“You know what’s even funnier…” Joshua said with a lopsided smile—half pride, half regret—as he looked at Chandana. “I got lectured about honor by someone known for her beastly temper.”
Chandana blinked. The edge of their earlier tension had dulled. Now, inside the ancient stone depths of the palace—on the subfloor beneath the Hall of Shields—beside a tomb bathed in quiet torchlight, her anger had faded, replaced by quiet curiosity and something dangerously close to guilt.
“Who?” she asked softly.
“My twin,” Joshua said, easing himself down beside the tomb. “Joanna.”
He let the name hang in the silence, then gave a dry laugh.
“The royal sorcerer—an ancient nut who still thinks prophecy is a science—he once said we’d have the same nature because we were born together.” Joshua pulled a dagger from the side of his belt, flipping it once in his hand. “But there’s no bigger lie than that.”
He stared at the blade.
“I always went with the sword. Brother said it’s the weapon of knights. That it holds a knight’s pride. And I believed him.”
He gestured with the dagger, vaguely pointing toward the stone steps above them—toward the throne-like chair that had once been placed for the girl with the deep blue eyes.
“But Joanna… she chose daggers. Just because Big Brother favored them. Just because she thought it made her closer to him.” His voice cracked with bitter amusement. “She’s the wild one. The loud one. Always out on expeditions, dragging shadows behind her. She’s reckless. Stubborn. But somehow, she’s the one who taught me what pride actually means.”
He stood slowly, walking toward the empty chair as if it still bore the weight of the girl they’d lost.
“I stood right there,” he pointed, his tone bitter, “like a perfect knight—stiff in my captain’s armor—when she stood here and lectured me about honor.”
He let out a heavy sigh and turned back toward Chandana.
“When Brother brought back Big Sister’s body… when he burned down that village in your world… and when Father banished him for a hundred years…” he paused, his eyes shadowed with memory, “I was in the royal court. I didn’t say a word. I just stood there. A good little knight.”
He laughed again—but this time, it wasn’t funny. It was tired. Hollow.
“Joanna wasn’t there. She was off chasing shadows, claiming she was doing what Big Brother would’ve done.”
His jaw clenched.
“When she came back and found out what happened—how he was punished for defending the one he loved—she didn't cry, she didn’t beg. She handed in her Knight's badge… and joined the Beasts.”
He looked down at the dagger again, then handed it to Chandana without warning.
“She may be a savage,” he said, “but she remembered who our brother was. I… I forgot.”
There was a long silence between them. Then Joshua smiled again, this time gentler.
“Thanks to your little knighthood speech earlier,” he added, nudging her shoulder lightly, “I remembered a bit too.”
He turned and walked away toward the stairs, leaving Chandana standing by the tomb—dagger in hand, heart heavier than before.
Outside, the wind howled through the stone corridors, carrying whispers of beasts, of shadows, and of a prince who once loved too deeply.
Dim blue light filtered through stained glass, falling across the polished stone floor like ripples of moonlight. Dust danced gently in the still air. In the center of the room stood a single tomb carved from dark obsidian, draped in a cloth of midnight silk. Beneath it rested Anweshi—the woman they all once looked up to as more than just a sister.
Joanna knelt before the tomb, her eyes closed, her lips moving in a soft, silent prayer. Her black uniform shimmered faintly in the light, her form motionless—like a statue forged from shadow and grief.
Then the silence cracked.
“Joanna!”
Joshua’s voice echoed through the hall, bouncing off the ancient stones like the sound of a blade being drawn.
She didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. Her lips paused briefly, then resumed their silent chant.
“What do you want, Joshua?” she asked, calm as ice, eyes still closed.
“You’ve decided to join the Beasts?” His voice was louder now—raw, almost desperate. “Tell me that’s not true.”
“It is,” she said softly. “I have.”
Joshua’s jaw clenched. His boots echoed across the chamber as he stormed forward.
“The hell you have! Do you have any pride left, Joanna?! Any at all?!”
She stood now—slowly, gracefully—and turned to face him.
“Pride?” she repeated, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “You speak to me of pride?”
Her voice rose, trembling not from fear, but from fury long restrained.
“Was it pride when you stood still—did nothing—while our sister was murdered outside the Empire? Was it pride when our Big brother—the Crown Prince—fell apart in front of us, and our father cast him out like a traitor?”
She stepped closer, her eyes shining with a storm of sorrow and rage.
“What pride, Joshua? The kind that lets you wear a medal while our family burns?”
“Joanna…” His voice cracked into a roar. “You dare question our father?!”
His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, gripping it tight. “You question the Emperor in front of one of his Knights?!”
“I’ll question anyone who stood against my brother,” she snarled, drawing a dagger from her waist, its edge glinting with the same cold light that danced across her face. “Even if that ‘anyone’ is you, my dear twin.”
Joshua drew his sword in one sharp motion, pointing it at her throat. The steel between them gleamed like a line of blood yet to be drawn.
“When,” he growled, “did he become only your brother?”
Joanna didn’t move.
“When you stood by,” she said calmly, “as our Crown Princess—his beloved—was slain. When you chose silence over justice. When you watched as our brother was exiled and called it duty.”
Joshua’s sword lowered slowly. His hands trembled. His voice, when it came, was thick with grief.
“He was my mentor… my teacher… my role model. But Father is still the Emperor…”
Joanna stepped back, her anger melting just slightly, revealing the hurt beneath.
“If I were in your place, Joshua… I would have followed him. Because he has always been more of a father than the man who wears the crown. And she—” she gestured toward the tomb “—she was more of a mother than the one who gave us birth.”
She stared at the sword in his hand. “That blade you raised against me? It was her gift. The same sword that’s saved your life more times than you can count.”
Joshua looked down at the weapon, as if it had betrayed him.
“But she died outside the Empire,” he said softly, as if trying to convince himself. “The Empire had nothing to do with it. Our brother broke the law—he fought openly, used magic where it was forbidden.”
Joanna’s voice was suddenly calm, resolute.
“Yes. He broke the law. But he did it for love. He fought for vengeance. That, to me… that is pride.”
She turned away from him, walking slowly toward the exit.
“Joanna,” he called—this time not in anger, but in sorrow. “If you leave the Knight Order, I won’t be able to protect you. You’ll lose your honor… your place in the Empire…”
She paused at the threshold, back still turned.
“Joshua, the Knights betrayed my brother. The King’s Guard threw him out. I can’t live among those who betrayed him.”
She turned her head just slightly, just enough for him to see her eyes.
“I’ll live without a title. I’ll live without this Empire. But when our brother needs me, I’ll be ready. The Beasts are the only ones who fight without permission. That’s what he needs.”
She looked at the tomb once more.
“The younger ones are yours now. And this tomb… Take care of it. She liked black dahlias. Bring her anything else, even once… and I swear, Joshua—I’ll come back and kill you.”
With that, she disappeared into the shadowed hallway.
Joshua sank to his knees, sword clattering beside him, echoing in the chamber like a scream.
His eyes filled with tears that finally spilled over.
His voice broke into the silence like a confession before the dead.
“Brother… forgive me. I had to betray you… just to protect what you taught me.”
And the chamber, once sacred and proud, now held nothing but the grief of a man who had lost too much—and said too little.
“Princess, wait—please be careful!” Aruna shouted, struggling to keep up.
But Anweshi was already running — feet pounding the scorched earth, the long hem of her dress trailing behind her like smoke. Flames danced on either side of the narrow path, devouring the golden rice fields with relentless hunger.
Even in her knight’s armor, Aruna hesitated at the edge of the fire.
But the princess? She ran straight in. Without a pause. Without fear.
And somehow, the fire… didn’t touch her.
The heat licked at her skin, but the flames parted slightly — as if unsure whether to embrace or fear her.
“Joanna!” Anweshi called out, her voice cutting through the roar.
“I’m here, Big Sister!” a soft voice called back from somewhere deeper inside.
Anweshi followed the sound, weaving between patches of smoke and flickering fire, until she reached the heart of the blaze.
There, in the center of the burning field, sat a little girl.
Her hair wild, her cheeks flushed — and around her, flames spun like ribbon. Not hurting her. Dancing with her.
Joanna.
She was playing.
“What are you doing here?” Anweshi gasped, both relieved and furious. “Do you realize what you've done?”
“I was training,” Joanna said, eyes wide with innocence. “With fire.”
“Is this your idea of training?” Anweshi snapped, looking around at the blackened crops and the smoke-stained sky. “You’ve destroyed half the field, Joanna!”
“I… I was trying to mimic Big Brother’s power,” Joanna murmured, voice cracking as she looked at the devastation. “I thought I could…”
“Make it stop,” Anweshi said firmly, grabbing her hand. “Now.”
“But… I don’t know how,” Joanna whispered, trembling. Her voice was full of fear now. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Then you’re coming with me,” Anweshi said, pulling her gently but firmly out of the field. Joanna stumbled behind her, near tears.
As they reached the edge, Anweshi called out over her shoulder, “Aruna! Call a water mage — someone strong. Have them douse the flames. And take Joanna back to the palace. She is not to leave the grounds until I say so.”
“Yes, Princess,” Aruna replied. She turned to the other knights who had arrived and signaled them to escort Joanna. A pair of mages stepped forward immediately, chanting softly as water formed at their palms and surged toward the fire.
Only then did Anweshi notice the farmer.
He stood at the edge of the road, eyes wide, body frozen. His skin was streaked with ash, and his face — tired and sun-worn — twisted with helpless grief. He said nothing. Couldn’t. His entire season’s work was turning to smoke before him.
And in front of him stood royalty.
Anweshi walked toward him, her steps slow, deliberate. Then — to the shock of everyone watching — she bowed her head.
“I am so sorry for my sister,” she said softly.
The farmer blinked, stunned. “Y-Your Highness…?”
“You don’t need to apologize to a peasant, Princess,” Aruna whispered from behind, uneasy.
But Anweshi didn’t move. “No, Aruna. I must.”
She looked up at the farmer — his palms still trembling, his eyes still wet.
“He works the land for this Empire, doesn’t he? Without his labor, there’s no food on our tables. No nation.”
Aruna opened her mouth to respond… then stopped. Because she knew. Anweshi was not like the others.
“What’s your name, sir?” Anweshi asked gently.
“Adith,” he replied, unsure if he was dreaming.
“She’s just a child,” Anweshi said. “She didn’t understand the damage. But that doesn’t make this right.”
She reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out a silver emblem — her personal royal seal.
“I’ll see that you’re repaid in full for every crop lost. Personally.”
Then, turning to Aruna, she added, “Ensure he receives compensation from my private fund. No delays.”
“Yes, Princess,” Aruna replied softly.
As the fire was subdued behind them, the smell of wet ash filled the air.
“I don’t know… she probably hates me now.”
Anweshi placed her comb on the vanity table and looked at her reflection in the mirror — eyes shadowed, lips drawn tight. She sat in silence for a moment, watching herself, as if hoping her guilt would fade if she stared long enough.
Across the room, Adam sat at a long, polished table, hunched over scattered maps and sealed scrolls. The royal quarters were grand, but tonight they felt too big, too quiet.
Adam didn’t look up. “Then why did you do it?”
“She burned half the rice fields in Ashit village today, Ichaya,” she said, her voice low but firm. “If she keeps doing things like that… someone has to make her understand.”
Adam watched her for a moment, then rose from his chair and walked to her slowly. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.
“Then why are these beautiful blue eyes wet now?” he asked gently.
Anweshi leaned into him, her voice trembling. “I didn’t want her to feel hated.”
“She won’t,” Adam said, smiling softly. “At least, not in the way you fear.”
“Ichaya…” she whispered, her voice cracking.
He held her tighter.
“I told you before — time flows differently here. Five times faster than in your world. When I came to Earth, I was already over ten in our time. Then I spent six years there. Joanna and Joshua were born over three decades after I was. Our mother died when they were four. Our father became distant. So I became… more of a father than a brother.”
He turned her around gently to face him.
“And since you're my wife, my love — to them, you’re a mother. Maybe not by blood, but by presence.”
Anweshi looked down, her hands clutching the edge of her dress. “But I don’t know how to be that. I never had a family. I don’t know how any of this is supposed to work. They’re the only family I have now. If they hated me, even for a minute…”
Adam lifted her chin with a single finger, his gaze warm and steady.
“They don’t hate you. Children get upset when they’re corrected. They cry. They blame. But they forget, and they heal. Especially when they’re loved. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
He gently led her to the edge of the bed and sat her down beside him.
“They only have one big sister. One mother-figure. And they’re lucky that it’s you.”
Before she could respond, a small knock interrupted the quiet.
“Big Brother… can we come in?” came a small voice from the door.
Adam smiled knowingly. “See? Right on cue.”
He called out gently, “Come in, Joshua. And you too, Joanna.”
The door creaked open. Joshua stepped in first, looking serious. Behind him, Joanna peeked out shyly — her eyes red, her face blotchy from tears.
“Big Sister… she wants to say sorry,” Joshua said softly, stepping aside.
Joanna hesitated. Her voice was barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, Big Sister… I didn’t mean to… Please don’t hate me…”
She broke down again, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.
Anweshi didn’t wait another second.
She rushed to Joanna and knelt before her, pulling her into a tight embrace.
“Don’t cry,” she whispered, holding her tightly. “How could I ever hate you, my little sister?”
Joanna sobbed into her shoulder. “I saw you apologize to a peasant… because of me. I… I humiliated you, didn’t I?”
Anweshi smiled through her tears. “That’s nothing.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“But you lowered your pride, Big Sister,” Joshua said, his young voice firm — yet confused. “A royal shouldn’t do that.”
Anweshi looked at him, still holding Joanna in her arms.
“I didn’t lower my pride,” she said softly. “And even if I did — I’d do it again. A hundred times. For both of you.”
Joshua opened his mouth to protest, but Adam stepped in before he could.
“Joshua,” he said gently. “If you make a mistake — you take responsibility. Saying sorry doesn’t lower your pride. It shows your strength.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Joanna spoke, muffled in Anweshi’s embrace.
“Can I say sorry to the farmer too… Big Brother?”
Adam smiled, pride glinting in his eyes.
“Oh, you can,” he said. “And you will.”
Joshua moved slowly down the spiral steps, his boots echoing lightly against stone worn smooth with age. Chandana followed him in silence, unsure of what to expect—but the moment they stepped into the chamber below, her breath caught.
It was like stepping into another world.
The basement floor was carved entirely out of dark, shimmering obsidian. The walls pulsed faintly, veins of black smoke trapped within like dying embers. Swords, daggers, staffs, and clawed gauntlets lined the walls—each forged from strange, pitch-black metals that seemed to drink in the light.
At the center was a combat arena filled with black sand, soft yet heavy, muffling each step. A training circle was etched into the floor, wide and perfect, flanked by stone galleries. The only source of light came from above—a soft, warm white glow, spilling down through cracks in the ceiling like sunlight filtered through water. It was the only thing in the room that wasn't black.
Chandana stood frozen, staring at it all.
“This…” she whispered, “This doesn’t feel like the rest of the palace.”
Joshua looked around the room with a soft, almost nostalgic smile.
“No. It doesn’t.” He stepped forward slowly, his voice lowered with memory. “After we left the Obsidian Palace, when our family relocated here, Big Sister had the royal craftsmen build this entire arena from scratch.”
He walked over to the edge of the black-sand pit and looked up at the stone gallery above.
“She said we needed to train more. Together. Me, with my swords. Joanna, with her daggers and shadow magic. Josiah, mastering illusion and deception. And Adina... with the dark arts no one dares name out loud.”
He pointed to an elegantly carved stone chair on the gallery.
“She used to sit right there,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “Watching us. Laughing when Josiah tried to cheat with tricks. Clapping when Adina summoned more than she could control. Shouting at me to ‘stop swinging like a coward’ when I hesitated in a fight.”
He ran his hand across the hilt of his sword—slowly, with reverence.
“One day, Big Brother visited us. Watched a match from up there. Afterward, he told me I needed a better sword. Said I wasn’t worthy of the one I carried.”
Joshua chuckled softly.
“Big sister heard him. And three days later, she handed me this—” he patted the sword gently, “—a blade she designed herself. Said if I was to protect the future emperor one day, I’d need something that never broke.”
He unsheathed it slightly—just enough to let the faint light gleam off the pitch-dark edge—and then slid it back.
“After she died… it took me a long time to pick it up again,” he admitted, his voice tightening. “But then I realized—every time I swing this sword, she’s still protecting me. Not just through steel... but through her will. Through what she built here, what she taught us.”
Chandana remained quiet, watching him from the edge of the arena, trying to process the weight behind his words.
“That’s when I finally understood what pride really means,” he said, eyes narrowing with fire now. “It’s not just about the empire. Or rank. It’s about the people you’d bleed for. The ones who made you who you are.”
He turned to her, his expression no longer soft, but sharp.
“So I started planning. Preparing. Not just to avenge her… but to bring my brother home.”
A flicker of shadow passed through his eyes—something dangerous, something resolute.
“And the first step,” he added, almost playfully, “was to send Joanna to your world.”
He smiled again—this time, with purpose.
The city lights flickered past the windshield in long, blurred streaks. The roads were nearly empty, blanketed in a silence that felt heavier with each passing minute.
John sat slumped in the passenger seat, his fingers pressed tightly against his temples.
“Jo…” Varun broke the silence, glancing at him from the driver’s side, “your eyes are getting more reddish.”
John didn’t respond right away. He just sat there, breathing heavily, almost trembling.
Then he lifted his head.
Varun flinched a little—not because of fear, but concern. John’s eyes weren’t just red. They looked strained, bloodshot, glassy like something inside him had been fraying for too long.
“You should see a doctor,” Varun said, his voice low but firm.
“It’s just a headache,” John muttered, trying—and failing—to offer a reassuring smile.
“A headache that’s lasted four days?” Varun shot back, not hiding the worry in his tone.
John looked up at the cloudy sky through the window, his expression distant. The neon reflection painted shadows on his face.
“Four days…” he whispered. “She’s been missing for four days, da.”
The words hung in the air like a curse neither of them wanted to acknowledge out loud.
“We’ll find her,” Varun said gently, keeping his eyes on the road. “We will.”
John didn’t answer. He just kept staring upward, lost in thoughts neither sleep nor reason could soften.
“I’m taking you back to the flat,” Varun said after a moment.
“No.” John finally turned to him, eyes sharp beneath the weariness. “I want to keep looking.”
“I’m not stopping you,” Varun replied. “But you need a few hours of rest. Just a few. Let me get the data from the hacker. We can start fresh after that.”
John hesitated. For a moment, he looked like he might protest again—but then the exhaustion caught up to him.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.”
The car rolled on into the dark, the silence between them now thicker, heavier… like something was watching from just beyond the headlights.
The atmosphere in the room was taut with tension. Files lay open across the long conference table, monitors flickered with forensic visuals and communication logs. Senior officials from various agencies sat in uncomfortable silence, all circling around a case that had grown more mysterious with every hour.
The door creaked open.
A young forensic analyst stepped in, clutching a file against his chest like a shield.
“Sir… there's something weird,” he said, voice unsure but urgent.
“Weirder than this case?” Adith raised an eyebrow from his seat near the corner, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, son.”
The young man’s eyes flicked from Adith to the stone-faced CBI Director, seated at the head of the table.
“Don’t mind that geezer,” the Director said dryly. “Speak up. What did you find?”
The analyst swallowed. “You mentioned ASP Devi Chandana as the first official disappearance linked to this case…”
“Yes,” the Director nodded.
“But… I cross-checked some missing persons data, sir. There’s another case—one that never got flagged because it wasn’t tied to any law enforcement. Not initially.”
He hesitated. Everyone in the room was staring now.
“Go on,” the CBI Director said.
“This girl went missing last month,” the analyst said, placing a thin file on the table. “No trace. No witnesses. No CCTV, no cell tower pings. Nothing. Then, exactly four days later, her boyfriend disappeared the same way. Gone without a sound. The report was buried in the backlog.”
Adith frowned, suddenly sitting forward.
“Dates?” the CBI Director asked.
“The girl disappeared on the 28th of last month. The boyfriend vanished four days after that.”
There was a beat of silence before Adith’s voice cut through the room like a blade.
“Then, two days later, our ASP disappears.” His fingers tapped the table.
“Same pattern,” the analyst added quietly. “Same demographic, same age group, same complete erasure of digital and physical traces.”
The CBI Director’s jaw tightened. “Names?”
“The girl’s name was Aaradhya,” the analyst said, almost reluctantly. “And the boyfriend’s name…”
He paused and looked at the officers one by one, before finally saying:
“John.”
The room froze.
Adith stood up slowly, eyes locked on the file.
“Well,” he murmured, “either we’ve got a ghost… or someone start cleaning the board so early.”
A single beam of pale light pierced the rotting wooden shutters, casting long shadows across the shattered tiles and moss-covered floor. The air inside the ruined palace was heavy with the scent of damp earth, mold, and memories too old to name. Vines had crept in through cracks in the walls, coiling around broken columns and reaching for the collapsed ceiling like fingers reclaiming the structure for the forest.
This was once a palace. Grand. Glorious. A seat of judgment and power.
Now, it was nothing but a grave for forgotten kings and half-spoken legends.
In the center of what once served as the courtroom, a young woman sat bound to a cold, rusted chair—her hands tied, her lips cracked, her skin smeared with dried blood and dirt. The silence around her was suffocating, broken only by the occasional flutter of birds or whisper of wind through broken stone.
Then… a voice.
“You look nothing like her.”
It wasn’t loud, but it struck like a whip through the silence. Cold. Measured. Disgusted.
Aaradhya blinked, barely able to lift her head. The voice echoed off the crumbling walls.
“You look nothing like my Anweshi.”
From the darkness between two ancient pillars, a girl emerged—no, not a girl. A force.
Joanna.
She moved like a shadow given shape, her suit black as pitch and clinging to her like it was grown, not worn. Her presence felt unnatural—like something that didn't belong in this world, or any.
She circled Aaradhya slowly, her footsteps eerily soft despite the rubble-strewn floor.
“So why,” Joanna hissed, “do they speak of you with so much reverence?”
Aaradhya said nothing. Her throat was too dry, her mind too fogged with exhaustion.
“Just because you have her eyes?” Joanna leaned in closer, her face only inches away now. “Do you think that makes you special?”
Her fingers twitched like claws. Her expression danced between curiosity and cruelty. She looked into Aaradhya’s tired, glassy eyes, searching for something—or someone.
“You don’t deserve them,” Joanna whispered. “Our Crown Princess’s eyes… on you? It’s an insult.”
She stood back now, her breath slightly heavy, as if the fury behind her calm words was barely restrained.
“Tell me—why do you have the eyes of my big sister?”
The garden behind the Blue Palace shimmered under a gentle golden light. Wind chimes tinkled softly in the breeze, and laughter echoed faintly across the stone paths.
On a patch of grass beneath a flowering tree, Anweshi sat cross-legged, a gentle smile on her face. A five-year-old girl lay curled in her lap, half-asleep from comfort and play. Around her sat three other children—curious, wide-eyed, and endlessly fascinated by the girl with the eyes like morning skies.
“Big sis,” the young girl asked, staring up at her, “why do you have blue eyes?”
Anweshi smiled, brushing a lock of hair from the little one’s face.
“I don’t know, little star,” she said softly. “I was born with them.”
“My brother says you can hide an ocean inside those eyes,” said a boy sitting beside her, his voice full of wonder.
“Yeah,” another chimed in—this one smaller, with dirt-smudged cheeks and wild hair. “He told me you’re a fairy princess! That’s why your eyes look like magic.”
Anweshi chuckled gently. “Is that so?”
She looked down at the child in her lap. “And you—do you like my eyes?”
The little girl nodded quickly, smiling so wide her eyes scrunched shut. “I love them a lot! They're soooo pretty!”
Anweshi’s smile deepened. A flicker of something passed across her face—something ancient and aching—but it faded as quickly as it came.
“That’s all I needed to hear,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
She looked up at the others. “So if anyone ever asks you why I have blue eyes… just say: Because you liked them.”
And the children nodded, as if they'd been entrusted with a sacred secret.
The western borders of the Empire were unlike any other. Where most boundaries were marked by skirmishes and raids, the West was alive with monsters—real monsters.
The fog never lifted here. It crept through the trees like a living thing, hiding jagged roots, broken bones, and things that were once men. The enemies on this front weren’t just soldiers. They were intelligent, magically enhanced, and worse—they had memory. They were ancient, silent, and full of purpose.
Here, in the densest heart of the jungle, a cluster of tents stood hidden beneath the blackened canopy. They bore the Empire’s obsidian flag, marked with the fanged sigil of the Beast Squad. Among them, one tent stood larger, identical in design but somehow more commanding—as if even the shadows bent a little deeper around it.
Inside, a map was stretched across a table, pinned with blood-red markers and scribbled with runes. Over it leaned Commander Joanna, her eyes scanning the zones like a hawk watching a battlefield from above.
“Commander. Sector Eleven is cleared,” a voice called as a young soldier stepped into the tent. He wore the full black combat uniform of the Beasts, a red armband signifying frontline status. On his chest, two silver fangs were pinned—his rank.
Joanna didn’t look up.
“Good, Captain. Let your team rest before they move into Sector Twelve.”
The captain hesitated before speaking again. “Commander… why are we focusing on clearing this forest while a full war rages in the south?”
Joanna’s eyes narrowed slightly. Then she smiled—slow, cold.
“Why?” she echoed, finally glancing up. “Because this was the Crown Prince’s wish.”
“But the war in the south is bleeding us,” the captain said, unsure of the line he was walking. “Shouldn’t our main force be there?”
“There are others holding the south. Hunters. Knights. And all others, and even some of our squads too” Joanna replied, tracing her finger across the western ridgeline. “This land is where his enemies hide. The Crown Prince always hated the Nishachakas.”
“But provoking them now would be suicide—”
Before he could finish, her gaze snapped to him like a whip crack. The smile was gone.
“You fear dying for the will of your Crowned Prince?” Her voice was low, slow… and lethal.
“N-no, Commander!” the captain stammered. “It’s just… the Crowned Prince is—”
“Captain, return to your tent. Now.”
The roar cut through the tent like thunder. The captain turned in alarm—and froze.
Another man stood at the entrance, clad in sleek black armor with crimson trim. Unlike the Beast Squad's jagged insignia, his breastplate bore four blade-shaped pins—marks of a Knight High Captain.
The younger soldier saluted and fled without another word.
As the flap of the tent settled, the newcomer chuckled. “Little fool, wasn’t he?”
Joanna was silent, the heat of her rage still radiating. Her hand hovered over the shadow map, clenched.
“You were about to kill him,” the Knight said calmly.
“If he had finished that sentence…” She flicked her fingers, and the faint shimmer of a dissolving shadow rippled beside the table—where a dagger had hung mid-air, inches from where the captain had stood.
“I don’t need men who don’t follow my brother.”
The Knight stepped forward, removing his helmet.
“I am Anthaka, High Captain of the Knight Order.”
“I know who you are, Anthaka,” Joanna replied, folding the map with tight precision. “Now tell me… what is my twin’s lapdog doing here?”
“There’s talk spreading in the Empire,” Anthaka said, sitting casually. “A rumor. About a girl with deep blue eyes seen in the human world. They say… she looks exactly like Princess Anweshi.”
The air changed.
A flicker of shadow slithered from Joanna’s fingers and materialized as a coiling strand around Anthaka’s throat.
“Don’t.”
Her voice didn’t rise. But it shook the tent itself.
The shadows outside pulsed. A thick smoke pressed at the seams of the tent like an ocean trying to drown them. Her hair lifted slightly, as though caught in an unseen wind, and her irises glowed—red and gold like burning coals.
The shadows condensed into a suit around her, molding to her form like living armor.
Anthaka swallowed. “Just like Sir Adam…” he whispered, stunned.
“But unlike my brother,” Joanna said coldly, “I have no patience. No forgiveness. One more lie from your mouth, and Joshua will receive an apology sealed in your ashes.”
The shadow at his throat tightened.
“I already told you why I’m here!” he gasped. “I vouch it on my honor!”
The grip around his neck slackened—but didn’t vanish.
“Spit it out,” she growled.
“A spy,” he gasped, “saw her. Told a friend. Word spread. We don’t know how much of it’s true. But Sir Joshua said… better you hear it first than someone else.”
Joanna stared at him for a long moment, her gaze unreadable. Then, without another word, she stepped out of the tent.
The smoke followed.
And as she vanished into the darkened forest, her voice echoed behind her like a war cry wrapped in silence.
“Tell your commander... the Beast and her Hunting Dogs are going to the Other World.”
The forest swallowed her whole.
And the West began to tremble.
The western borders of the Empire were unlike any other. Where most boundaries were marked by skirmishes and raids, the West was alive with monsters—real monsters.
The fog never lifted here. It crept through the trees like a living thing, hiding jagged roots, broken bones, and things that were once men. The enemies on this front weren’t just soldiers. They were intelligent, magically enhanced, and worse—they had memory. They were ancient, silent, and full of purpose.
Here, in the densest heart of the jungle, a cluster of tents stood hidden beneath the blackened canopy. They bore the Empire’s obsidian flag, marked with the fanged sigil of the Beast Squad. Among them, one tent stood larger, identical in design but somehow more commanding—as if even the shadows bent a little deeper around it.
Inside, a map was stretched across a table, pinned with blood-red markers and scribbled with runes. Over it leaned Commander Joanna, her eyes scanning the zones like a hawk watching a battlefield from above.
“Commander. Sector Eleven is cleared,” a voice called as a young soldier stepped into the tent. He wore the full black combat uniform of the Beasts, a red armband signifying frontline status. On his chest, two silver fangs were pinned—his rank.
Joanna didn’t look up.
“Good, Captain. Let your team rest before they move into Sector Twelve.”
The captain hesitated before speaking again. “Commander… why are we focusing on clearing this forest while a full war rages in the south?”
Joanna’s eyes narrowed slightly. Then she smiled—slow, cold.
“Why?” she echoed, finally glancing up. “Because this was the Crown Prince’s wish.”
“But the war in the south is bleeding us,” the captain said, unsure of the line he was walking. “Shouldn’t our main force be there?”
“There are others holding the south. Hunters. Knights. And all others, and even some of our squads too” Joanna replied, tracing her finger across the western ridgeline. “This land is where his enemies hide. The Crown Prince always hated the Nishachakas.”
“But provoking them now would be suicide—”
Before he could finish, her gaze snapped to him like a whip crack. The smile was gone.
“You fear dying for the will of your Crowned Prince?” Her voice was low, slow… and lethal.
“N-no, Commander!” the captain stammered. “It’s just… the Crowned Prince is—”
“Captain, return to your tent. Now.”
The roar cut through the tent like thunder. The captain turned in alarm—and froze.
Another man stood at the entrance, clad in sleek black armor with crimson trim. Unlike the Beast Squad's jagged insignia, his breastplate bore four blade-shaped pins—marks of a Knight High Captain.
The younger soldier saluted and fled without another word.
As the flap of the tent settled, the newcomer chuckled. “Little fool, wasn’t he?”
Joanna was silent, the heat of her rage still radiating. Her hand hovered over the shadow map, clenched.
“You were about to kill him,” the Knight said calmly.
“If he had finished that sentence…” She flicked her fingers, and the faint shimmer of a dissolving shadow rippled beside the table—where a dagger had hung mid-air, inches from where the captain had stood.
“I don’t need men who don’t follow my brother.”
The Knight stepped forward, removing his helmet.
“I am Anthaka, High Captain of the Knight Order.”
“I know who you are, Anthaka,” Joanna replied, folding the map with tight precision. “Now tell me… what is my twin’s lapdog doing here?”
“There’s talk spreading in the Empire,” Anthaka said, sitting casually. “A rumor. About a girl with deep blue eyes seen in the human world. They say… she looks exactly like Princess Anweshi.”
The air changed.
A flicker of shadow slithered from Joanna’s fingers and materialized as a coiling strand around Anthaka’s throat.
“Don’t.”
Her voice didn’t rise. But it shook the tent itself.
The shadows outside pulsed. A thick smoke pressed at the seams of the tent like an ocean trying to drown them. Her hair lifted slightly, as though caught in an unseen wind, and her irises glowed—red and gold like burning coals.
The shadows condensed into a suit around her, molding to her form like living armor.
Anthaka swallowed. “Just like Sir Adam…” he whispered, stunned.
“But unlike my brother,” Joanna said coldly, “I have no patience. No forgiveness. One more lie from your mouth, and Joshua will receive an apology sealed in your ashes.”
The shadow at his throat tightened.
“I already told you why I’m here!” he gasped. “I vouch it on my honor!”
The grip around his neck slackened—but didn’t vanish.
“Spit it out,” she growled.
“A spy,” he gasped, “saw her. Told a friend. Word spread. We don’t know how much of it’s true. But Sir Joshua said… better you hear it first than someone else.”
Joanna stared at him for a long moment, her gaze unreadable. Then, without another word, she stepped out of the tent.
The smoke followed.
And as she vanished into the darkened forest, her voice echoed behind her like a war cry wrapped in silence.
“Tell your commander... the Beast and her Hunting Dogs are going to the Other World.”
The forest swallowed her whole.
And the West began to tremble.
The night was unnaturally still.
No wind rustled the trees. No dogs barked in the alley. The streetlamps flickered as if on the edge of failing, casting long, trembling shadows into Aaradhya’s apartment window.
She was still awake—well past midnight. The cold had crept in through the window’s cracks, wrapping her in a chill she couldn’t shake, even with the blanket pulled to her chest. Usually, sleep claimed her the moment her head hit the pillow.
But not tonight.
Her eyes were fixed on the glowing screen of her phone.
The screen showed a photo—an old one now. She and John stood together in a candid moment of laughter, his hand around her shoulder, her face caught in mid-smile.
It had been months. Months without a word. Without a call. Without seeing him.
And then, suddenly—he came.
Unannounced. Unexplained.
He showed up with a headache in his eyes and a storm behind him, and now she couldn’t stop wondering:
“Why…?” she whispered to herself. “Why now? There must be something…”
She traced her thumb along the edge of the phone, her breath catching slightly.
That’s when she felt it—movement.
Behind her.
A flicker of something. A shift in the darkness.
She turned quickly, heart suddenly hammering in her chest. “Who’s there?” she called out, staring at the door to her room.
Nothing.
No creak. No answer. No shadow.
Just silence.
She exhaled shakily and looked back down—only to realize her phone was no longer in her hand.
Her breath froze.
She looked to the left. Then the right.
And that’s when she saw it.
A shape. Not quite solid. Not quite real. A silhouette of black smoke in the form of a young girl, hovering near the window—her form drifting like mist but shaped like something alive. In her wispy, shadowed hand, she held Aaradhya’s phone, gazing at the screen with curiosity.
Her head tilted. Her dark eyes burned faintly.
Aaradhya gasped, stumbling backward in terror, reaching to scream—
But the shadow-girl raised her hand and snapped her fingers.
Sound vanished.
Aaradhya’s scream stopped mid-breath as her body crumpled, silent and limp, to the floor. Her eyes remained open, flickering slightly before fading into unconsciousness.
The shadow drifted forward, her footsteps soundless, her presence cold.
She knelt beside the fallen girl and stared at her as though looking through her—or into her.
Her voice was soft. Broken. Almost mournful.
“You wear the face… of someone I lost.”
The smoke curled tighter around her like a second skin, pulsing faintly with each word.
“You carry her eyes... but you are not her.”
She reached out and touched Aaradhya’s face with a finger that wasn’t quite there—made of fog, made of vengeance.
And in the silence of that room, surrounded by cold and memory and the dead weight of truth, the shadow whispered:
“I hope you’re worth the war you’ve started.”
Then she vanished into the dark.
And with her, the light from the room seemed to die.
For the first time in centuries, the old palace breathed again.
Its broken halls, once crumbling and silent beneath vines and rot, were now alive with the sounds of boots, firelight, laughter, and the low thrum of weapons being sharpened. The stone walls, marked with the faded murals of forgotten kings, echoed with the energy of the Beast Squad—soldiers built for war, but finding rare moments of rest between the hunt.
In one of the more intact rooms, lit by torches and warmed by a crackling firepit, a long wooden table had been set. Soldiers sat elbow-to-elbow—eating, arguing, sparring mid-bite. It was chaos, but it was home to them.
Far from the main crowd, at a quieter table near a broken window overtaken by creeping moss, Joanna sat with her second-in-command and personal maid—a sharp-eyed woman dressed in black, but bearing a white armband marked by three white fangs, denoting her rank within the Main Order of the Empire.
“The meat here is better than anything back in the north,” the maid said, chewing thoughtfully. “And the beasts are easier to kill. The men say it's starting to feel like a vacation.”
Joanna barely acknowledged the comment. She sat with one leg propped over the other, fingers drumming lightly on the hilt of her dagger, eyes fixed on the flames.
“Let them enjoy it,” she murmured, “until my brother comes.”
The maid glanced sideways at her, then leaned in slightly. “But… why are you keeping the girl alive?”
Joanna’s gaze shifted.
“She doesn’t look anything like the late princess. You said so yourself. So why not end it?”
A flicker of tension passed through Joanna’s jaw.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, voice lower now. “There are thousands of girls in the human world with blue eyes. Thousands. And yet…”
She paused, her fingers stopping.
“There’s something in her eyes. Not just the color. The shape. The grief. When I looked at her…” Joanna’s voice faded for a moment, like she was seeing something far away. “It felt like Martha was staring back at me. Mocking me. Or maybe warning me.”
“She could be a trap,” the maid said, cautious but respectful. “Planted to divide us.”
“Maybe.” Joanna leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “But why would such a story spread across the Empire? Who benefits from reviving Martha’s shadow? Who even remembers her clearly?”
The maid hesitated, then said softly, “If your brother were here, he would’ve given you the answer already.”
Joanna looked at her, eyes colder now.
“He’s closer than you think.”
The fire cracked loudly. The murmurs of the squad in the background faded slightly, as if even the room leaned in to listen.
Joanna stood slowly, folding her arms.
“He will come. I can feel it.” Her voice was calm but heavy, like a storm building behind it. “And when he does… he will decide what happens to that girl.”
She turned to walk away, leaving her maid staring after her.
“Whether to protect her…” Joanna whispered, more to herself than anyone else, “…or to kill her.”
And in the distance, the jungle exhaled. Something was coming.
The Prince burns.
But the Beast hunts.
Not cruelty — but precision wrapped in teeth.
It was about dominance.
the world bleeds.
Black
