Parthian Empire.
City — Yazd.
It was well past golden hour.
Darkness had settled fully over the city, swallowing the last traces of light. Mana Stone and Lanp Lights flickered to life along the streets, their glow reflecting faintly off stone and metal, casting long, shifting shadows.
The city had quieted.
Most had retreated indoors—behind shuttered windows and closed doors. What remained outside were fragments of life: guards pacing their routes, laughter spilling from taverns and pleasure houses, and figures who moved with purpose best left unspoken—those who thrived under the cover of night.
Above it all rose the citadel.
Perched at the highest tier of the asymmetrical city, it stood watch over everything below. Here, the presence of the Royal Guard thickened. What had been scattered patrols in the lower districts became disciplined formations, posted at every approach, every corridor, every vantage point.
Tonight was not ordinary.
Two members of the royal family were in residence.
And with them—ministers, generals, and those whose decisions shaped the fate of kingdoms.
In one of the open courtyards, beneath carved stone arches and soft light from the mana stones, a young woman sat in quiet repose, parchment resting gracefully in her hands as she indulged in the calm that followed her meal.
She seemed no more than nineteen—perhaps on the cusp of twenty—but carried herself with a composure that belonged to someone far more accustomed to being observed than overlooked.
Her complexion held a natural, luminous fairness, not stark, but warm—like polished ivory catching the gentlest light. Even the faintest glow from the lamps seemed to linger upon her skin, as though reluctant to leave.
Her features bordered on meticulous refinement. Eyes, slightly larger than usual, held a striking blue—clear, steady, and jewel-like, reminiscent of finely cut sapphire under still water. Her nose was straight and precise, lending definition to her profile, while her face retained a soft roundness, her cheeks full enough to soften the sharpness without diminishing her poise.
Her hair fell in a long, unbound cascade—light brown, touched faintly by gold where the light found it. It reached her waist in soft, natural waves, moving with an ease that seemed almost deliberate, as though even the air treated it with care.
She was dressed in garments of Persian fashion—modest in structure, yet unmistakably refined. A long, flowing tunic of fine, lightweight fabric draped over her form, its pale hue softened by the evening light. The sleeves were loose and extended to her wrists, the edges subtly embroidered with restrained patterns that revealed craftsmanship without ostentation.
A fitted underlayer traced her silhouette beneath, giving shape without immodesty, while a soft sash rested at her waist, tied with quiet precision. Over it all, a light outer robe fell open just enough to allow ease of movement, its fabric richer, its texture catching the light in faint, shifting tones.
There was a quiet deliberateness to her appearance—as if nothing about her had been left to chance.
Her figure reflected the same balance. Slender at the waist, with gentle, natural curves that neither demanded attention nor failed to hold it, her form carried an understated elegance. Everything about her—posture, presence, even stillness—fit together with an ease that spoke not just of care, but of upbringing.
She did not merely sit in the courtyard.
She belonged to it.
As she turned a page, her quiet was broken by a voice she did not particularly welcome.
"Sister… what occupies your attention this late?" the voice asked.
She recognized it immediately—her younger brother, heir to their father's throne.
"Why should it concern you, Otanes?" she replied, not lifting her gaze from the page.
"I was merely curious," Otanes said, taking the seat opposite her without waiting for leave.
Shirin exhaled softly before straightening, placing the parchments as is as she finally chose to acknowledge him.
"Reports," she said. "From the eastern and northern regions… and the Valangar Kingdom."
Otanes studied her for a moment before speaking.
"Do you truly intend to remain in Bactria for the entire duration of his stay?" he asked, taking a seat opposite her. "You are aware that Father's instruction was merely for you to meet him—and then return."
"That may be so," Shirin replied evenly, "but this is my decision, and I intend to remain."
She paused, softening her tone—if only slightly.
"And I am aware of your concern. Rest assured, should the situation turn dangerous, I will depart at once."
Otanes did not look convinced.
"Then why," she continued, watching him now, "are you so insistent on my returning early? Surely you do not consider the enemy to be a serious threat."
"It is not that," Otanes said after a moment. "But the Yuvraj… from what I have observed—and from what Garuda has written—his presence is not like that of others."
Shirin's expression remained unchanged, though her attention sharpened.
"He radiates a mana aura far stronger than most," Otanes went on. "And you are… particularly sensitive to such things. More so than I am."
A brief silence followed.
"I am aware of the reports," Shirin said at last. "Both rumor and intelligence speak of his vast reserves of mana—and, more importantly, of his control over it."
She met his gaze steadily.
"And in any case… it is something I will have to grow accustomed to, sooner or later."
Shirin broke eye contact and returned to her reading, lifting the parchments once more as she leaned back into her seat.
"If you are concerned for me," she said, her gaze still fixed upon the text, "then speak of the Yuvraj. Anything that may prove useful. You have met him once and remained in the capital of Valangar for several weeks. And you maintain correspondence with his younger brother, Rajkumar Garuda."
Otanes regarded her quietly.
"Before I answer that," he said at length, "tell me, sister—why does he interest you so? Surely it is not solely because he is to be your husband."
This time, Shirin did not look up immediately.
When she spoke, her voice was calm—but edged with something firmer.
"You speak as though that were an insufficient reason."
A brief pause.
"Or have you forgotten how matters unfolded for our mother?" she continued, her tone even. "She did not see the need to remain close to Father—did not secure her place beside him—until it was already too late."
Shirin lowered the parchment slightly.
"By then, others had done what she had not. They had established themselves within the court… and, more importantly, through their sons, our siblings."
Her gaze lifted to meet his.
"And so, despite Father's support, your position is not as unassailable as it ought to be. There are those with both influence and standing enough to contest your claim."
A measured pause.
"I have no intention of placing myself—or my future—in a similar position."
"Well… you make a compelling argument," Otanes said with a quiet sigh.
"Then speak of what you know of him," Shirin replied.
Otanes inclined his head slightly before continuing.
"To begin with, I do not believe you need concern yourself with the presence of a mistress or any such attachment. From the letters exchanged between Garuda and myself, the Yuvraj appears to keep no such company."
He paused briefly.
"And from what little else we have been able to gather, he seems… largely uninterested in such pursuits. There have been attempts—numerous, by all accounts—but none have succeeded."
A faint hint of amusement touched his expression.
"From one account we managed to obtain, it would seem that nothing has proven effective thus far."
Shirin listened, then spoke after a brief pause.
"That would seem consistent," she said. "He is, by all accounts, exceptionally intelligent. It would not be surprising if he found most company… unremarkable."
She tilted her head slightly, thoughtful.
"And yet, it is difficult to believe that not a single woman—from any court or courtesan house—has managed to hold his interest."
"Courtesans…" Otanes repeated under his breath, a faint crease forming between his brows.
"From what we have been able to determine," he continued, "he does not frequent such establishments. In fact, it is only recently that he is said to have visited one in person. And it was by luck we even found out."
He paused.
"As for what transpired within, we have no clear account. However, it is certain that he departed with a number of musicians."
Otanes leaned back slightly.
"Beyond that, nothing of note has reached us."
He was quiet for a moment before continuing.
"But, sister… I do not deny his intelligence," he said. "The numerical system we now use is attributed to him, and with each arrival of traders from their kingdom comes some new method, some new piece of knowledge."
He paused, his gaze narrowing slightly in thought.
"And yet… is it truly so extraordinary?"
Shirin did not respond immediately.
Instead, she set the parchment aside with quiet deliberation, as though arranging her thoughts before speaking.
"It is," she said at last.
Otanes looked unconvinced, but did not interrupt.
"Begin with the numerical system,"[1] Shirin continued. "You call it impressive—and it is—but you are not considering its full implication."
She leaned back slightly.
"It is not merely a new way to write numbers. It simplifies calculation, reduces error, and allows for far greater speed in trade, taxation, and record-keeping. A system like that does not remain confined to scholars—it spreads. And when it does, it reshapes how a kingdom functions."
A brief pause.
"That alone would be noteworthy."
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
"But then consider the laws."[2]
Otanes frowned faintly, listening now with more attention.
"From what little has reached us, they are… unusual," Shirin said. "Each one, in isolation, appears sound. Sensible, even. And yet, when viewed together, they form something far more deliberate."
She folded her hands in her lap.
"They account not only for present conditions, but for outcomes—consequences that would arise only after time has passed. As though the one who devised them had already considered how they would be tested… and adjusted for it in advance."
A small pause followed.
"It is not how laws are typically written."[3]
Now Otanes' expression shifted—less dismissive, more thoughtful.
"And then there is what little we know of their academic circles," Shirin continued. "Traveling scholars, monks, traders—each brings fragments. Methods of calculation, structured learning, ways of teaching that appear… organized, rather than incidental."[4]
After that, Shirin gathered several parchments and began reading from them—each detailing measures attributed to Hamsa, policies enacted, reforms introduced. As she spoke, she did not rush. Each point was laid out with care, as though she were presenting a case rather than merely recounting information.
Otanes listened in silence, allowing her to finish before he spoke.
"Sister," he said at last, studying her more closely now, "seeing you like this… I am no longer certain whether your interest in him stems merely from the expectations of your arranged marriage… or..."
Shirin paused, her expression shifting—not offended, but faintly puzzled.
"Otanes," she said, "were you not listening?"
She set the parchments aside.
"Even if the matter of marriage were removed entirely, I would still find him… worthy of interest."
A brief pause followed.
"That was the point I have been making all along."
"Do not misunderstand me, sister," Otanes said quietly. "But I believe you may already hold… deeper feelings for him[5]—despite never having met him."
He watched her carefully before continuing.
"It is rare for you to speak of anyone with such sustained interest," he added. "Rarer still—with that measure of… pride."
Shirin froze.
Color rose to her cheeks far more visibly this time, her grip tightening slightly around the parchment as her eyes darted away from him.
"W-What are you even saying?" she shot back, a little too quickly. "That's—no, that's not what this is."
She turned away more fully now, as if suddenly very interested in the arrangement of the pages in her hands.
"I just… I find him impressive, that's all," she continued, her voice a touch uneven. "Anyone would, given everything we've come to know."
A brief pause.
"And it's not like I've even met him," she added, quieter now, almost to herself. "So how could it be anything like that…"
Then, catching herself, she straightened—forcing her tone back into something firmer.
"You're being ridiculous, Otanes."
Otanes watched her for a moment longer, something like realization settling in.
If what Garuda wrote is even half true… then once they meet, once she spends time with him… she will fall for him.
He exhaled quietly.
Setting aside the matter of his mana, of course.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
I only hope the Yuvraj proves worthy of it. Though, if Garuda's words are anything to go by… she may be the one forced to put in the effort.
His gaze lingered on her, thoughtful now.
If anything, he should consider himself fortunate. To have her as a wife…
The smirk deepened, tinged with quiet pride.
My sister does not give her affection lightly. She spoils me regardless of how stupid my acts are,..
He shook his head slightly.
I cannot imagine how far she would go for the man she comes loves.
That same pride lingered on his face—subtle, but unmistakable.
Shirin noticed.
By the time she had fully composed herself, she turned back to him, her eyes narrowing slightly at the expression he failed to hide.
"You should retire for the night," she said. "You have several engagements tomorrow, including an assembly. Conduct yourself appropriately—and do not come seeking my assistance."
With that, she rose, already preparing to leave.
"Sister, please," Otanes said, the edge of protest clear in his voice. "I am still learning. An assembly is not something I can manage with ease—not yet."
He stood as well, more earnest now.
"Unlike you, I have only begun attending court in recent months. I am not prepared for this."
Shirin watched him for a moment, his earnestness plain.
He will be all right once I leave… won't he?
The thought lingered—uncomfortable.
No. That is precisely the kind of thinking that will hold him back. You will not be here much longer let alone his whole life.
She steadied herself, expression firming as she turned back to him.
"I had expected more of you by now," she said, a faint edge in her voice. "You are the Crown Prince. Conduct yourself accordingly."
Otanes straightened slightly, though he said nothing.
Shirin exhaled, irritation flickering across her face.
"I will not be here for the rest of your life," she continued. "You will have to stand on your own."
A brief pause.
"Still…" she added, almost begrudgingly, "this will be the last time I assist you—and only if you find yourself truly unable to manage. Do you understand?"
Otanes' expression brightened immediately.
"Yes, sister," he said, a hint of relief slipping into his voice. "Thank you."
Shirin, irritated both with herself—and with the entirely too pleased look on his face—spoke again.
"Perhaps," she said coolly, "you would be better served relying on her shoulders rather than mine."
She paused, just long enough.
"You are, after all… 'bound by love for an eternity,' are you not?"[6]
Without waiting for a response, she turned and left.
Behind her, Otanes remained where he stood—momentarily frozen—before the realization struck.
Color rose sharply to his face.
That line… he had said it himself, not long ago—to his fiancée.
And now—
He exhaled, mortified.
______________________________
Ranga Kingdom.
Capital — Dwarka.
Dwarka stood as a coastal stronghold—once a city of the interior, now claimed by the sea.
Over generations, the shoreline had crept inward, reshaping both land and life. What had once been distant from the waters now stood at their edge, older foundations half-lost beneath newer construction. In certain quarters, ancient stonework could still be glimpsed beneath the tide at low water—a quiet reminder that the sea had not always been so close.
Yet the city had not weakened.
It had adapted—and in doing so, it had grown indispensable.
Dwarka belonged to the Ranga Kingdom, an independent coastal power. And yet, through long-standing historical ties, it served as the primary maritime gateway for the Dharmaraj Empire—a vast landlocked realm with no direct access to the sea.
That relationship defined the city.
At its heart stood the central palace of the Ranga rulers, elevated upon a broad stone platform. From it extended the city's main arteries—three great landward gates connecting to inland routes, and a fourth descending toward the port.
The port of Dwarka was its true center of gravity.
Every caravan from the Dharmaraj Empire ended here. Every ship bound for distant shores departed from its docks. Wealth did not simply pass through Dwarka—it concentrated, accumulated, and multiplied.
Exports flowed outward in steady, controlled volume.
Fine cloth—silks and handwoven fabrics of exceptional quality—formed a major portion of trade, prized across regions. Steel, refined and worked to high standards, followed close behind, along with spices—dense, varied, and immensely valuable.
Imports, in contrast, carried the unfamiliar.
Glassware of foreign make, often clearer and more intricate than anything produced inland. Exotic plants and fruits, some cultivated, others rare and difficult to sustain. Animals not native to the region—brought as curiosities, status symbols, or for study. And alongside them, travelers—merchants, scholars, wanderers—each carrying knowledge as valuable as any material good.
The docks were built to handle this constant exchange.
Stone piers extended into the sea, reinforced with heavy timber, designed to withstand both weight and tide. Warehouses lined the waterfront—some under direct Ranga control, others held by merchant guilds with long-standing contracts. Records were kept meticulously, tariffs enforced with precision.
This was not merely a port.
It was a point of negotiation.
The Dharmaraj Empire depended on Dwarka for access to the wider world—but dependence was never without cost. Terms of trade, taxation, and priority access were all matters quietly contested, adjusted over time, and never fully settled.
Beyond the port, the city rose in layered tiers.
Stone formed the foundation of most structures—thick, durable, resistant to both weather and time. Upper levels often incorporated wood, allowing expansion without compromising structural stability. Balconies overlooked narrow streets, where trade and daily life intermingled without pause.
The older districts retained winding layouts, remnants of its past as a land city. Newer sections, however, showed signs of deliberate planning—wider roads, improved drainage, and clearer divisions between commercial and residential zones.
Water management remained one of Dwarka's strengths.
A developed drainage system carried wastewater away from the main districts toward designated basins beyond the outer limits. Fresh water was maintained through wells, reservoirs, and redirected channels, ensuring stability even during harsher seasons.
The markets reflected Dwarka's position between worlds.
They were dense, loud, and layered—local goods beside foreign imports, familiar dialects mixing with unknown tongues. Entire sections specialized: textiles, metals, spices, rare imports. The closer one moved to the port, the more foreign the environment became.
Temples stood throughout the city—not only as places of worship, but as centers of influence. In Dwarka, faith, trade, and politics were rarely separate.
Security was firm, but practical.
The Ranga maintained control of the port above all else. Inspections were strict, records carefully kept. Smuggling existed—as it always did in such places—but it required connections, discretion, and risk.
Within the city, patrols were steady but not overwhelming. Dwarka was too active, too fluid, to be controlled in the same manner as an inland capital.
And above it all, the palace remained.
A symbol not just of rule—but of balance.
Because Dwarka was not merely a city shaped by the sea.
It was a city that stood between powers—one that understood, better than most, that control over a gateway was often more valuable than control over land itself.
Within the palace stood a large, open chamber—accessible both from the inner halls and the adjoining gardens. Air and light moved freely through it, softened by carved stone arches and latticed screens. It was not formally designated as such, but it served well enough as a place of study and quiet retreat.
There, a young woman sat.
She appeared to be in her late teens, her posture composed, her attention fixed upon the materials before her. Behind her stood two Dasis, silent and attentive, awaiting any command.
Her complexion was a deeper shade of brown, rich and even, holding its own quiet warmth beneath the ambient light. Her eyes, though dark at first glance, revealed a striking grey when caught properly—an unusual shade that lent her gaze a subtle intensity.
Her hair was drawn back into a single long braid, thick and neatly kept, falling well past her waist and down along her back. Not a strand seemed out of place, each line deliberate.
Her form carried a natural balance—an hourglass shape that was neither exaggerated nor slight, but well-defined. There was strength in it, and presence, shaped as much by bearing as by form.
She was dressed in traditional attire befitting her station.
A length of bright red fabric was arranged around her with practiced precision—drawn firmly about her form before being wound once at the waist and allowed to fall in controlled, graceful folds. The drape was elegant yet practical, shaped by habit and movement rather than display.[7]
A lighter cloth rested across her shoulders, softening the lines of the garment without obscuring its structure.
Beneath it, she wore a fitted blouse of the same hue—a relatively recent addition and more symbols of Hamsa's influence. Without it, the style would have remained simpler, relying instead on layered cloth to cover the body.[8]
The fabric itself bore intricate floral patterns, woven with fine gold thread and accented by subtle variations in silk, catching the light with a quiet, restrained brilliance.
Jewelry was present, but minimal for the setting—delicate pieces at the ears and wrists, enough to signify rank without intruding upon comfort.
Altogether, there was a quiet authority to her presence.
Not one that demanded attention—but one that held it all the same.
She sat with a needle in hand, working delicate patterns into the fabric, though her attention seemed only half there—her thoughts clearly elsewhere.
To her left lay several birch tablets and dried palm leaves, suggesting she had been occupied with more serious matters not long before. To her right were a few neatly arranged boxes—gifts left behind by the wife of a trader who had recently been granted an audience.
Lost in her own world, she did not notice the approach.
Arms suddenly wrapped around her from behind.
Her eyes widened slightly in surprise—she had heard no footsteps.
Tilting her gaze just enough, she caught sight of the familiar figure and sighed.
"Grandmother… how many times must I ask you not to do that?" Ishani said, her annoyance clear.
"Oh, come now, do not be like that," Maharani Chandana replied, resting her chin lightly against Ishani's shoulder. "Did you not miss me at all?"
"You were gone for one week," Ishani said flatly. "That is hardly enough time to miss someone."
Maharani Chandana withdrew her hands with an exaggerated sigh.
"You say that," she replied, a hint of amusement in her voice, "and yet here you are—so bored and lonely that you have taken to embroidery."
Ishani's expression tightened, a faint flush rising to her cheeks.
"That is entirely unrelated," she said, a touch too quickly. "I had merely grown weary of reading and conversation. I wished to occupy my hands with something."
"Say whatever you please," the Maharani returned lightly, a knowing smile playing on her lips—clearly pleased by the reaction.
"I—ugh…" Ishani exhaled in quiet frustration. Then, collecting herself, she shifted the subject.
"How was your journey?" she asked. "Or… whatever business took you away."
"It was… fruitful, in the best possible sense," Maharani Chandana replied. "I obtained all that I required."
"Then I am glad," Ishani said, her tone even.
The Maharani tilted her head slightly.
"You do not intend to ask where I went… or why?"
"If you had wished me to know," Ishani replied in a blunt tone, "you would have told me before your departure—or answered when I asked. You did neither."
A brief pause.
"Very well," the Maharani said, amusement returning. "Then ask me now."
Ishani sighed softly at her grandmother's persistence, though she already knew resistance would only prolong the matter.
"Very well," she said at last. "Where did you go—and for what purpose?"
"Well…" Maharani Chandana began.
She spoke at length—of her journey to a remote region, the settlements she passed along the way, and most notably, the few hours she had spent with her grandson and Ishani future husband.
Hamsa.
She described his arrival… and his departure.
How he had come flying.
And how he had left the same way.
She recounted, in careful detail, the substance of their conversation—what was said, what was implied—down to the particulars of his appearance, and even the unassuming armor in which he had arrived.
She did not, however, mention what had been found the following morning.
Ishani listened without interruption.
When the account concluded, she regarded her grandmother with measured skepticism.
"Grandmother," she said, "if you intend to fabricate a story, you would do well to make it more convincing."
A faint pause.
"I do not doubt that you may have met him," she continued, "but flying the way you describe it… do you still take me for a child?"
"I am not lying," Maharani Chandana replied, her tone steady. "You may ask Ashwini, if you wish."
Ishani turned slightly toward the dasi standing a few paces away.
The woman inclined her head in confirmation.
Ishani's gaze returned to her grandmother, who regarded her with undisguised satisfaction.
"Give it a few more years," Maharani Chandana said, her tone light with amusement, "and once you have both met—and are wed—you may ask him to take you wherever you please."
At the mention of marriage, Ishani's expression faltered, distress surfacing openly across her face.
"Grandmother," she said, her voice tightening, "how many times must I ask that you refrain from raising that matter?"
A brief pause.
"Besides… why would anyone heed my words."
Her voice did not fully break—but the strain within it was unmistakable.
At this moment a not so distant memory raised to her head.
Ishani was one of the two Rajkumaris' of the Ranga Kingdom—the elder of the two, the other being her cousin.
Both their parents had long since passed, leaving them to be raised within the palace under the care of the Maharaj and Maharani—grandparents by blood, though not always by presence. They were not unkind, nor neglectful in duty, but there remained a distance that neither girl had ever fully bridged.
Ishani, however, bore a burden her cousin did not.
As she grew, it became evident that her mana circuit had developed abnormally.
And soon from the waist down, she could not move.
It was not a failure of muscle, nor the nerves—those remained intact. But the body in this world did not function on flesh alone. Without a properly formed mana circuit to carry and direct that unseen force, the connection between mind and limb simply… did not exist.
Like wires without electricity.
In most cases, such a defect would have meant death. The mana circuit was not merely an extension of the body—it was an essential organ. To lack it entirely was to perish.
Ishani had not been so unfortunate.
But neither had she been fortunate.
From her earliest memories, she had come to understand her place—not through cruelty, but through absence. She was not openly scorned, nor was she mistreated.
She was simply… overlooked.
Acknowledged when necessary. Included when required.
But never quite seen.[9]
And over time, that quiet distance settled.
Though the illusion looked like it might break as she grew older.
She had a boy she liked.
The son and heir to a house almost as old as hers. His father being the right hand of the her grandfather, the Maharaj.
She had though and believed she would be with him in the future as well. Reason being he treated her the same way her sister and grandparents did.
The rest behaved like she was invisible, and even unwanted by some.
But once she found out she was to marry someone else.
She was dejected and anxious.
And in her unstable state she confessed. Hopping she can have him and together they might appeal to her grandfather.
But what followed next was something she did not want to hear. Not in his life nor the next.
She was rejected and the most painful thing was that he only behaved the way he did to get close to her sister.
Then he went on all the tings he found unpleasant about her.
Her clingy nature.
Her obsession with mana and other sciences.
Her dislike of most other people.
And thing after thing.
"Listen to me, Ishani," Maharani Chandana said, her voice gentler now.
"I am aware of what you have endured," she continued. "I will not claim to fully understand it… but I do understand enough."
A brief pause.
"When you meet him, give him a chance. If not for your own sake, then for mine—if only once."
Her gaze softened.
"Besides," Maharani Chandana continued, "you are aware that he and I have corresponded regularly. Having met him just yesterday, I assure you—he will accept you. In that regard, he is not unlike his late mother who bore him… your aunt."
Ishani's lips curved faintly, though the expression did not reach her eyes.
"You met him once, Grandmother—and from that, you are so certain?" she said quietly. "I do not share that confidence."
A brief pause.
"I may not involve myself in the workings of court," she continued, "but I am not ignorant of our situation. The kingdom is in a precarious spot… and my marriage to him is part of its resolution."
Her gaze lowered slightly.
"So you need not concern yourself, Grandmother. I will not fail the kingdom."
The smile remained—but the strain behind it was unmistakable.
[1] Please check the comment for an explainaton. [If incase there is non, please comment on this paragraph, I will add it in 24hours.]
[2] Explained further in the ARC.
[3] I will give examples and what not once they are in Bactria with interaction between her and Hamsa. So please bear with this for now.
[4] This is also the same, but it will be delt more in the next arc when Hamsa is in Taxila.
[5] Like a para-social thing. Not love per say. I couldn't find a word similar to this during those times and using this felt wrong so there you have it.
[6] Feels kind of off but they are teens so what else can I write without making it to cringe to write.
[7] A Saree.
[8] They did not have blouses that we see now. It was more of a single cloth tied around covering most of the chest and back but not going over the shoulders much. Now it is what one would see in modern Indian Sarees.
[9] Mana is a major thing in this world and depending on how you are with it. Social perception changes, like Hamsa being feared and looked up in awe at the same time. I will go more into the social and cultural aspects in future CH.