The capital glittered like a jewel under the moon. Towers of marble and brass rose against the night sky, their windows glowing with lamplight. From afar, it was beauty. From within, it was rot.
Inside the royal court, shadows moved more easily than men.
Aarav sat in silence at the long obsidian table, his jaw tight. The chamber was vast, lit by braziers that spat blue flame, but the air felt colder than the desert night. Around him, cloaked figures occupied the chairs — the Shadow Court. Their masks gleamed: some silver, some gold, some carved to resemble beasts. None revealed their true faces.
"Neel Sharma," one masked voice intoned. "The Vessel of Dawn."
A ripple of whispers slithered across the chamber.
Another leaned forward, mask shaped like a serpent. "The Academy has lost track of him. Reports say he was last seen beyond the desert borders, with Shanaya and that healer girl. And… another."
Kabir's name was not spoken, but it hung in the air like smoke.
Aarav's fists tightened on the table. "And you want me to believe he simply vanished?"
The serpent-mask chuckled softly. "Nothing vanishes, boy. It only changes hands."
Aarav bristled at the word boy. He was no child. He had trained, studied, bled, all to be acknowledged. And yet, every time Neel's name was spoken, it drowned his own. Even here, among the shadows.
He forced his voice steady. "Then tell me where he is, and I'll end him myself."
A woman's voice answered from the far end — smooth, cold, threaded with power. The matriarch of the Court, her mask was plain black iron, her presence heavier than any crown. "Patience, Aarav. You burn too quickly. Neel Sharma is not to be ended yet. He is to be… tested. Broken. Bent."
The others murmured assent.
Aarav's nails dug into his palms. "And what of me? Am I to sit here while my rival gathers strength?"
The matriarch's gaze pinned him, even behind her mask. "Rival? You still see him as that? No, boy. He is a storm. And storms are not rivals. They are disasters. You will not compete with him. You will survive him — or be swallowed."
–––
After the council dispersed, Aarav stormed into the palace corridor, his footsteps echoing against stone. His guard and confidant, Keshav Rao, trailed after him. Unlike the masked courtiers, Keshav was flesh and blood — scarred, grizzled, his eyes sharp as knives.
"You let them belittle you," Keshav muttered.
"I said nothing because they said nothing worth hearing," Aarav snapped. "Always the same: whisper, plot, delay. While Neel grows stronger."
Keshav placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then stop waiting for their approval. Take what you need. If they want Neel broken, be the hammer that does it. Not for them. For yourself."
Aarav exhaled slowly, his anger sharpening into something colder. "You're right. The Court may see him as their Vessel, but I will prove he is only a man. And men bleed."
–––
Far above the palace, in a hidden chamber, the matriarch removed her mask. Her face was weathered, her eyes ancient, unreadable. A figure stepped from the shadows — Priya Deshmukh, one of her spies, her hair braided with silver charms to ward off curses.
"Will the boy succeed?" Priya asked softly.
The matriarch did not look at her. "Aarav? He will play his part. All pieces do, before they break." She gazed at the moon through the narrow slit of a window. "The real question is not whether he will defeat Neel. It is whether Neel will defeat himself."
–––
Back in his chambers, Aarav stared into the mirror. His reflection gazed back — strong, disciplined, trained. But always, behind his eyes, the memory of Neel. The boy who had once outshone him. The storm he could never quite grasp.
His envy burned hotter than any fire.
And as he clenched his fists, the candlelight flickered, dancing like something alive. For a moment, Aarav swore he saw Neel's shadow flicker across the wall behind him.
He bared his teeth. "You won't take what's mine. Not again. Not ever."
–––
The chamber reeked of iron and ash.
Deep beneath the palace, the Shadow Court's hidden sanctum stretched like a cavern carved into the bones of the earth. Torches burned green-blue, casting warped shadows across runes etched into stone. Chains rattled softly — not from men, but from the thing bound at the center.
It was once human.
Now, it was a husk, its skin etched with black sigils that crawled like worms. Its eyes were pits of void, its mouth sewn shut with silver thread. Yet it breathed, chest rising and falling unnaturally, each breath releasing a hiss that made the air ripple.
The matriarch stood before it, her mask back in place. Courtiers flanked her, their voices low.
"This one is untested," a gold-mask murmured. "It may not survive the desert."
"It does not need to survive," the matriarch replied coolly. "It only needs to reach him."
Her gaze flicked to the husk. "Find the storm. Find the boy called Neel Sharma. And when you do—" her voice lowered, venomous, "—bind him."
The sigils on the husk flared sickly red. Chains fell away, links clattering to the stone floor. The thing rose on stiff limbs, and without a word, without a sound, it began to walk. Shadows clung to it, swallowing the torchlight as it slipped into the darkness beyond the chamber.
–––
Elsewhere, in his quarters, Aarav paced like a caged beast. Keshav Rao leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching.
"You're restless," Keshav observed.
"They're sending something after him," Aarav said bitterly. "A curse. A monster. But not me." His fists clenched. "They treat me like a child while they chase my rival with their toys."
Keshav's gaze was steady, piercing. "Then prove you are not a child. The Shadow Court plays its games, but you — you can play your own. Let them send their cursed envoy. You must sharpen your blade in silence, until the day you cut both Neel and their strings."
Aarav stopped, breathing hard. Slowly, his anger cooled into determination. "You're right. If Neel survives, it will be me who ends him. Not their pawn."
He turned to the mirror, staring at his reflection again. This time, he imagined Neel's face staring back, lightning flickering in his eyes. Aarav's envy twisted into something sharper, darker.
"I'll carve my name where his shadow falls. Even if I have to cut him down to do it."
–––
Far beyond the palace, the desert waited.
The husk walked tirelessly, its feet leaving no prints in the sand. The night swallowed it, only the faint red glow of its sigils betraying its form. Stars wheeled overhead, but the creature never looked up. It walked as if it already knew the path — as if the storm itself called to it.
Beneath the dunes, something vast stirred in answer. The desert was listening.
–––
At the edge of the capital, Priya Deshmukh stood on a balcony, her silver charms jingling faintly in the night wind. She watched the horizon where the husk had vanished. Her heart was tight with unease.
She whispered to herself, "Neel Sharma… what are you becoming, that even shadows cannot leave you be?"
–––
And in the desert camp, Neel sat awake again, sparks dancing faint across his arms. The whisper coiled inside him, gloating. "They are coming. Chains and curses. Masks and daggers. Do you see, Vessel? Even the shadows cannot ignore you. They fear you. They hunger for you."
Neel gritted his teeth, staring out into the dunes.
He didn't see it yet — the faint red glow, flickering miles away, drawing closer.
–––