"Your friends are worried about you," Trishan said, glancing over the letter sent by Savignya.
"Does it say how Rudra and Savignya are?" Arya asked, sitting on his bed with fresh bandages wrapped around his hands and head. His tone was sharp with worry.
"Yes. Rudra has woken up," Trishan replied without looking up. "Still weak, can't move much—but he's stable."
"And Savignya?" Arya pressed.
Trishan folded the letter and slipped it into his robe. "She's strong enough to survive a stab."
There was a pause. Arya leaned forward, his voice quieter now. "Last time she was here... there was something between you two. I noticed it. She looked happy to see you. You looked—different. Do you two know each other?"
Trishan didn't even blink. "That doesn't concern you. Eat your breakfast. You're being brought down today. You'll be shown how things work in the office. Stay focused on the high officers. Don't wander. Don't speak unless spoken to. And keep your hands away from anything that isn't yours."
Arya frowned, but said nothing for a moment. Then, with a bit of frustration bubbling up, he spoke. "Come on. I've been here three days already. The first two I barely knew where I was. Now I can think straight. I feel better. I don't know anyone here except you. I need to get back to my city. I can't stay here forever."
Trishan turned his head slowly, eyes hard. "You don't know who you're speaking to. I'm not your friend. You'll refer to me as 'Lord.' Speak only when spoken to. And forget about leaving. You're here until she says otherwise. And she rarely changes her mind."
Arya stared at him, caught between defiance and silence. He sat back on the edge of the bed, his thoughts racing. What was this place, really? Rankriti's domain was not like the rest of the Mandala. It was colder, more calculated. Every corner of this place seemed to hold a secret.
He got up and walked to the window. Below him stretched the heart of the city. Wide roads crisscrossed the land, connecting majestic halls, watchtowers, and bustling squares. Everything was pristine, efficient. Soldiers moved in formation. Couriers darted between buildings. Even from a distance, it was clear—this was a city designed for control.
Arya's chest tightened. Lohitpuri seemed so far away now. Rudra. Raghav. Ganak. All of them. What were they doing right now? Were they worried? Planning something? Did they trust he would return?
And yet... even with all the unease, part of him couldn't look away. The city was beautiful. More than that, it was fascinating. Its design, its discipline, the sheer size of it all—it pulled him in. For a fleeting moment, Arya forgot about the weight of the war, the bruises still healing across his body. He felt something strange. Something close to awe.
He turned from the window with a decision forming in his mind. He couldn't just sit here. He needed to see more of this place. Understand it. Explore it.
Without thinking much more, Arya stepped out of his room.
He walked down the corridor, the ceilings high above him, inlaid with motifs and markings he didn't recognize. Sunlight filtered through tall, narrow windows. The stone under his feet was cold and polished smooth.
He took a few steps further, his eyes tracing the archways above, when a hand fell on his shoulder.
It was firm, unyielding.
"You are being called by Her Grace," said a voice behind him.
Arya turned slowly.
"Come with me."