The air inside Ashoka's private chamber was still, but heavy—like the silence before a storm. He sat on the edge of a bronze throne, not as a king, but as a man shackled by choices and haunted by shadows.
Ashvath entered quietly.
Ashoka didn't look up. "How many more, Ashvath?"
Ashvath's voice was low. "Three last night. They tried to flee. One carried a letter… sealed with a serpent insignia."
That finally made Ashoka look up.
---
Secrets of the Serpent
Later, in the war tent, Ashvath laid the letter on the table. The serpent symbol curled across the wax like a thing alive.
Sita examined it, her brow furrowed. "I've seen this before. In Takshashila... years ago. A cult. They weren't just rebels—they believed in chaos. A world without kings, without empires."
Ashoka's voice turned cold. "They want to see everything burn."
Ashvath nodded. "And they're inside our gates."
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Ashoka's Burden
That night, Ashoka walked the quiet corridors of his war pavilion, pausing at a tent where injured soldiers rested.
He listened to the groans, the breathless prayers. So many faces. So much blood.
He whispered to the shadows, "Is this what a king becomes? A reaper cloaked in silk?"
Behind him, a voice answered.
"You're not alone in this."
It was Ashvath.
Ashoka smiled faintly. "No. But I still carry the crown."
---
The Gathering Storm
Elsewhere, in a forgotten ruin beyond the northern river, cloaked figures knelt before a fire. At the center stood a tall man with a mask—etched with the same serpent sigil.
"They've uncovered our scent," he hissed. "Let them come. When the winds shift, even empires fall."
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End of Chapter 28