Arya followed the guard in silence, unsure of where he was being taken. The man led him through quiet corridors until they reached the main office chambers. The guard gestured toward the open space inside. Arya stepped in.
It was the first time he had seen this side of the castle.
The room was vast, orderly, and intimidating in its silence. High officers worked at their desks, exchanging papers and recording details. Every movement seemed rehearsed, and every word spoken was necessary. There were no wasted actions, no idle chatter. Arya looked around, trying to understand what all this work meant. He saw order—but to him, it felt distant.
He glanced at the stacks of papers and scrolls being moved from one desk to another. Nothing excited him. This wasn't his world. Paperwork was a formality; Arya had always believed in actions more than signatures. Still, he observed. Every officer knew their task. Every step had its place. It was very different from Lohitpuri, where chaos and tension coexisted with duty. Here, things moved without resistance.
At the center sat Trishan, on a tall chair behind a wide desk. His expression was unreadable. He signed papers, asked brief questions, and gave short instructions. The room operated around him.
Arya's eyes scanned the hall again. He didn't understand how it all functioned so smoothly, but he could feel the weight of it. And yet, it all felt too rigid. Too clean. He missed the loud arguments, the sudden decisions, the chaos that somehow made sense to him. This discipline—it wasn't his way.
Trishan looked up. He signaled to the guard, who walked Arya to a chair and made him sit.
Arya sat without protest. His gaze moved from desk to desk. He watched how the officers moved, how the room responded to Trishan's nods. He looked at Trishan, but the man ignored him. Arya sighed. He was already losing patience.
Minutes passed. Then Trishan stood up.
"Walk with me," he said, not looking back. "And remember to shut up."
Arya followed him. They climbed the narrow stairs to the upper floor, eventually stepping out onto the terrace. Arya remembered this place. The breeze was fresh, the view enormous. Creepers climbed the carved stone walls. From here, the city stretched out beneath him like a living map. Arya paused, looking out.
A figure sat at the far end of the terrace. Arya's eyes narrowed.
Trishan walked ahead and bowed. "Your grace, Arya is here."
"Thank you, Trishan."
Arya saw the woman rise from the chair. She was tall, taller than he remembered. Her presence was overwhelming, her shadow falling over him like a curtain.
"Well done on winning the war," she said, stepping toward him. "You showed what a true leader looks like. You took responsibility for the war and the bloodshed."
Arya looked up at her, his body still aching, bandages tight around his ribs and arms. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The memory of the battlefield was hazy, but the feeling—of standing face-to-face with this same woman—was unmistakable.
"You have shown bravery," Rankriti continued. "I have an offer for you. Join my ranks and fight for me. You will never have to worry about a thing after today."
Her words were calm, but there was something else underneath—something firm, unbending.
"You are a member of Yamsabha. You reached there after killing Upendra. I feel you never wanted to do all of that. You just wanted to survive, isn't it? But that doesn't seem to be the case now."
Arya remained quiet.
She was right. He hadn't planned any of this. At first, he just wanted to escape the pit, survive the next battle, protect the twins, stay one step ahead. But everything had changed.
He thought defeating Sharvas would bring control, maybe peace. But standing here, with Rankriti in front of him and the entire capital behind her, he realized power had different levels.
Should he accept the offer? Should he stay here in this city, where everything seemed powerful, beautiful—and cold? Or should he go back to Lohitpuri, to Rudra, to the twins, to the life he had fought to build?
He didn't know yet. He was thinking. Weighing.
But he did know one thing—the shadow of this woman stretched far and deep.
And in that moment, Arya felt like a fish caught in a net.