The first rays of dawn spilled softly over the marble domes of Mahair Palace, painting them in hues of gold and rose. The palace courtyard was alive with the quiet sounds of departure — the gentle rustle of silks, the clinking of armor, the muffled steps of servants loading chests onto carriages.
Three queens sat inside the royal carriage, their jeweled veils shimmering under the morning sun. Maharaj Raghvendra rode at the front on his white stallion, regal and composed, the golden crest of Vardhana glinting upon his armor. Behind him, the young princes Reyansh, Arish, and Vihaan sat astride their horses, their faces bright with youthful pride and the promise of home.
But one horse stood riderless — Vivaan's.
He was not among them.
Vivaan was moving through the palace gardens, his eyes searching anxiously. The leaves whispered as the morning breeze brushed past them, and then he saw her.
Princess Hinaal sat beneath an ancient banyan tree, her small frame curled up, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her gaze was lost in the dust-covered ground, where sunlight scattered through the leaves like a broken pattern of gold.
Vivaan walked toward her silently. The weight of his sword clinked softly as he knelt beside her and placed it down on the stone bench between them.
Without looking up, Hinaal spoke, her voice quiet but steady."You're leaving today… aren't you?"
Vivaan looked at her — at her long hair flowing gently in the morning wind, at her delicate fingers tracing shapes in the dirt.A faint smile touched his lips. "You always recognize me," he said softly. "Even when you don't see me."
She finally looked up, her eyes glistening, though she tried to hide it behind a brave smile.
He sighed and nodded. "Yes… I have to go. But don't be sad, Hinaal. I'll write to you. You'll always be my friend — forever."
Her eyes flickered with emotion. "You won't forget me, will you? You're a prince. As you grow, there will be duties, responsibilities… new faces around you. You won't forget me, right?"
Vivaan smiled, a gentle, steady smile that held the weight of an oath. "No, Hinaal. I will never forget you. Never."
For a moment, neither spoke. Only the sound of wind through the trees and the faint ringing of her anklets filled the air.
Then, slowly, she picked up a small knife lying beside her. Its handle was wrapped in crimson silk, and the name 'Vivaan' was carved upon its side — each letter etched by a child's uncertain hand. She extended it toward him.
"Take this," she said softly. "This is my gift to you. I wrote your name on it myself. See? I even hurt my finger doing it." She held up a small finger with a faint scar. "So, don't lose it, okay? Whenever you look at it, you'll remember me."
Vivaan took the knife reverently. Its red scabbard gleamed with gold embroidery and tiny gems that caught the sunlight. He looked at it, then at her, smiling with quiet gratitude.
He reached into his sash and brought out a small anklet — crafted of gold, adorned with tiny diamonds that shimmered like morning dew."This is my gift," he said, his voice calm and warm. "Whenever you wear it, it will remind you of me."
Hinaal's eyes widened. "It's beautiful," she breathed, smiling like the first sunlight after rain.
Then, without a word, she stood up suddenly and ran off. Her anklets jingled in hurried rhythm, leaving Vivaan puzzled, watching her go.
Moments later, she came running back, holding a small silver plate in her hands, breathless and glowing with excitement. She sat down beside him and lifted the lid — inside was a heap of tamarind pods, their scent tangy and familiar.
Vivaan blinked. "What is this?" he asked curiously.
"My favorite!" she said proudly. "Tamarind — sweet and sour. I'm sharing it with you. And remember," she added with mock seriousness, "I never share my tamarind with anyone."
Vivaan chuckled softly. "Why's that?"
"Because," she said with a playful toss of her hair, "I don't like sharing. But you're my special friend… so you get to taste it."
He laughed quietly. "Alright, your highness. I'll accept that honor."
She popped one in her mouth and offered another to him. "Eat. You'll like it."
He took it, the tang bursting on his tongue — sweet and sharp. She leaned forward eagerly. "How is it? Delicious, right?"
Vivaan nodded, smiling.
"You like it?"
Another nod.
She smiled, satisfied.
Then her voice grew quieter. "It's time. You'll have to go now."
Vivaan looked at her — at the innocence, the unspoken sadness in her eyes — and nodded slowly. "Yes. But remember, Hinaal… I'll never forget you or our friendship."
She smiled faintly, though her eyes shimmered.
By noon, the royal procession began. The wheels of the carriages turned over the stone road, their golden rims glinting in the sunlight. Servants and guards lined the gates, bowing low.
The Royal Family of Vardhana departed from the palace of Mahair, their banners fluttering proudly in the wind. As the capital faded behind them, the horizon opened to rolling hills, dense forests, and mountains veiled in mist.
But danger had already found its place among those trees.
The royal guards rode in tight formation — a vanguard at the front, another guarding the rear. The sound of hooves echoed through the forest trail, accompanied by the steady hum of cicadas. The forest canopy above filtered sunlight into trembling green shadows.
Suddenly, Vivaan's expression changed. He felt it — a wrongness, like the air had shifted.
"Stop," he said sharply.
Maharaj Raghvendra turned his horse, concern in his eyes. "What is it, Kuwar Vivaan? Why did you stop?"
Vivaan dismounted in one swift motion, his boots crunching on dry leaves. "Something's not right," he murmured, scanning the trees.
The others followed suit, the younger princes jumping off their horses. For a moment, there was silence — only the rustling of leaves and the creak of leather.
Then it came.
A whistle in the wind.
Arrows — dozens, then hundreds — rained down like a storm of death. The air filled with the sickening hiss of shafts slicing through air and the cries of men falling.
Guards fell from their horses, blood spraying across the forest floor.
"Ambush!" Vivaan shouted, his young voice carrying command beyond his years. He drew his sword, its crimson scabbard flashing as he unsheathed it. "Protect the Maharaja and the queens! Now!"
The royal guards rallied, forming a defensive circle.
"I'll go ahead!" Vivaan ordered. "Reyansh, with me! Arish, stay here — protect Vihaan, Father, and Mother!"
Without hesitation, Reyansh followed him. The two brothers charged into the forest, toward the direction of the arrows. Through the thick smoke and chaos, they found the enemy — three hundred men, armed and hidden among the trees.
The clash was brutal. Vivaan fought like a shadow, every strike swift and precise. Blood spattered his face and royal robes, but his eyes burned with focus. Reyansh matched his brother's ferocity, his blade flashing silver in the dim light.
By the time silence fell, the ground was littered with corpses. Their breaths came heavy; their swords dripped crimson.
When they returned — what awaited them was devastation.
The road was littered with bodies — royal guards, horses, servants — all lying in pools of blood.
"Father! Arish! Vihaan! Mother!" Vivaan's voice cracked as he ran through the chaos, searching desperately. His boots splashed through blood as his eyes darted around.
Then he saw them.
Two queens — Ishara and Kavya — lay lifeless on the ground, their jewelry soaked red. Nearby, Queen Yashvi, Vivaan's mother, sat on the ground, her face streaked with blood and tears. She clutched the empty air as if still holding her husband's hand.
Vivaan dropped beside her, his sword falling from his hand with a dull thud. "Mother…" he whispered. Then his gaze moved — and froze.
Reyansh's voice pierced the silence, trembling. "Father! Father, open your eyes!"
Vivaan turned. Maharaj Raghvendra lay still, his armor shattered, the royal crest drenched in crimson. Reyansh knelt beside him, shaking him desperately, his sobs echoing through the silent forest.
Vivaan's lips trembled, but no sound came. His eyes turned red, his chest heaving with rage and disbelief.
"Father…" he whispered, kneeling beside the body. "Please… open your eyes. Father, please — we need you. The kingdom needs you." His voice broke, raw and desperate. "How will I manage this chaos alone? Please don't leave us… not like this."
He turned, searching — and saw Arish lying motionless nearby, blood seeping through his wounds.
"No…" Vivaan gasped, running toward him. "No, not my brother too!" He lifted Arish's limp body, his voice cracking as he tried to wake him. But there was no response.
Then — a faint sob.
"Bhai-sa…"
Vivaan turned sharply. Behind a tree, Vihaan sat trembling, tears streaming down his small face.
Vivaan dropped Arish's body gently and ran to him. "Vihaan!"
The youngest prince threw himself into Vivaan's arms, clinging tightly. "They killed them! They killed Mother… Father… Arish-bhai-sa!" he sobbed uncontrollably.
Vivaan's throat tightened. He wrapped his arms around the trembling boy, holding him close. "I know… I know…" he whispered, his own tears threatening to fall, but he didn't let them. Not yet. "Come, Vihaan…"
He lifted Arish's wounded body in his arms and walked toward his mother, who was still sitting, numb and broken. Reyansh stood silently beside their father's body, eyes vacant.
Vivaan stopped beside them, his face pale, his jaw tight. The once-bright armor of the royal princes was now dark with blood. The air was thick with the metallic scent of death and the weight of loss that no child should bear.
And in that forest, drenched in crimson light, an eleven-year-old boy stood holding his family together — a child forced to carry the burden of a fallen kingdom.