In the world of Nirvania - where the art of swordsmanship, inner energy and spirits were woven into daily life - the planet's geography reflected its mysticism: 44.2% land, 55.8% water. From its towering mountain ranges to its endless oceans, Nirvania's landscapes were as breathtaking as they were treacherous.
At the heart of this world sprawled Manovrta, a colossal continent that dominated the surface like a divine canvas. Eight mighty empires rose from its soil, each steeped in culture, history, and ancient legacies.
Foremost among them stood the Rajvansh Samrajya - a beacon of power and excellence. Its capital, Shrinagar City, was a marvel of the age: spires kissing the skies, streets pulsing with life, and every stone etched with the legacy of its people. History and progress walked hand in hand here, like old allies.
As the sun crested the horizon, Shrinagar awoke in symphony - the clash of sparring steel, the murmur of sacred mantras, the rustle of silk in motion. In the bustling bazaar, merchants haggled beneath banners bearing noble crests. In the training grounds, warriors honed their forms, while sages whispered truths to disciples beneath banyan trees.
At the city's heart rose the royal palace, a celestial fortress of ivory and obsidian. Its spires loomed over the city, casting long shadows that reminded all who walked below of the power housed within.
Then, the grand doors of the court swung open.
A voice, rich with ritual and resonance, rang through the chamber:
"Listen! Listen! By the divine blessings of the gods and the sacred dharma, I announce the arrival of Param Pujya Samrat Maharajadhiraj Vikramaditya Rajvanshi[1]! Let all present rise and offer their salutations to the sovereign ruler of the glorious Rajvansh Samrajya!"
Silence fell like a curtain. Nobles stood in reverence as Samrat[2] Vikramaditya entered, his presence alone commanding the room.
Clad in regal gold-trimmed robes, the Samrat's features were both sharp and seasoned - a scar above his left brow a quiet mark of battles past. His piercing ruby eyes swept the court, assessing not just faces, but loyalties.
Though nearing fifty, his strength had not faded. Wisdom and might coexisted within him - a ruler feared by enemies and revered by his people.
But today's court was no mere ritual. It was a celebration - a reception for the war hero, the lion of the northern front:
Pradhāna-Samanta Rudrapratap Chauhan.
With a single, graceful wave, the Samrat bade them be seated, and the proceedings of the court commenced.
The hall was heavy with anticipation. Rumors had already stirred a storm among the nobility:
"Have you heard? Pradhāna-Samanta Rudrapratap Chauhan has returned!"
"And not just him-his army, and that unknown young prodigy, have come back as well."
"A mere boy of thirteen or fourteen? And... he survived alone on the battlefield?"
"Not just survived. He slaughtered an entire pack of Kalagnivṛkah[2] - high-level monsters!"
"And he's already mastered the crafts of medicine and enchantment - the highest grade of magical tools and remedies."
"He's a healer as well as a warrior. Truly extraordinary."
The murmurs swelled - a rising tide of admiration and disbelief. The young prodigy's feats had already begun to crystallize into legend, marking him as a singular force of talent, resilience, and unshakable will.
But the whispers did not go unnoticed.
Seated in places of prominence, the heads of the empire's three great Mahāsamanta[4] families - Mahāsamanta Jaidrath Roy of Roygadh, Mahāsamanta Mahendra Sehgal of Sehgalgarh, and Mahāsamanta Manoj Raichand of Chandrahas - remained composed, their expressions carefully unreadable.
These men - the bedrock of the empire's nobility - sat in stoic observation, aware that something - or someone - was shifting the balance of power.
Then, the herald's voice echoed again:
"The Pradhāna-Samanta of Gamunotri, Rudrapratap Chauhan, has arrived!"
All eyes turned to the entrance.
Rudrapratap strode into the hall, a presence carved from stone and battle. Though seventy-five, he carried himself with the strength of a seasoned warrior, his grey-streaked hair and unblemished face marked by decades of battle.
Clad in black-red-gray attire, he was the very image of nobility and power - his every movement deliberate, his aura one of unwavering resolve.
He knelt, head bowed.
"Rudrapratap Chauhan offers salutations to the father of the Samrajya. I beg pardon for my delayed arrival, Samrat."
The emperor's lips curved into a rare smile.
"Rudrapratap ji, your return was worth the wait. Their anticipation turning to awe - it's been a pleasure to watch."
With a graceful wave, he bid the warlord rise and sit in his seat.
But admiration was not universal.
From among the nobles, Sāmanta Angadpratap Chauhan stepped forward, bowing with polished formality - though his voice carried a sharpened undertone:
"Samrat, if it pleases you, may I ask Pradhāna-Samanta a question?"
The emperor nodded. Angad's question followed, its edge veiled:
"I note the absence of your esteemed soldier, the young prodigy. Might I ask why he has not graced this occasion with his presence?"
A challenge.
To think that a mere child of unknown origin could turn the tides of battle in just two years... It was a thought that grated on Angad's pride.
The court held its breath.
Rudrapratap locked eyes with Angad, his gaze as cold and unyielding as steel. The silence between them was thick, charged with an intensity that swallowed the air. No words were needed. The weight of that single stare sent an involuntary shiver racing down Angad's spine, a sensation that seemed to crawl beneath his skin, seeping into his very bones.
Angad tried to steady himself, but his heart betrayed him, pounding loudly in his chest. His breath grew shallow, as though his body knew something his mind couldn't yet grasp. Rudrapratap's eyes were a void-calm, calculating, yet full of a warning that made Angad's blood run cold.
The stillness stretched on, unbroken, as though the very world around them had paused. Angad could feel the unspoken challenge in the air, like a storm waiting to break. There was no escape from the weight of those eyes, no way to hide from the invisible tension that tightened between them.
And in that frozen moment, everything that needed to be said hung in the balance, unsaid but understood. Angad looked away first.
Only then did the emperor speak again, cutting the tension with poise:
"Rudrapratap ji, a grand banquet is planned to honor your triumph. Will that young prodigy be in attendance?"
Rudrapratap's tone was calm, but the weight in his voice pressed on every ear.
"I regret to inform you, Samrat, that the borders remain unstable. I cannot leave them undefended, nor can I risk further attacks from the demonic monsters."
A hush fell over the court.
The Samrat's eyes narrowed.
"Then... this peace is not yet secure?"
A grave question. A solemn nod.
A voice finally shattered the silence - Mahāsamanta Jaidrath Roy:
"Could this herald his return?"
The room darkened with meaning.
Rudrapratap responded carefully:
"I do not know. But the increase in demonic activity... is troubling."
The shadow of unease fell over the court. Yet in the gloom, hope flickered.
Rudrapratap shared tales from the front: how the young prodigy had transformed the region - building magical barriers, teaching villagers to defend themselves, and empowering them to fight alongside knights.
"That child believes survival lies in unity - between nobles and the people." Rudrapratap declared. "If there is to be a banquet, I suggest extending invitations to the commoners as well. Their courage has been no less than ours."
"These are the words of the young prodigy, addressed to the father of the Samrajya."
The court stirred.
Even the Samrat paused, absorbing the words.
Then, he rose, eyes alight.
"Excellent!" he exclaimed. "Our kingdom has a bright future ahead!"
Realizing his enthusiasm, he took a breath, composed himself, and returned to his throne with a calm dignity.
"That child... is a visionary. A light for the generations to come."
The nobles sat in stunned silence - their hearts stirred, their minds uneasy.
"The Rajvansh Samrajya stood at a turning point. The storm was coming."
"But with warriors like Rudrapratap Chauhan... And a prodigy who defied fate itself..."
"The empire would not fall."
[1] Param Pujya Samrat Maharajadhiraj Vikramaditya Rajvanshi (परम पूज्य सम्राट् महाराजाधिराज विक्रमादित्य राजवंशी): The Most Revered Supreme Emperor Vikramaditya of the Rajvansh Dynasty
[2] Samrat (सम्राट्): Emperor
[3] Kālāgnivṛkaḥ (कालाग्निवृकः)
Kāla (काल) = Death/Time (god of death)
Agni (अग्नि) = Fire
Vṛkaḥ (वृकः) = Wolf
(Wolf of deathly blazing fire - very fierce)
[4] Mahāsamanta: Great Feudatory Lord