Seasons had turned.
Winter had withdrawn, and summer had taken its place. The air was warmer now—not harsh, but firm. The earth carried the scent of renewal.
With the change came life.
Flora thickened. Rivers ran clearer. Birds returned in restless flocks. Across the kingdom, fields were inspected, canals cleared, storage houses reopened.
It was also the final stretch of the campaigning season.
Across the subcontinent, kingdoms made their closing moves. Those at war sought decisive engagements before the skies broke open. Those at peace repositioned troops, reinforced borders, and reorganized supply lines.
For after this would come the monsoon.
And once the rains arrived, large-scale military operations would become slow, costly, and uncertain.
Among the common citizens, life followed its rhythm.
Farmers prepared their lands for the next agricultural cycle. Artisans secured raw materials before prices surged. Merchants and officials moved goods, coin, and grain while roads remained reliable. Warehouses filled. Contracts were settled.
Preparation.
Yet for the Kingdom of Valangar, this season carried more than the usual rhythms of state and soil.
Alongside the Vasanta Utsava[1]—the festival of renewal—another celebration stirred the capital.
The formal recognition of the new Yuvraj.
What for others was a seasonal transition—
For Valangar, was the beginning of something far greater.
__________________________________
Months later.Beginning of summer.
Hamsa was awake before sunrise, as usual.
Bathing. Breathing exercises. Cleansing. The familiar rhythm of discipline that grounded his mornings.
He was finishing his Jala Neti,[2] clearing his nose and mouth, when a heavy thud echoed through his chamber.
The sound was sharp. Sudden.
He set the vessel down at once and stepped out.
And what he was was, his younger half brother Garuda on the floor and Chotu's hind leg was in his hand.
"What," Hamsa said, his voice already edged with irritation, "are you doing in my room?"
He stepped forward without waiting for an answer and lifted the cub from Garuda's grip.
Chotu had grown considerably; nearly a third of his body now hung past Hamsa's forearm. The weight was no longer negligible.
"And what," he added coldly, "are you doing with him?"
Garuda pushed himself up, rubbing his shoulder with a wince.
"At least let me stand up, Brother."
"Answer the question."
Garuda hesitated.
"I came to ask you something. I was waiting. And this mo—"
He stopped mid-word.
Hamsa's gaze sharpened.
"I mean," Garuda corrected quickly, "your pet was growling at me."
"He expressed his dislike. That is not a crime," Hamsa replied evenly. "And you will show him respect. Start off my addressing him by name."
Garuda blinked and felt fear, as It was rare for his elder brother to display irritation so plainly.
Though ignoring this and without another word, Hamsa turned and moved toward the balcony. He took his seat in the shade. Chotu immediately sprawled across his lap, tail flicking as if claiming territory.
Garuda followed and sat opposite him.
"Now," Hamsa said flatly, "what do you want?"
Garuda straightened instinctively.
"Elder Brother… now that you have been formally named Yuvraj… can you authorize me to leave the Royal District?"
Hamsa paused.
It had not even been a week since the ceremony. And he had carried a childish, naive notion that his first act as Yuvraj should hold some weight. Something meaningful.
"Why?" he asked.
"I want to visit the Upper Districts," Garuda said. "I have friends there. They visit the Royal District often, but I want to go there. Meet others. See more."
"I did not ask where," Hamsa replied calmly. "I asked why you came to me."
Garuda shifted slightly.
"I asked Mother first. She said I could go… but told me to ask you as well."
Hamsa frowned faintly.
"Why would she do that?"
"I do not know."
She probably wants you to go with him, Adi said inside his head.
Hamsa remained still.
While I was wandering the palace, I heard her speaking with her attendant. She is concerned about your mental state. She thinks you isolate yourself too much. And as such, she likely wants you to socialize—unofficially.
Is that so.
Hamsa glanced at Garuda.
Garuda was waiting, hopeful but trying not to show it too obviously. His posture was composed, but his fingers tapped lightly against his knee.
"Very well," Hamsa said at last. "You may leave the Royal District."
Garuda's face brightened instantly.
"But," Hamsa continued, "I will accompany you."
Garuda blinked.
"If you have a problem with that," Hamsa added evenly, "you may remain inside."
Garuda broke into a grin.
"No problem at all! I would like that."
Hamsa nodded once.
"Then inform me whenever you wish to leave for the Upper Districts. If I am free, I will accompany you."
Garuda nodded eagerly.
"Also," Hamsa added, his tone sharpening slightly, "one more thing before you leave. Who are these friends you are referring to?"
Garuda listed a few names—sons of merchants, noble nephews and sons alike, even few military officer's children. He spoke casually, though Hamsa noted each one carefully.
After that a few more minutes of conversation followed, then Garuda rose and took his leave, energy barely contained.
The chamber grew quiet again.
Chotu flicked his tail lazily across Hamsa's arm, eyes half-closed as he rested in his lap.
Hamsa stared out over the palace grounds, thoughtful.
Hmm, just as I suspected, Hamsa thought.
And what is that you suspected? Adi replied.
Well. Most of the names Garuda just listed belong to heirs of important families based in the capital. That alone says plenty.
And what does that say? Adi prompted.
Hamsa sighed.
Most of them are older. Fourteen, fifteen, maybe even edging toward sixteen. Only a handful fall into the ten or eleven range. Garuda and I are in that younger cluster.
Though he looks closer to their age, while I—physically at least—am pushing twenty. Mentally… well. Mentally I'm an old ass man stuck in a body that hasn't caught up yet.
There was a pause as the pieces arranged themselves.
Combine that with everything else, and Garuda must have a very… strange mental state. He's standing between worlds without even realizing it.
Tell me, Hamsa continued, now that you've got your spirit form and are drifting through palace corridors like some nosy ghost. You see more than I do. How would you describe him?
Well… now that I think about it, Adi said slowly, he does behave a bit weirdly.
He's still very much a ten-year-old at heart. He sneaks off to your mother's chambers sometimes just to sleep beside her. He likes being spoiled. He sulks when he doesn't get his way. He laughs too loud at dumb jokes. He clings.
But then he turns around and tries—fails, succeeds in varying degrees—to act older. To act like you.
Hamsa let that settle.
That's the part that makes it uncomfortable.
Garuda is smart. Damn smart. If I weren't a reincarnate with a head start and decades of memory, he'd likely be considered exceptional. High on the IQ scale. Not as skewed as mine, sure—but sharp enough that people would whisper about it.
And yet he is still a child.
He processes faster than most his age. Understands implications. Sees patterns. But emotionally? He's still a child. He wants praises. Wants affection. Wants to be seen as capable without actually giving up the safety net of being young.
So he's split, Adi concluded quietly.
Yeah in a way he is split.
He stands among older heirs and wants to measure up. He stands beside me and wants to catch up. But when night falls, he's still the boy who crawls into his mother's room.
That contradiction has to do something to a person.
He's maturing unevenly. Intellect pulling him forward. Emotion holding him back. Pride pushing him to imitate me. Instinct dragging him toward comfort.
Adi just kept quite as Hamsa continued.
No wonder he feels off.
If I weren't careful, he'd start forcing himself to grow faster than he should. And that… that would leave cracks.
Hamsa exhaled slowly, the weight of understanding settling in.
Well he's not broken yet. If that happens and he seems me as to root cause of it all it would be very very bad.
"Bad how?" Adi said as he manifested his sprit form in front of Hamsa. It was Hamsa's old body, though now he was not weirded out by seeing it.
Hamsa did not answer immediately.
"Well… I do not want to be known as the man who killed his own brother," he said at last. "Even if no one would be surprised. It would fit the times. Hell people would call it inevitable."
He leaned back in his seat, shifting his gaze from the palace grounds below, to the sprawling city beyond, and finally to the open sky above.
"I would still feel strange about it."
For now, everything was stable.
Garuda was smart. Growing stronger by the month. Quick to grasp patterns. Quick to recover from mistakes.
But he was also… light.
Air-headed, in the harmless sense. The kind who laughed too loudly. The kind who could befriend a room in an afternoon. The kind people liked without effort.
Not the inconsiderate, doesn't-understand-boundaries type.
Just… bright.
There was a part of Hamsa—smaller & quieter—that wondered what it might be like to move through the world like that.
"Well if it ever comes to it," Hamsa continued, voice steady, "if he—or someone behind him—pushes him to draw steel against me… I would not hesitate—"
The words stalled.
He knew the ending.
But saying it felt heavier than thinking it.
Silence lingered.
"You could avoid that," Adi said. "If you are careful."
Hamsa's frowned slightly.
"Careful how? I know how I operate. If I start adjusting myself deliberately, any third party will see it as manipulation. Or worse, they will think I am being an overbearing, cold older brother trying to suppress him."
He rested his elbow against the armrest.
"And I cannot control what Garuda himself might think."
"Looking through your memories," Adi said thoughtfully, "you are not entirely wrong. Without hindsight, your actions often appear… calculating."
Hamsa glanced sideways.
"At least sugarcoat it."
"And what would that accomplish?"
A faint exhale escaped him.
"I do not know. Probably nothing."
The wind shifted, carrying distant city noise upward.
_______________________________________
A month later.Midday — Upper Districts.
The sun hung high overhead.
The large drill field was no longer just a training ground. At its center lay a flattened pitch, wooden stumps planted firmly at both ends. The bats were carved from practice timber, the ball locally made and already scuffed from overuse.
Cricket.
After thinking it through carefully, Hamsa had chosen it as the first sport to bring from his old world into this one.
Though it had taken over two weeks to properly explain the rules. Longer to stop arguments about outs and boundaries.
But now, a month in, it had become the new sensation among both teens and adults.
And as discussed with Garuda, Hamsa was in the upper district and playing.
For the current game—
The teams were nearly even—sons of officers and nobles on one side, merchants' and soldiers' sons on the other.
The outlier was Hamsa who was with the later of the two, opposite to his younger brother.
He stood at the crease, adjusting his grip.
Back in his old world, he had never been exceptional. Just decent. He liked the game, understood it well enough, but he had never been the best on any field.
Here, though, that was different.
For now, at least, he could claim to be the best.
The bowler ran in.
The release was clean enough. Slightly full.
Hamsa stepped forward and drove straight past him. The ball skimmed across the ground before the fielder could react.
Cheers rose instantly.
Garuda, stationed nearby, called out, "You are not holding back at all!"
"I am," Hamsa replied evenly.
The next ball was shorter. He pulled it toward mid-wicket. Two runs.
They were improving. That much was obvious. A month ago, half of them would have missed that length entirely.
Another delivery. Overpitched.
This time he lofted it high.
The ball cleared the inner field and dropped beyond reach.
The crowd roared again.
Someone near the boundary muttered, "He really is unfair."
Hamsa exhaled quietly.
He was not a prodigy. Just ahead.
And he was aware that gap was already shrinking.
As he reset his stance for the next ball, he glanced briefly at the gathering around the field—nobles, merchants, soldiers—all watching the same arc through the sky.
Not bad, he thought.
The bowler turned for his run-up again.
Hamsa raised the bat.
For now, he was the best.
And for now, that was enough.
[1] Modern Day-Holi. Basically it's like the start of the year festival, and something common across all cultures from east to west. I will have a semi-fun fact in the comments.
[2] Comments for info.