The corridor outside Princess Maya's room was drenched in darkness, the silence broken only by the faint crackle of energy that pulsed like a heartbeat in the air.
Vikram Das slowly rose from the wooden chair, the creak of its legs echoing ominously in the long hallway.
His eyes, sharp as hawk talons, locked onto the approaching figure—a towering, broad-shouldered man clad entirely in black. The man's aura was suffocating, and the weight of his presence was enough to make even seasoned warriors hesitate.
With one look, Vikram Das understood that the person before him is not an ordinary man. If his instinct is right, the opponent is a cultivator. And not just any cultivator—one who had walked a long, bloody path. One whose strength brewed silently like a storm cloud waiting to burst.
