The Aryavarta emerged from hyperspace into the orbit of a golden-brown world. From above, Serekh looked like a vast, sunlit ocean of sand, with only thin veins of green tracing the edges of dried riverbeds. The planet's sun blazed white, casting long, sharp shadows over jagged mountain ridges.
"Desert world," Meera muttered from the helm. "Population density is low, but… cities are massive, clustered around ancient oasis craters."
Praveen brought up the local records. "Government's… not exactly a government. The planet's run by the Custodians — a priest order older than the Republic itself. They control every drop of water, every grain of food. Without them, the population wouldn't last a week."
Ashoka leaned forward, studying the data streams. "And the relic fragment?"
Riya highlighted the coordinates. "Deep under the capital, Ishtar's Crown. The Custodians call it the 'Heart of the Desert.' They claim it's the breath of their god, Amun-Sar."
Meera glanced at Ashoka. "So… stealing it would basically be declaring war on their entire religion."
Ashoka's gaze didn't waver. "Not stealing. Negotiating. If the fragment is as powerful as I think, the Custodians may not even know what they truly guard. But if they do… we'll have to make them want to give it up."
The Aryavarta descended into the thin atmosphere, skimming above the endless dunes until the city appeared on the horizon — a sprawling fortress of sandstone and gold domes, ringed by high walls that glittered with mirrored panels to blind attackers in the sun. At its heart rose a tower so tall it seemed to pierce the sky.
Landing clearance was granted only after three separate hails from the planet's air guard — each demanding their identification and intentions. When Ashoka finally stepped onto the baking stone landing pad, the heat struck him like a hammer.
Waiting for him was a figure in long flowing white robes, face hidden by a golden veil. Their voice was low but firm. "Commander Ashoka of the Aryavarta. You stand on sacred ground. Every grain of sand here belongs to Amun-Sar. State your purpose."
"I seek an audience with your High Custodian," Ashoka replied, his tone respectful but unyielding. "It concerns something buried deep beneath your city."
The veiled figure tilted their head slightly. "Nothing beneath the Crown belongs to outsiders. And those who dig where they should not… are buried in turn."
Ashoka stepped closer, lowering his voice so only they could hear. "I'm not here for conquest. But the thing you guard — it's part of something far greater. If it stays here, one day it will draw enemies you cannot imagine."
There was a long pause. Then, the veiled emissary turned, gesturing for him to follow. "Then you will speak with the Custodian Council. And if they decide you are lying… the desert will take you."
As they walked through the sunlit streets, Ashoka felt the eyes of hundreds upon him. Traders, guards, children — all stopping to watch the outsider who dared walk under the shadow of Ishtar's Crown.
But high above, in the glittering tower, another figure watched as well — a tall man in crimson robes, speaking into a hidden communicator.
"He's here," the man murmured. "Just as the hunters said he would be. Keep him busy. I'll make sure he never leaves Serekh alive."