Kunal burst through the imposing doors of the Mumbai University library, the humid night air clinging to him like a second skin. He scanned the vast, hushed reading room, spotting Ananya near the restricted archives, hunched over a table buried in books. She waved frantically.
"इधर!"
Idhar!
"Over here!"
He weaved through the shelves, his heart still hammering from Ashoka's dream-message and Ananya's urgent call. The library felt different tonight—quieter, colder. The shadows stretched longer. The air buzzed with a strange static.
"क्या मिला?"
Kya mila?
"What did you find?" he asked, breathless as he slid into the chair opposite her.
Ananya pushed a heavy, leather-bound volume toward him. The brittle pages crackled as he opened it. She pointed to a passage written in archaic Sanskrit—not palm-leaf script like before, but elegant, refined. Still, it unfolded in his mind instantly. Instinctively.
"I was digging into lesser-known Jain and Ajivika commentaries," she said, her voice low and taut. "Most mainstream histories barely mention your fate after exile. But look at this… यह देखो।
Yeh dekho.
Look at this."
Kunal leaned in, eyes scanning the words as if drawn into them. They shimmered faintly under the library's dim light:
> गूढसभा या छायासभा येषां मन्त्रैः रानीं विषकृतम्। कमलनेत्रकुमारं पतितं कृत्वा, तस्य वंशः अद्यापि प्रवर्तते। ते युगपरिवर्तनं बिभ्यति, प्रत्यागमनम् उक्तम्, रक्ततारकायां तस्मिन् समये। ते अन्तरिताः सन्ति—पश्यन्ति, यावत् धर्मस्य तुला पुनः स्थाप्यते।
Gūḍhasabhā yā chāyāsabhā yeṣāṁ mantraiḥ rānīṁ viṣakṛtam. Kamalanetrakumāraṁ patitaṁ kṛtvā, tasya vaṁśaḥ adyāpi pravartate. Te yugaparivartanaṁ bibhyati, pratyāgamanaṁ uktam, raktatārakāyāṁ tasmin samaye. Te antarhitāḥ santi—paśyanti, yāvat dharmasya tulā punaḥ sthāpyate.
Beware the shadow council that poisoned the queen's mind and brought down the Lotus-Eyed Prince. Their lineage persists. They fear the turning of the age, the prophesied return beneath the Crimson Star. They remain hidden—watching—until the scales of Dharma are restored.
"Shadow council?" Kunal whispered, the Sanskrit terms ringing loud inside his head.
"वंशः प्रवर्तते..."
Vaṁśaḥ pravartate...
"Their lineage persists..."
He shivered.
"It's not just about history, is it?" Ananya said. "It's today. That passage could've been written now—not centuries ago. It lines up with everything Ashoka told you."
Kunal stared at the script. Watchers. Crimson stars. A lineage afraid of return. A prophecy. A name lost to time, now resurfacing. His niyati—his fate—felt stitched into every syllable.
Overhead, the lights flickered. Not much. Just enough to notice.
And then, it came.
The pressure.
Like the atmosphere thickened. Like the air itself resisted being breathed. He smelled sandalwood again, sharp and immediate. But beneath it—something metallic, like rusted iron and dried blood.
"कुणाल?"
Kunal?
"Are you okay?" Ananya's voice sounded far away.
He gripped the edge of the table, white-knuckled. His vision tunneled. The library fell away.
---
Flash.
He was seated on a throne—not the emperor's, but an ornate private one. Rājāsanam. Silks brushed against his skin. He could not see—his world was textured darkness. The blindness. He remembered.
But he wasn't alone.
A rustle of fabric. A cloying, familiar scent.
तिष्यरक्षिता
Tishyarakshita
The Empress. The traitor.
"Such a pity," her voice rang, sharper than ever—devoid of the regret he'd once felt from her. "You could've been... useful. But like your father, you chose dharma."
He tried to move. Speak. His body was heavy. Sluggish. Drugged.
Then another presence.
It approached silently, looming behind him.
A flash of metal near his throat.
Pain—white, pure, and final.
A choked gasp. A spray of warmth.
वधः।
Vadhaḥ.
Murder.
Darkness. Not blindness. Not sleep. Death.
---
Kunal gasped violently, clutching his throat. He lurched forward, drenched in cold sweat. The library slammed back into focus like a wall. Ananya was on her feet, pale and panicked.
"कुणाल! क्या हुआ? फिर से देखा?"
Kunal! Kya hua? Phir se dekha?
"Kunal! What happened? Another vision?"
He nodded, breath caught in his chest.
"उन्होंने सिर्फ अंधा नहीं किया था, एनी," he rasped.
"Unhone sirf andha nahi kiya tha, Annie,"
"They didn't just blind me, Annie,"
"उन्होंने मुझे मारा भी था।"
"Unhone mujhe maara bhi tha."
"They murdered me."
She slowly sat down, eyes wide, scanning the ancient passage again.
"गूढसभा..."
Gūḍhasabhā...
"The Shadow Council..."
"वंशः प्रवर्तते..."
Vaṁśaḥ pravartate...
"Their lineage continues..."
"If what you saw really happened—"
Kunal looked at her, the truth dawning like a storm behind his eyes.
"They didn't just kill me," he said. "They made sure I wouldn't return. But I did."
Ananya whispered, "और अब शायद उन्हें पता चल गया है..."
Aur ab shayad unhein pata chal gaya hai...
"And now, maybe… they know."
The silence between them was deafening.
The library no longer felt like a sanctuary. It felt exposed. Watched.
The past wasn't dead.
It was awake.
---
To be continued...