Chapter: The Rise of the Child King
The forest was heavy with silence after the battle — broken only by the rustle of leaves and the faint crackle of dying torches. The ground was still wet with blood, the air thick with smoke and sorrow.
Vivaan stood amid the wreckage, his young face pale, streaked with mud and dried blood. His eyes were hollow — too old for an eleven-year-old, too calm for a child who had lost almost everything.
Suddenly, the distant thunder of hooves echoed through the trees — followed by the hurried sound of men running, the jingle of armor, and boots trampling over broken branches.
Vivaan's hand went instinctively to his sword.His senses sharpened — the faint tremor of earth beneath his feet, the hiss of his own breath.He couldn't lose anyone else. Not his remaining family.
Drawing his blade, he took position — shoulders straight, every muscle tense, his eyes locked on the misty trail ahead.
Then — through the haze — horses emerged. The golden banner of Vardhana fluttered in the sunlight that streamed weakly through the trees.
The soldiers halted. Their leader, General Abeer, jumped down from his horse and dropped to one knee before Vivaan, his armor clanging as he bowed his head.
"Kuwar-sa," he said, his voice trembling, "forgive us. We came late."
Vivaan lowered his sword, his expression stone-cold.
"Yes," he said quietly, his voice laced with restrained fury, "you are late… too late."
He turned swiftly, lifting Arish's limp body in his arms.
"Bring the royal doctors. Now!" he ordered.
Within minutes, an emergency camp rose amidst the carnage.White tents were pitched hastily, soldiers rushing with cloth, herbs, and stretchers. The once-proud battlefield became a field hospital, heavy with the scent of smoke, iron, and blood.
The bodies of Maharaj Raghvendra and the two queens were carried in under white sheets. Their jewels glinted faintly in the sun before being covered. Queen Yashvi and Kuwar Arish were laid upon separate cots, doctors bending over them with trembling hands.
The royal physician, an elderly man with weary eyes, stepped back after examining them.
"Maharaj and the queens…" he whispered, lowering his head. "They are gone."
He looked at Queen Yashvi and Arish, then added with quiet relief,
"But… these two live. Their wounds are grave, but they are out of danger."
Vivaan stood silently. No flicker of emotion crossed his face. His eyes were fixed on nothing — lost in a storm too vast for words.Then, with steady composure, he said:
"See to Reyansh's wounds as well."
The doctor turned and found Reyansh standing nearby, blood drying on his temple. Behind him, little Vihaan clung to his arm, sobbing softly.
The physician noticed Vivaan's own arm and shoulder — deep cuts, still bleeding — yet the boy didn't flinch. He seemed beyond pain, beyond tears.
Reyansh and Vihaan wept quietly, their small shoulders trembling. But Vivaan… Vivaan remained still.He knew — if one tear fell from his eyes, his family would crumble.He had to be the pillar now. The protector.
When the doctors finished dressing the wounds of his brothers and mother, Vivaan finally turned and walked out of the tent. His sword still hung at his side — streaked with dried blood, as if it refused to forget.
"General Abeer," he called.
The general appeared immediately, kneeling once again before him.
"Yes, Kuwar-sa."
Vivaan's gaze was sharp, his tone calm but deadly.
"Who did this? Who was behind the ambush?"
The general looked down, voice heavy.
"From the insignia and markings on the bodies… they were men of Bheema, my lord."
Vivaan's eyes darkened.
"Bheema?" he asked coldly. "Who is he? And why would he dare this?"
"He is the sworn enemy of Vardhana," the general said. "A savage warlord — greedy, merciless. He has long desired our lands, our throne. He's tried before, but this…" his voice faltered, "…this time, he struck without honor."
Vivaan's jaw clenched.
"Why?" he pressed again.
"Because cruelty is his nature, Kuwar-sa," Abeer replied quietly.
Vivaan nodded once — slowly, deliberately. Then his eyes hardened, burning with a promise.
Bheema… I will kill you.The thought seared through him like iron.
By dusk, the bodies of the fallen — the king, the queens, and the guards — were wrapped in white and prepared for return to Vardhana.The journey back was silent. No music. No banners waving.Only the sound of hooves and muffled sobs of soldiers.
The people of Vardhana wept when they saw the carriages draped in white entering the gates.Vivaan rode at the front, his brothers behind him. His small hands gripped the reins tightly, his eyes fixed forward — not a tear, not a flicker of fear.
He was just eleven… and the weight of a kingdom now rested on his shoulders.
For three days, the palace was drowned in mourning. The torches burned low, the halls echoed with silence.
The Court in Chaos
On the third day, the royal court gathered — the vast marble hall filled with ministers, nobles, and advisors. The throne of the Maharaja stood empty, its golden seat draped in white.
Arguments broke out. Voices rose, echoing off the high dome.
"The king is dead — who will rule now?""The princes are children! The throne cannot be led by boys!""We must appoint a regent at once!"
The chaos was deafening.
Then — the great doors opened.
Queen Yashvi entered.
She walked slowly, her posture regal, her steps steady despite the grief behind her eyes. Her white mourning robes flowed like moonlight, her face pale but resolute.
The hall fell silent.
Her gaze swept across the ministers — sharp, fearless.
"Enough," she said, her voice clear as steel. "Stop this madness."
The murmuring ceased instantly.
"I know what troubles you," she continued, ascending the steps beneath the throne. "You wonder — the Maharaj is gone, and the princes are too young to rule. Is that it?"
Her tone was calm, but her eyes burned with quiet fire.
One minister rose nervously.
"Yes, Maharani-sa. The council fears instability. Without a king—"
Queen Yashvi raised a hand.
"Do not worry. Before his passing, Maharaj left me a royal order — one he commanded to be opened only if he were no longer among us. The name written within it," she said, holding up a sealed parchment with the royal crest, "is the next ruler of Vardhana."
The court erupted in whispers.
"It cannot be one of the princes… they're too young!""Surely it must be Kunwar Arjun — the Maharaj's nephew!"
At this, Kunwar Arjun, seated among the ministers, smiled smugly — already imagining the crown upon his head.
Queen Yashvi's lips curved into a faint, cutting smile.
"Ah, so now the ministers will decide who wears the crown?" she said coldly. "Let me enlighten you."
She gestured to a servant.
"Bring in the princes."
Moments later, Vivaan, Reyansh, Arish, and Vihaan entered — all dressed in white, their faces solemn but proud.
The queen broke the seal and began to read, her voice echoing through the hall:
"If you are reading this, it means I am no longer among the living. I decree that the throne and crown of Vardhana shall pass to their rightful heir. After much thought and observation, I declare that the next Maharaj will be my eldest son, Kuwar Vivaan. Until he reaches his eighteenth year, the queen shall guide him — and I trust he will grow to be a greater king than I."
Gasps rippled through the court.
"A child king?""Impossible!""He will ruin the kingdom!"
Kunwar Arjun's face twisted with disbelief, his proud smile vanishing.
But Vivaan stepped forward — tall, calm, unshaken.He climbed the steps slowly, the hall silent but for his footsteps. When he reached his mother, he knelt on one knee.
"I accept the royal order," he said.
Then he rose, his small frame standing before the golden throne. He lifted the decree high above his head.
"I, Kuwar Vivaan, accept the crown and the duty of Maharaj. I swear — by my father's name and by the honor of Vardhana — that I will dedicate my life to my people, and I will become the king my father dreamed I'd be."
For the first time in days, a faint light returned to the faces of his brothers.
Reyansh leaned toward Vihaan and whispered,
"Vihaan… now Bhai-sa will be Maharaj."
Vihaan nodded with innocent pride, wiping his tears.
Arish, smiling weakly from his seat, added,
"So… that means we can't call him Bhai-sa anymore, right?"
Reyansh chuckled softly, his voice filled with brotherly love.
"He will be Maharaj Bhai-sa now. But no matter what — he will always be our Bhai-sa."
And as Vivaan stood before the throne, the golden light of dawn spilled once more through the court's high windows — falling upon the young boy who would carry the fate of a kingdom upon his small but unyielding shoulders.