The night air was cool and carried the stench of stale smoke. Aditya led the small procession of fifteen souls out from the relative shelter of the ruined temple and into the skeletal remains of Vijayanagara's outer districts. Each step was a risk. The darkness was a shroud, but it also concealed enemy patrols and desperate, starving scavengers who would kill for a crust of bread.
Aditya moved with a quiet confidence that belied his age. He chose a path through narrow alleys and the shadows of collapsed buildings, a route so convoluted it seemed random. But Bhaskar, the grizzled ex-guard, began to notice a pattern. The boy avoided open ground, stayed clear of areas near the river where patrols would be most common, and seemed to have an uncanny sense of where the rubble was stable and where it was likely to shift and make noise. This was not the wandering of a lost child; it was the calculated navigation of a master huntsman.
Their progress was slow and punctuated by long periods of waiting in utter silence, huddled in the husk of a building while the sound of a passing cavalry patrol echoed down the street. During these tense moments, Aditya was a pillar of calm. He would produce a piece of dried fruit—salvaged from who-knew-where—for the weaver's young child, or motion for a man to adjust the wrapping on his feet to prevent blisters. They were small gestures, but they were practical, and they showed a level of foresight that continued to baffle his followers. He wasn't just leading them; he was managing them as a precious resource.
It took them most of the night to clear the city's immediate environs and reach the designated spot three leagues to the north. It was an unassuming patch of farmland, fallow and overgrown, marked only by a single, ancient banyan tree whose aerial roots hung down like the tangled beard of a forgotten god.
Doubt began to creep back into the group. They stood in the pre-dawn gloom, looking at an empty field.
"There is nothing here, prince," a man whispered, his voice cracking with disappointment.
Aditya ignored him and walked directly to a spot a dozen paces from the banyan's trunk. He knelt and began to clear away the weeds and packed earth with his hands. "The foundation here is different," he said, his voice a low command. "The soil is less settled. Help me dig."
Hesitantly, the others joined him. After a few minutes of scraping away the dirt, their fingers hit something hard and flat. It was a large, circular stone slab with an iron ring set into it. It was so well-camouflaged they would have walked over it a hundred times and never known it was there. It took the strength of four men, straining and grunting, to pull the heavy slab aside, revealing a dark, square hole and a set of steep stone steps leading down into the earth.
The air that rose from the opening was cool and smelled of dry, clean grain.
One by one, they descended into the darkness, their single torch casting flickering shadows. The silo was an underground chamber, brick-lined and surprisingly large. And it was full. Sacks of high-quality rice and millet were stacked nearly to the ceiling. In the corner were sealed clay jars of oil and lentils. It was a treasure beyond their wildest hopes.
The sight of the food broke the tension. A woman began to weep with sheer relief. The men who had doubted Aditya now looked at him with a newfound awe. He had not been lying. His strange, encyclopedic memory was real. He had led them to salvation.
"We take only what we can carry," Aditya commanded, breaking the spell. "One sack of rice per person. No more. We are not yet safe, and we cannot afford to be slow."
His authority was now unquestioned. They obeyed without a word, a new discipline born of proven trust.
Buoyed by their success, the journey to the western gate was quicker, their steps lighter. They reached the ruined armory in the afternoon. As Aditya had predicted, it had been ransacked, but carelessly. Ornate, jewel-encrusted weapons were gone, but racks of simple, sturdy short swords, spears, and dozens of quivers filled with arrows had been left behind.
They armed themselves. The weight of good steel in their hands transformed them. The hunted look in their eyes was replaced by a harder glint. They were no longer just survivors. They were a company.
They did not return to the city. Aditya led them to a series of shallow caves in the rocky hills overlooking the plains, a place he had noted on his mental map as a defensible temporary camp.
As the sun set, they sat around a carefully shielded fire, eating hot rice for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, each of them now armed with a spear and sword. They were a tiny island of strength in a world of chaos.
Bhaskar sat near Aditya, cleaning his new sword with a strip of oiled cloth. He looked at the boy who was staring into the flames, his young face old with thoughts Bhaskar could not begin to imagine.
"You have fed us and you have armed us, my prince," Bhaskar said, his voice low and full of a respect that was now absolute. "You have kept your first promise. What is our next?"
Aditya looked up from the fire, his eyes seeming to reflect the flames. "This cave is a temporary shelter. An army cannot live in a hole in the ground," he said. "Tomorrow, we leave this place. We will travel deeper into the hills, to a place I have chosen. A place where we will not hide. A place where we will build."