In the northern side of India,
there lay the most feared land known to all of humanity. Not even North Korea nor Russia dared to invade the barren dynasty of that island.
They wield the massive vest armies, missiles, guns, and all. The land is filled with gold mines laid on the south side of the island, brothels and status on the west, while the north laid respects but ruthlessness.
It was a realm cloaked in black — a symbol of power. Gold shimmered for royalty, and red burned for the bloodline.
The people were poor by caste and status, while the rich grovelled to the richer, and the richer bowed before the royals.
At the heart of the Khontaar Citadel, the main castle stood proud and ominous, its towering spires stabbing through the clouds like dark spears. The halls were lined with torchlight, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood and iron.
A woman walked through those halls — her footsteps soft yet commanding. Her body was curvaceous, sculpted as though she were born to please men and bear their sons. But beneath that beauty was the pulse of something far more dangerous — ambition.
Jalia — the fierce matriarch of the north side on her ruling and a sharp political mind — moved with the grace of a predator.
She was clad in deep red, dark as blood, layered with streaks of obsidian black that shimmered faintly as she passed. Her jeweled anklets chimed softly, echoing through the silent corridors.
She approached the great chamber, where her elder brother sat alone, dining in silence. The air was heavy, the only sound the faint clatter of a spoon against the edge of a brass plate.
"Brother," she said sharply, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. "How dare you eat while on duty. Pathetic."
Her brother did not answer immediately. A small, amused smile curved across his lips.
"Bold of you to quiet my interest, Jalia," he said finally, his tone measured and cold.
He dabbed his mouth with a black napkin, wiping away the remnants of chilli from his lips. Rising slowly, he stepped out from the shadow that cloaked him.
He was bald, with black ashes smeared across his forehead — a mark of devotion to his faith in Hinduism.
His robes were royal, though worn with the fatigue of many burdens. The faint gold embroidery glimmered against the dim firelight.
As he moved closer, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Servants lowered their heads, guards stood motionless.
His mere presence was enough to make the room fall silent — as though even the air itself feared to move.
"My dear sister," Ragul said, his voice smooth yet venomous. He ran a gloved finger slowly along Jalia's jawline, tracing down to the edge of her saree where a gold chain adorned her waist.
His touch carried authority more than affection — a reminder of power rather than kinship.
"I, Ragul. You, Jalia. And our youngest brother, Bonar — we all did what we had to do," he said, his tone laced with arrogance. "We seized the throne and divided it into three layers. Each of us rules one... and you choose this moment to spoil my appetite?"
Ragul drew a dagger from his belt — his personal forged blade, blackened by age and ash. The steel caught the flickering torchlight as he lifted it beneath Jalia's chin.
"You dare question me?" he whispered, his breath heavy with restrained fury.
Jalia met his gaze without flinching. "You're slipping, brother. Power has made you reckless."
Ragul smirked darkly. "You've always had a sharp tongue, dear sister. But be careful not to cut yourself with it."
In one swift movement, his hand gripped her throat — not tight enough to harm, but enough to remind her who still held dominance in the room.
"Remember, Jalia," he said coldly, his voice low and trembling with anger. "You walk on the edge of my patience. Be thankful you share my blood, or your head would have already decorated these halls."
He released her abruptly. She coughed lightly but straightened her attire with poise, refusing to show weakness.
"Where's Bonar?" Ragul asked, returning to his seat with deliberate calm.
"At his personal K.G.F.," Jalia replied, adjusting her shawl.
Ragul scoffed. "Kolar Gold Mines... of course. Ever since we betrayed our mother and killed our father for the throne, life has been quite the golden affair, hasn't it?"
As he reached for his drink, his eyes caught a folded parchment in Jalia's hand.
"What's this?" he asked, smirking. "A letter from one of your admirers?"
Jalia's eyes narrowed. "Someone by the name of Zac Tucker made contact with us. It's... a personal message."
"Oh? A commoner daring to write to the Khontaar dynasty?" Ragul chuckled. "How amusing."
"It's not admiration," Jalia replied sharply. "It's a contract — a bounty."
Ragul's grin faded. "A bounty?"
"Yes," she said, stepping closer and placing the letter on the table before him. "The target's name is Shen Goddem. I've heard whispers of him — and there's something... familiar. Something that ties back to our great-grandfather, the founder of Khontaar."
Ragul scanned the parchment, his expression darkening. "I see. And the requester?"
"Zac Tucker. A member of the Tucker Family," Jalia replied.
Ragul's eyes narrowed. "Interesting. Search everything about this Shen Goddem. Find his connection to this Zac Tucker."
"As you wish, brother," Jalia said, bowing her head slightly before turning toward the door. Her hips swaying and her ass bouncing. The perfect seduction-like woman.
When the great doors closed behind her, Ragul leaned back in his chair, a sinister smile curling across his face.
"You're lucky you're my sister," he muttered under his breath. He poured himself a drink from a silver chalice, the liquid glinting like amber fire in the dim light.
"Send word," he commanded a nearby servant. "Prepare my chambers. I need... entertainment for the evening."
The servant bowed and disappeared through the corridor. Ragul raised his cup toward the dark ceiling above.
"To power," he whispered, "and to the fall of gods and men alike."
At K.G.F — the Kolar Gold Mine, located in the southern reaches of Khontaar — the air reeked of dust, sweat, and despair.
Bonar stood atop a stone ledge, his shadow cast long across the pit below. The miners toiled beneath him like chained beasts, swinging pickaxes against the rock until their hands bled.
Their groans echoed through the valley, blending with the sound of grinding metal and the faint rumble of distant thunder.
On the far side of the mine, the women waited silently in their worn huts, praying for their husbands to return from that hellish place alive.
Hours passed. The sun dipped low, turning the skies crimson.
An Rolls Royce stopped before a marble mansion overlooking the mines — Bonar's domain.
The heavy doors swung open, and Jalia entered with her usual authority, the air around her sharp with command.
"Bonar," she said firmly. "You've got work."
Bonar turned from the balcony, a faint smirk crossing his rugged face. "It's rare for you to come here, sister," he said, his deep voice echoing through the marble hall. "And to my mansion, no less."
He stepped forward — confident, imposing. His eyes glinted with a cruel kind of amusement as he approached her.
"You carry yourself too stiffly these days," he said, his tone mocking as he brushed past her shoulder, invading her space.
Jalia narrowed her eyes and, with swift precision, pulled out a revolver and aimed it directly at his forehead.
"Step back," she warned coldly.
Bonar laughed, the sound booming like thunder. "You won't pull the trigger," he said. "Not here. Not with the council watching every breath we take. One shot, and Khontaar will drown in another vote for power."
Their eyes locked — predator versus predator.
After a tense silence, Bonar stepped back and raised his hands slightly in mock surrender. "Still sharp as ever, sister," he said with a smirk. "Now, what is it that drags the great Jalia all the way from the Citadel?"
"Ragul ordered you to gather information on someone named Shen Goddem," Jalia said curtly.
She threw a folded parchment onto the nearby table — a photograph attached to it.
"Do it quickly," she said, turning to leave. Her heels clicked against the marble floor, each step echoing like a drumbeat of authority.
As the doors closed behind her, Bonar snorted. "Tch. Always ruining the mood."
He picked up the photograph and stared at the man in it — Shen Goddem.
A smirk crept back onto his face. "So this is the one causing a stir in Khontaar, huh?"
He turned toward the open window overlooking the mines. The wind howled through the chamber, carrying the cries of the workers far below.
"Fine," he muttered. "Let's dig a little deeper."
Back in Jalia's mansion, at the northern side of her domain, chaos filled the air. Papers flew, vases shattered, and curtains swayed as she hurled whatever she could find in a storm of disgust and fury.
"RAAGHHH!!!"
Her scream echoed through the marble halls. She stopped, panting, her reflection trembling in the large mirror before her.
"Ragul and Bonar..." she hissed under her breath. "I can't believe I have two brothers so corrupted they see their own sister as an object of lust!"
Her fists clenched. Her eyes fell to a photograph lying on the desk — one she had copied earlier before giving the original to Bonar. The image showed a man with piercing black eyes that seemed to stare straight into her soul.
Jalia picked up the photo. Her anger softened into intrigue.
"Zac Tucker... why do you want this man dead?" she murmured.
Sitting at her ornate desk, she opened her laptop and began typing. Shen Goddem.
Within moments, pages of records, articles, and global reports filled her screen. She scrolled through his history — achievements, ventures, and appearances over the past seven years.
"So," she whispered, reading carefully, "he too was a Tucker... but left the family after they favored his twin brother, Zac Tucker."
Her expression hardened. "So that's why Zac wants him dead. But still... there must be more."
She kept digging, her fingers flying across the keyboard. Then she froze.
Lines of text detailed Shen Goddem's rise — his empire known as B.D.G, Black Dragon Group. A multinational trading giant with influence spanning continents.
Her eyes widened slightly. "Black Dragon Group, huh?"
Further reports described him as a man both feared and respected — calm yet ruthless, merciful yet commanding. His reputation among women was near mythical, yet every source stated he was a man of integrity. Loyal. Unyielding.
"What a man..." she whispered, a faint heat rising in her chest. "To be in the presence of someone like that... a man who respects a woman's will."
For a brief moment, her fierce composure wavered. She closed the laptop slowly and leaned back, lost in thought. The candlelight flickered against her crimson saree as she lay on her bed, curling into the silken sheets with a faint smile.
After a pause, she stood again — her regal poise returning. She pressed the bell near her desk. Moments later, several men entered and knelt before her.
"Yes, Madam," they said in unison.
"I want every piece of information you can find on this man," Jalia ordered. "His movements, his meetings, his next business ventures — all of it. Make sure his next contact comes through me... even if it means rewriting the terms."
The men bowed deeply. "At once, Madam."
As they left, Jalia turned toward the balcony, the wind tugging at her hair and saree. The night sky above Khontaar glowed faintly red with the lights of the citadel in the distance.
"Shen Goddem..." she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. "I'd like to see what kind of man you truly are."
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Chapter 21 — End.