The world whispered the name Kara with fear.
To the villagers, they were butchers.
To the kings, they were rebels.
To the Academy, they were shadows creeping closer.
But inside their stronghold, in the ruined citadel buried under mountains, they were something else—
they were grieving souls.
---
The Gathering of the Seven
Torches flared against walls carved with ancient prayers. The Seven Warlords of Kara sat in a circle, their eyes lit not just by fire, but by the ghosts that haunted them.
Kamravinash rose first.
His voice was sharp, but it carried pain deeper than any sword.
> "I never wanted war. I only wanted Devyaani.
I wanted one smile… one touch…
But the world denied me. So I will deny the world its peace.
If I cannot heal my wound, I will make sure no heart stays unbroken."
The soldiers roared his name. But his fists trembled. Behind the mask of rage, he was still the boy abandoned by love.
---
Next spoke Raktanish, his body marked with crimson runes.
His hand shook as he clutched a lock of hair tied with ribbon—his daughter's.
> "She was seven when the fever took her.
The gods watched her choke, and they did nothing.
I begged, I sacrificed… but the sky was silent.
So now, I will tear open the sky itself if that's what it takes to hear her laugh again.
Call me a monster. I do not care.
I am only a father."
The cavern fell silent. Even killers bowed their heads.
---
Vishaara, draped in emerald veils, leaned forward. Her eyes gleamed like venom.
> "My husband. My son. Poisoned by our own king because he feared my clan's strength.
I carry their memory in my blood, and I share that blood with our enemies.
Every drop of venom I create is love, condensed into death.
You call me cruel?
No. I am faithful. Faithful to the dead who wait for me."
Her words were silk, but every syllable was edged with grief.
---
Darpanesh laughed bitterly, conjuring illusions in the smoke.
A woman's face shimmered in the firelight, then vanished.
> "My wife walks with me every night.
I see her. I hear her. But I can never touch her.
Illusions are all I have left.
So I will give the world illusions too—visions of love, of peace—
until they break when they realize it was all lies.
Let them feel what I feel. Every. Single. Day."
---
The hall grew colder as Vyomakaal, the silent seer, finally spoke.
His voice was like wind through a graveyard.
> "Time has no mercy.
I saw my son's death before it came. I warned them.
They laughed. They ignored me.
And when the day came, I stood powerless as fate crushed him.
So I vowed—if time itself is my enemy, then I will bend time.
Or I will burn it."
---
Finally, all eyes turned to Rivan, kneeling in the center.
The youngest among them. The one raised in Kara since childhood.
Samhara, the strategist, asked:
> "What do you see, child of shadows? Speak."
Rivan's voice was steady, but inside, something cracked.
> "At the Academy, they smile. They laugh. They trust.
I should hate them.
But when I laugh with them, it feels… real.
For one moment, I forget I am a weapon.
…And I hate myself for it."
His hands curled into fists.
> "You call me infiltrator. Spy. Shadow.
But sometimes, I feel human.
Is that my weakness… or my curse?"
The chamber was silent. The warlords exchanged glances, some pitying, some cold.
Kamravinash stepped forward, his voice sharp but not cruel.
> "Remember this, Rivan.
Hope is a blade.
It can heal, or it can cut.
We are Kara. We do not run from pain. We use it.
If the Academy makes you human…
then break your humanity. Or turn it into fire."
The cavern erupted with chants again:
"KARA! KARA! KARA!"
But Rivan, standing in the firelight, felt the word burn differently inside him.
To them, it meant vengeance.
To him, it still whispered… hope.