, a faint mark of blood seeping through. His sharp eyes scanned the hall as nobles and generals arrived in their finest robes.
The Victory Feast had begun. Tables overflowed with roasted meat, spiced rice, honeyed bread, and wine. The hall buzzed with conversation, yet beneath the joy lingered the pulse of tension — like a drumbeat beneath the music.
The Emperor Speaks
When the last cups were filled and the chatter stilled, Emperor Parth Vij stood. His deep voice rolled through the chamber.
"People of Boomi. Warriors of my land. Today we celebrate victory at Dand Valley — not because we won, but because we endured."
The room fell silent.
"The Rakshas tried to break us with their beasts, their fire, their endless savagery. Yet we stand, our banners high over the valley they sought to claim. But do not grow careless. The enemy does not rest. Even now, their eyes turn toward Gangi Valley."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
"In two months," Parth continued, "the southern Rakshas troop, led by the Hirnya Brothers, will march on Gangi. That valley is the last shield before the central plains. If it falls, Boomipura will follow."
He looked to his generals. "So we will not wait. We'll march to Gangi Valley ourselves. We'll fight them on our ground — and end their advance before it begins."
The Council of Steel
After the feast, the nobles left, leaving only Parth and his war council — the Council of Steel.
A massive map covered the table, jade markers showing the empire's armies. Commander Arjan, his scarred face shadowed by the torchlight, pointed at Gangi Valley.
"The Hirnya Brothers are no ordinary foes," he said. "The younger, Suth, commands beasts from the Deep Wastes — creatures that tear through stone walls. The elder, Kaal, is a master of siege. If they come together, Gangi's passes won't hold."
Parth leaned over the table, armored hands pressing on the map. "Then we won't make Gangi a wall," he said. "We'll make it a spear. We'll strike first and bleed them before their siege even starts."
General Meera, the youngest and only woman on the council, spoke next. "If we move the Imperial Guard now, we'll reach Gangi in twenty-eight days — even using the sky-road vehicles. That leaves a month to fortify before they arrive."
"What about supplies?" asked Arjan. "A siege could last a year."
"Then we'll bring enough for two," Parth said firmly.
Shadows Behind the Celebration
Outside, the city remained bright and loud, but in the narrow alleys, whispers spread. Merchants spoke of shortages near the borders. Healers whispered about soldiers returning broken and burned.
An old veteran sat near the palace gates, one leg missing below the knee. "Victory?" he muttered. "Aye, we won Dand Valley. But the Hirnyas are coming. They bring the end with them."
The Emperor's Resolve
That night, Parth stood alone on the palace balcony. The wind carried the scent of flowers, but his thoughts were heavy. He remembered every name lost at Dand Valley. He thought of Gangi Valley's green slopes — soon to run red if he failed.
And he thought of the god Vishwa, said to have once walked the earth to save it. Some whispered that only Vishwa's return could end the Rakshas for good.
Parth wasn't sure he believed in gods. But he believed in steel, in will, and in the strength of his people.
Preparations Begin
By dawn, the empire was awake. Smiths hammered new swords and armor. Massive war-horses stamped in the stables, their coats gleaming in the sun. From old imperial vaults, engineers dragged out ancient vehicles powered by rare lumen stones, long buried beneath the earth.
Messengers rode out across provinces, summoning troops. Farmers near the borders were moved inland, their lands turned into supply bases.
In the heart of the city, the Imperial Guard assembled — rows of warriors in shining armor, shields at their knees, spears upright. The rhythm of their boots echoed like thunder.
The Oath of Gangi
Fifteen days after the feast, Parth stood before the assembled army. His voice carried across the courtyard.
"Men and women of Boomi, the time for rest is over. Ahead lies Gangi Valley — the heart of our defense. The Rakshas think they can burn our world. They are wrong. We are the rain that will quench their fire. We are the shield that will not break. We are the sword that will strike until they fall!"
He raised his blade — Surya's Fang — and the army roared as one:
"For Boomi! For the Emperor! For Gangi!"
Two Months of Shadows
While preparations continued, scouts brought grim news — the Rakshas were on the move. Villages along the Deep Wastes reported shapes in the mist and skies glowing red at night.
The Hirnya Brothers were coming.
And in the silent hours, Emperor Parth often stood at his window, looking south toward the mountains, knowing that valley would soon decide everything.
He was ready to face them. But somewhere deep inside, a faint voice whispered — what if the stories of Vishwa were true, and without divine help, even their steel would break?
Still, he would not yield. The banners of Boomi would fly over Gangi, or he would die trying.
The drums of war echoed once more across the empire.
Far Across the Sea — Madhurpuri
Across the seas, in the golden city of Madhurpuri, capital of the Mathur Empire, unease hung in the air. Rumors spread through the streets like fire.
Deep inside the imperial prison, Emperor Kanq walked slowly through the cold corridors. Torches flickered against the stone walls. His black armor, etched with blood-red sigils, clinked with every step.
At the farthest cell sat a frail old man — hair silver, clothes torn, but his eyes still sharp. It was Kanq's father — once an emperor, now a prisoner.
Kanq stopped at the bars, his voice low and venomous. "Where is the boy? The one foretold to kill me? Tell me, Father."
The old man lifted his head, his voice rough but steady. "My greatest sin was bringing you into this world. Your heart is beyond saving. But the Lord Vishwa will end you — and all who follow your path."
Kanq's eyes narrowed, but the old man pressed on. "The prophecy was true. Your death will come from your sister's son. You thought you stopped it when you killed her… but I saved her child. My grandson lives. And one day, he'll return to destroy you."
For a moment, silence. Then Kanq's face twisted with fury. "Then I'll crush him too! I'll burn every prophecy, every savior this world dares to raise!"
He drew his curved blade in a blur of motion.
The steel flashed — and the old man's head fell.
Blood pooled on the stone floor, reflecting the torchlight.
Kanq sheathed his sword and looked down coldly. "I, Kanq, will tear this world apart and rule what's left," he said. His voice was iron — a promise of ruin to come.
Outside, the wind howled through the towers of Madhurpuri, carrying his words into the dark — a darkness that now had a name.