Night had settled over the palace like a heavy veil.
Inside the royal chamber, the soft golden glow of oil lamps flickered gently against carved stone walls, bathing the room in warmth and shadow. Maharaj Virendra sat upright on his ornate bed, his regal frame relaxed yet alert, an ancient manuscript resting open in his hands. The yellowed pages whispered of forgotten eras, prophecies, and burdens only kings were meant to carry.
Beyond the thick doors, the wind stirred faintly, its low murmur brushing against the stillness of the night.
Then a voice broke the silence.
"Long live the King!"
It was firm, disciplined—yet unmistakably respectful.
Maharaj Virendra's eyes lifted from the text at once. Without haste, he closed the book and placed it beside his pillow, the soft thud of leather against silk echoing quietly in the chamber. His expression shifted from scholarly focus to the composed authority of a ruler accustomed to late-night summons.
"Yes, Bhanu," he said calmly.
"Come in. Tell me—what news do you bring at this hour?"
The heavy doors creaked open, their weight announcing the hour as much as the visitor himself.
Commander Bhanuraj stepped inside and bowed deeply before speaking, his armor faintly clinking in the lamp-lit silence.
"Maharaj," he said gravely, "there is no urgent news tonight. But I have come with a matter that weighs on my mind."
Maharaj Virendra rose from his bed and approached his loyal commander, his posture unwavering, his presence carrying the quiet authority of a king who ruled not just by crown, but by conviction.
"Then speak, Bhanu," the king said, his tone curious yet composed.
"What is it that troubles you?"
For a moment, Bhanuraj hesitated. He chose his words with care, as though each one carried the risk of crossing an invisible line.
"Maharaj," he began slowly, "I have heard a question whispered through the palace corridors. It lingers not only in my mind, but in the thoughts of servants and soldiers alike."
He lifted his gaze, meeting the king's eyes with cautious honesty.
"Everyone wonders… why did you grant shelter to that mother and her son? What bond do you share with them?"
Silence settled over the chamber, thick and heavy, like a storm gathering beyond the horizon. The weight of the question lingered in the air, unspoken yet undeniable.
Maharaj Virendra did not answer at once.
Instead, a deliberate smile touched his lips—measured, controlled. His expression remained calm, but beneath it lay layers of intent and secrets carefully guarded.
"There is no relationship, Bhanu," the king said at last, his voice steady and composed.
"But I have my own reasons for keeping that boy within the palace."
Bhanuraj's brows drew together, confusion flickering across his face. The answer only deepened his curiosity rather than easing it.
"Reasons?" he echoed, unable to hide his surprise.
"What reason could there possibly be to grant a place in the royal palace to a boy like him?"
Maharaj Virendra stepped closer to his loyal commander and placed a firm yet reassuring hand on Bhanuraj's shoulder. The gesture was calm, but what followed carried the weight of a secret meant for very few.
"Listen to me, Bhanu," the king said softly, his voice lowered, edged with quiet mystery.
"You are one of my most trusted companions. That is why I am sharing this with you—but what I say now must never leave this room."
Bhanuraj straightened instinctively.
"That boy is here…" Virendra continued, his eyes steady,
"…for Rudra."
Bhanuraj's eyes widened. The words struck him harder than he expected, his voice faltering as disbelief surfaced.
"For Prince Rudra?" he asked, stunned.
"But what could that boy possibly have—"
Before he could finish, Maharaj Virendra let out a low, knowing laugh. It was not mockery, but the laughter of a man who stood several steps ahead of fate itself.
"Oh, Bhanu," the king said, amusement dancing beneath his calm exterior,
"You will not understand it yet. But when the time comes… you will see for yourself what makes that boy so special."
Still stunned, Bhanuraj tried to speak again, the questions in his mind refusing to settle.
"But—" he began hesitantly.
The king's voice cut in—firm, yet calm enough to leave no room for argument.
"No more questions, Bhanu," Maharaj Virendra said decisively.
"And besides… I have a task for you tomorrow."
Bhanuraj straightened at once, surprise flashing across his face.
"A task, Maharaj?" he asked carefully. "What is it?"
As Virendra began to explain, the sharp edge in his demeanor softened, replaced by the composed authority of a ruler who had already decided the path ahead.
"Arrange several chariots tomorrow," the king said evenly.
"I want Rudra, Taksh, and Dhruva taken to Devraj Gurukul. Their education will begin from tomorrow itself."
He paused, letting the weight of his command settle.
"Do you understand me, Bhanu?"
A flicker of surprise crossed Bhanuraj's face, uncertainty weighing down his voice as he tried to speak.
"You may be right, Maharaj, but… Taksh—"
Before he could finish, Maharaj Virendra raised a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. His expression was firm, leaving no doubt that the matter had already been decided.
"Listen carefully, Bhanu," the king said with quiet authority.
"There is a specific reason for sending Dhruva alongside Rudra. But Taksh's presence is just as important."
Bhanuraj fell silent, his attention fully captured.
"We must think of the future," Virendra continued, his voice steady and deliberate.
"One day, your son will take your place as the Commander of this kingdom. And when Rudra ascends the throne as king, he will need a commander by his side—someone loyal, capable, and unwavering."
The king's gaze locked onto Bhanuraj's, sharp yet purposeful.
"Do you understand now, Bhanu?"
Bhanuraj's fists tightened for a brief moment, knuckles whitening as he struggled to contain the storm of emotions rising within him. He forced them to relax, masking his thoughts behind discipline earned through years of service. When he spoke again, his voice was controlled—but a faint trace of disappointment lingered beneath the surface.
"Yes, Maharaj," he said evenly.
"I understand."
With that, the Commander bowed deeply, seeking permission to withdraw. Maharaj Virendra gave a silent nod, and Bhanuraj turned toward the exit. His footsteps echoed through the quiet chamber as he walked away, the heavy doors closing behind him with a low, final sound.
But as he left, his composure fractured—if only within his own mind.
Only time will tell, Virendra, he thought grimly.
Morning arrived with quiet purpose.
As the first rays of the sun rose over Chandrapur, they stretched long, golden shadows across the palace courtyard. Commander Bhanuraj stood at the center of the activity, overseeing the preparations with a sharp, practiced eye. Chariots were being readied for departure—wheels tightened, leather straps checked, and horses harnessed as they stamped impatiently against the stone ground. The rhythmic sounds of metal, hooves, and voices filled the air, carrying with them the certainty of a journey about to begin.
This was no ordinary departure.
Meanwhile, inside the palace, Dhruva moved down the corridor with a heavy heart. The king's command echoed painfully in his mind. Each step toward his chamber felt like a step away from the only comfort he had ever known—his mother.
But as he reached the doorway, he froze.
Kalyani was already there.
She knelt beside a small wooden chest, carefully placing folded clothes, simple necessities, and a few cherished belongings inside. Every movement of her hands was slow, deliberate—like a mother preparing her child not just for a journey, but for a life that would no longer be hers to protect.
The sight shattered Dhruva.
Tears spilled freely as he rushed forward and wrapped his arms tightly around her, burying his face against her shoulder. His small body trembled, his voice breaking under the weight of fear and separation.
"Ma…" he sobbed.
"I don't want to leave you. I don't want to go without you."
Kalyani paused for a moment, her hands resting on the half-packed chest. Slowly, she turned toward her son and cupped his tear-streaked face in both her palms. Her touch was gentle, grounding—her voice steady, yet filled with a quiet warmth that only a mother could summon in moments like this.
"Don't say such things, Dhruva," she said softly.
"This is not a punishment. It is a blessing."
She brushed her thumbs across his cheeks, wiping away his tears as her eyes searched his.
"The Maharaj has given you an opportunity that countless people can only dream of," she continued. "Devraj Gurukul will shape you, guide you… it will help you become the warrior you have always wished to be."
But Dhruva shook his head fiercely, his emotions spilling over. Tears streamed down his face as his voice broke into desperate sobs.
"No, Ma!" he cried.
"If becoming a warrior means leaving you behind, then I don't want to be one. I can't leave you alone. I won't."
Kalyani's eyes glistened, but she held herself together. Pulling Dhruva close, she wrapped him in a firm, reassuring embrace—one meant to lend strength even as her own heart trembled.
"Don't cry, Dhruva," she whispered softly.
"This is our duty."
She rested her forehead against his, her voice calm, steady, resolute.
"When we had nowhere to go, the Maharaj gave us shelter," she continued. "Now it is our turn to serve him. You will learn. You will grow. You will become a great warrior—one worthy of the hopes the Maharaj has placed in you. Remember this, my son: your destiny is calling you. Do not let your emotions overpower you."
With those words, the moment could no longer be delayed.
Dhruva gathered his belongings and walked toward the waiting chariot. As he climbed aboard, he turned back, his eyes fixed on his mother—trying to memorize her face, her strength, her warmth. The wheels creaked. The horses stirred.
And then the chariot began to move.
As Dhruva disappeared down the path, Kalyani's strength finally gave way. She sank into a corner of the room, her body trembling as sobs tore free from her chest. Covering her face with her hands, she cried out through her tears—
"O God… please always protect my son. Shield him from every danger. Keep him safe, wherever this path may lead him."
Outside, the chariot carried Dhruva toward Devraj Gurukul—toward discipline, destiny, and a future forged in fire.
Inside, a mother prayed.