The echoes of the previous night still lingered in Arya's mind as he opened his eyes to unfamiliar luxury. He lay on an enormous bed, the silk sheets soft against his skin—a far cry from the hard ground he had been accustomed to. The scent of burning incense filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of fresh fruit.
He sat up, his eyes scanning the grand chamber. Marble floors stretched beneath his feet, embroidered curtains draped over towering windows, and the walls bore intricate carvings of battles long past. At the door stood guards, their eyes fixed ahead, their presence a silent reminder of his newfound position.
Then, a sound—movement. He turned to see servants, heads bowed, waiting in silence for his command. He wasn't used to this. The pit had been brutal, filled with sweat and blood, where survival was the only rule. But here, in the remains of Upendra's fortress, it was a different kind of battlefield. One of power, influence, and unseen forces pulling at every string.
He exhaled, rubbing his temple. This was not his world.
Rudra and Raghav entered without hesitation. Their eyes, usually filled with mischief and calculation, were uncharacteristically solemn. They had witnessed Arya's victory firsthand, had seen him raised to the throne by Ashvapati's will, yet now, faced with the reality of it, they felt like strangers in their own skin.
"How does it feel to be the Master of the Pit?" Rudra asked, forcing a smirk.
Arya didn't answer immediately. He looked down at his hands, hands that had once grasped at mere survival but now held power he had never truly wanted.
"I don't know if I belong here," Arya admitted. "One day I was fighting in the pit, and now I'm supposed to rule? What does that even mean?"
Before they could respond, the head servant, an older man with piercing eyes and a composed demeanor, stepped forward.
"Master, what would you like for breakfast?" he asked formally.
Arya hesitated. Breakfast? That felt like such an absurd question in the midst of his turmoil. "Just… wait," he finally said. "I need a moment."
The man did not flinch. With a wave of his hand, the servants silently exited the chamber, leaving only him behind.
"You are Kalanemi," Arya guessed, remembering what little he had heard of the fortress's key figures.
Kalanemi gave a slight nod. "Indeed. And you, my lord, are now the master of this domain."
"I don't want to be called 'lord,'" Arya muttered, standing up and pacing towards the window. The golden light of dawn washed over the courtyard below. Soldiers and workers moved about, continuing as they had under Upendra. But now, they answered to him.
Kalanemi remained unshaken. "Perhaps you should see what it means to rule before you decide whether you want it. Come, walk with me."
Arya obeyed. He was led through the halls, past warriors who once followed Upendra and now watched Arya with skeptical eyes. They exited onto a balcony overlooking the vast territory Arya now controlled. Markets bustled, fighters trained, slaves toiled.
"Everything you see was once under Upendra's control," Kalanemi explained. "Businesses, trades, debts—all of it. You inherit his wealth, his enemies, and his responsibilities."
Arya's grip on the balcony tightened. "I never wanted this."
"Power rarely waits for the willing," Kalanemi replied. "And yet, here you are."
A long silence followed. Then, a familiar presence approached.
Ashvapati.
The massive figure of the Ashvarath stepped onto the balcony, his heavy footfalls making the wooden planks creak under his weight. He towered over them all, his beast-like features striking fear into those who looked upon him. Yet, his eyes were calm, analyzing, waiting.
Arya turned to face him, anger bubbling to the surface. "You did this to me! You put me in that throne! I never asked for it! I never wanted any of this!"
Rudra stepped forward to calm him, but Ashvapati simply stood there, letting Arya's fury spill out. When the boy finally paused to catch his breath, Ashvapati spoke.
"You fought. You won. The world does not ask what you want, Arya. It only gives you what you earn."
"I fought because I had to! Not because I wanted to rule over people!"
Ashvapati folded his arms. "You think I chose my path? You think the world cared what I wanted? I was cast aside, a beast among men. I fought, I survived. Just like you."
Arya clenched his jaw. "Then why did you place me on that throne?"
Ashvapati regarded him for a long moment before answering. "Because I see something in you. Not a ruler. Not a king. But something more dangerous—a man who fights with a heart. A man who, if given power, might use it differently. I do not trust you yet. But I am willing to see what you become."
Arya was speechless.
Ashvapati turned and walked away, his massive form disappearing into the depths of the fortress.
Kalanemi chuckled softly. "You should take things one at a time, my lord. And be careful of Ashvapati. There's a reason men fear him."
Arya sat down, exhausted from emotions he could not fully understand. The weight of his position still pressed heavily upon him, but for the first time, he was beginning to see it for what it truly was—not a throne, not a prize, but a battlefield unlike any he had faced before.
He looked out once more at the vast property, the people moving within it, the lives now tethered to his decisions. The fear and confusion had not left him, but something new was forming beneath them.
Determination.
For better or worse, Arya had been thrust into this world.
And he would not let it break him.