The dimly lit war chamber was silent, save for the flickering of torches against cold stone walls. Vinay stood at the head of a long, obsidian table, his gaze unwavering as he studied the faces before him. His most trusted warriors. His commanders. Each of them had sworn loyalty to him, their lives woven into the fabric of war and sacrifice. Tonight, they would take the first step toward reshaping history.
His fingers curled into a fist as he spoke.
"The time has come." His voice was sharp, commanding. "We will no longer stand in the shadows of Manav's lies. We strike first. We strike hard. And we do not stop until his empire is reduced to ash."
The commanders exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of anticipation and grim understanding. They had all suffered under Manav's reign in different ways. And now, they had a chance to strike back.
Vinay turned to the first commander.
Rudra was a warrior born from bloodshed. His dark, shoulder-length hair framed his sharp features, his crimson armor still bearing the scars of battles long past. But it was his eyes—hollow, burdened by a past he never spoke of—that made him feared and respected alike.
He had once been a child of destiny, a prodigy of war. Raised in a land torn apart by conflict, he had been molded into a perfect weapon by his own family. His father had been a ruthless general, and his mother—a healer—had tried to shield him from war's cruelty.
She had failed.
Rudra was only thirteen when his father gave him his first kill order. A rival warlord's child, no older than himself. His mother had pleaded, begged for mercy. But Rudra's father had stood behind him, whispering into his ear:
*"To hesitate is to die."*
With trembling hands, Rudra had done it. And from that moment, he was no longer a child.
But fate was not finished with him.
The same night, his village was raided. His father—betrayed by his own men—was slaughtered. His mother, taken. Rudra had fought, had killed, had screamed her name into the abyss of war. But he had been too late.
When he found her, she lay on the cold earth, her hands reaching for him. Her last words haunted him to this day.
*"You were never meant to be a weapon."*
Rudra clenched his fists, bringing himself back to the present. Vinay met his gaze. "Are you ready?"
A long silence stretched between them before Rudra nodded. "I have always been ready."
Vinay moved on.
Samira leaned against the table, arms crossed. Unlike Rudra's quiet rage, hers burned openly. Her golden eyes, sharp as the daggers strapped to her thighs, held no warmth.
She had once been part of the Goodie Hunters. A devoted soldier who believed in Manav's vision. Until she uncovered the truth.
Her older brother, Aarav, had been a commander under Manav's rule. He was loyal, fearless. But one day, he vanished. No explanation. No burial. Nothing. Samira had searched for years, chasing rumors, following whispers in the dark. And then she had found it—**a secret file, hidden within the Goodie Hunters' archives.**
Aarav had discovered something. Something so damning, so catastrophic, that Manav had him eliminated.
Her hands trembled as she read the final report. *"Erased due to knowledge beyond clearance level."*
Nothing more.
Samira had confronted her superiors. She had demanded answers.
And for that, she had been marked for execution.
She barely escaped, her own comrades hunting her like prey. The betrayal cut deep, but not as deep as the rage that now fueled her every move.
Samira met Vinay's gaze, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You know I'm in."
Vinay nodded. "Good."
A hooded figure sat at the far end of the table, his presence barely acknowledged until he chose to speak.
"They will see us coming," Idris murmured, his voice like the wind before a storm. "But they will not stop us."
Idris was a ghost, a man with no past—at least, none that anyone knew of. Legends surrounded him. Some said he had been a noble who abandoned his name after a massacre. Others whispered that he had once been Manav's most trusted assassin before turning against him.
Vinay only cared about one thing: **Idris never failed.**
The man's silver eyes glowed under the torchlight, unreadable. "War is inevitable. But tell me, Vinay—do you fight to destroy Manav, or to become him?"
Vinay's eyes hardened. "I fight to end his rule."
A pause. Then Idris chuckled softly. "Then I shall fight with you."
Kiran was different. A healer, a scholar. But a warrior all the same.
She had once believed in peace, in the idea that war could be avoided. That belief had cost her everything.
Her village had been defenseless. Manav's forces had come under the guise of protection. But when they found opposition, they **eradicated** it. Her family. Her people. All gone.
Kiran had been left alive—**to tell the story.**
But she had chosen a different path.
She had traded her healing touch for the edge of a blade. She had become something else, something unrecognizable from the girl who once carried books instead of weapons.
Now, as she stood among warriors, she did not flinch. "I will see Manav fall."
Vinay placed a hand on the table. "Then we move forward."
He looked at each of them—Rudra, Samira, Idris, Kiran. **Each with a past stained in blood and betrayal.**
But there was one more. One who had yet to reveal his full past.
Rudra.
The Itachi-like commander. The one who carried a secret that no one else knew.
His true past was yet to unfold.
Vinay exhaled, his mind sharpening. The commanders were gathered. The pieces were in place.
War was coming.
And Manav would finally know what it felt like to lose.