Year — 1226
Chandrapur Empire.
A magnificent kingdom that once flourished in the western lands of ancient India.
It was an undivided age—where borders existed only as ideas, and realms stood united as one.
Chandrapur was no ordinary land.
More than a hundred states lived under its powerful rule, and for over two centuries its people had known peace. Prosperity flowed through its cities, harmony ruled its streets, and generations grew without ever tasting the true weight of war.
Yet they did not know…
That a storm was quietly gathering beyond their horizon.
The grand royal court stood in heavy silence.
Ministers sat in their places, deep in thought, their faces etched with worry and restrained anticipation. The air itself felt tense, as if the palace walls were listening. No one spoke, yet every mind was crowded with the same unspoken question—
What future awaited Chandrapur?
The stillness was suddenly broken.
A voice echoed through the hall—firm, disciplined, and filled with reverence.
The royal gatekeeper announced with pride,
"His Majesty, the honored and mighty fifth king of the Yadev lineage—
Maharaja Virendra Yadev—enters the court!"
The morning sun poured through the tall pillars of the palace, casting a dignified glow upon Maharaja Virendra Yadev's throne.
The royal court stood in disciplined rows.
Ministers lined the hall, their expressions heavy with concern. Uneasy glances passed silently between them—no words, yet every face carried the same unspoken fear.
As the Maharaja entered, the entire court bowed in unison.
The echo of his name resonated through the hall, and the air filled with chants of loyalty and reverence. Devotion flowed freely—but beneath it, something fragile trembled.
Virendra Yadev paused.
Before taking his seat, he felt it—a restless tension clinging to the air. When he finally sat upon the throne, his sharp eyes swept across the assembly. Each minister looked more troubled than the last.
His voice rose, calm yet commanding.
"What is it, Drut?" the Maharaja asked steadily.
"Today, I see worry on every face before me. Tell me—what has happened?"
The loyal advisor Drut stepped forward. He bowed deeply, his posture respectful, yet his expression grave.
"Victory to you, Maharaj," Drut said, his voice heavy with concern.
"Of the one hundred and thirty-eight kingdoms that once swore loyalty to our empire, only ninety-eight now remain under our rule."
A quiet stir passed through the court.
"For the past three years," Drut continued, "rulers from neighboring lands have been encroaching upon our territories—slowly, deliberately, tightening their grip."
He hesitated for a brief moment before delivering the truth that weighed upon his heart.
"If this continues, Maharaj… within ten to fifteen years, our empire may fall."
The words lingered in the air like a blade that had not yet struck.
The gravity of Drut's words settled over the court like a spreading shadow.
For the first time, a flicker of concern crossed Maharaja Virendra Yadev's composed face.
A low murmur rippled through the hall—whispers rising and falling as the ministers echoed Drut's fears among themselves. The court, once disciplined and silent, now trembled with unease.
After a brief pause, the Maharaja spoke.
His voice was firm, steady—but beneath it lay the unmistakable strain of worry.
"This is indeed a grave matter," Virendra said.
"The decline of our kingdoms cannot be ignored. We must find a path forward—a solution that can halt this fall."
As his words left him, a tense silence claimed the court once more. Each minister stared ahead, measuring the enormity of what lay before them. No one spoke. No one dared.
The fate of the empire hung in balance.
Its future uncertain.
And in that single, breathless moment, every soul within the court understood the truth—
A war awaited them.
A war that would demand courage, strategy, and unity…
if Chandrapur was to survive.
Evening settled gently over the royal gardens.
Maharaja Virendra Yadev sat alone amidst the fading light, surrounded by lush greenery that once brought him peace. Tonight, it offered none. His thoughts remained tangled in the heavy deliberations of the day, the future of the empire pressing down upon him like an unseen weight.
The air was calm.
Yet his mind was not.
Soft footsteps approached.
Queen Padma joined him, her presence quiet and warm. A gentle smile rested on her lips as she spoke, her voice carrying affection and lightness.
"Maharaj, do you know what happened today?" she began softly.
"We met a wise and radiant sage—"
But as her eyes fell upon her husband's troubled face, her smile slowly faded. The words left unspoken lingered between them.
Her voice softened, concern slipping through.
"Maharaj… what burden weighs upon your heart?" she asked gently.
"There are lines of worry upon your moonlit face. Tell me—what troubles you so?"
Virendra looked at her.
The weight in his expression was unmistakable. When he finally spoke, sorrow layered his voice.
"Padma…" he said slowly, gravely.
"What can I tell you that I have not already said?"
He paused, the words gathering within him.
"The discussions in the court today have unsettled me. Little by little, day by day, the kingdom our ancestors built with sacrifice and vision is slipping from our grasp."
The silence that followed was deeper than the evening itself.
Queen Padma's expression grew serious. Her brows drew together as the weight of his words began to sink in.
"What do you mean, Maharaj?" she asked softly, surprise woven with concern.
"What is happening to our kingdom?"
Virendra exhaled slowly, as if releasing a fear he had kept locked within.
"Our vassal kings are failing us," he said, his voice low.
"They cannot protect our lands. Our soldiers fight bravely… yet we continue to lose ground."
He paused.
"If this continues," he went on, the fear now undeniable,
"our son, Rudra, will inherit not a kingdom—but scattered villages."
The tremor in his voice betrayed him. He felt it himself—the weight of those words shaking his resolve.
Padma's eyes widened slightly.
"Do not speak such ill-omened thoughts, Maharaj," she said, hesitantly, her voice laced with worry.
Virendra looked away, lost in thought.
"Padma, it is the truth," he replied quietly.
"It feels as though our kingdom is bound by a curse… a force beyond our control."
He turned back to her, fear etched deep into his gaze.
"I fear for my lineage," he said.
"For my legacy."
The garden, once alive with whispers of wind and leaves, seemed to hold its breath.
Queen Padma listened in silence, her mind searching desperately for an answer.
Then—a thought surfaced. One rooted not in strategy, but in faith.
She spoke softly, yet with quiet conviction.
"If this is so, Maharaj," she said,
"then I advise you to meet Baba Bhairav—the sage who resides atop the Vindhya Mountains. He may be able to tell you why all this is happening."
At her words, the Maharaja's expression darkened.
Annoyance flickered across his face as he dismissed the thought without hesitation.
"Have you lost your senses, Padma?" Virendra said sharply.
"I am the ruler of an empire. You expect me to seek help from a mere hermit?"
"No. That is unacceptable."
Queen Padma did not step back.
She reached out and grasped her husband's right hand firmly, her touch urgent, pleading.
"Please try to understand," she said, her voice trembling with emotion.
"Just meet him once. I beg you—by my oath."
Virendra held her gaze.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he drew a deep breath, the resistance within him slowly giving way.
"…Very well," he said at last.
"We will go."
The decision set events into motion immediately.
A soldier rushed to inform Commander Bhanuraj of the Maharaja's orders. Without delay, preparations were made. A chariot was readied at once.
Soon after, Maharaja Virendra Yadev mounted the chariot.
As it rolled out of the palace gates, leaving the safety of stone walls behind, none could have known—
That this journey would alter the fate of Chandrapur forever.