To conquer, you need to be a man of great wisdom, vast courage and undeniable strength. To rule, you need to be more than a man and less than one.
— Kirannavi, a historian, a painter and a philanthropist.
Raag
Palace of Alms withstood the silence of its halls and the memories of reckoning it withheld from the new tapestries.
His Highness, the Prince Raag Devaraya, stood staring at the past through paintings, and listened to his dignity being trampled under servants rushing to please the Governor of Payem, the Imperial Envoy.
A painting of Varas II, framed in rich wood worked with gold on its rims.
He kept looking at these paintings, talking to the history of his house as he usually did.
Confirming to himself the greatness that was suppressed in his blood.
He eventually reached a dilapidated painting, with the glass broken and its edges charred.
The painting of the Shining Prince Chandra Devaraya.
The bringer of ruin to his house.
Another, much bigger painting of the Shining Prince adorns the main hall of the palace, to work as a reminder perhaps of the time when Ajaatshatru walked these halls with blood and fire in his wake.
Perhaps as a reminder of what empire brings, when it brings wars to your doorsteps.
It's been 20 years since the War of the Shining Prince, the painting in the main hall is still unrepaired after Ajaatshatru stuck a spear in.
Maybe as a show of loyalty or of meekness, we left the fall of our house hanging askew besides the tapestries of heraldry, staring into our eyes.
When subjects loyal to us were hunted across our realm, we sat beside the bloodsucking envoys enjoying the warmth of south.
After the War of Shining Prince, or the rebellion as the Empire calls it, every noble house that stood in our support was hunted down.
Even after the peace treaties, and us bowing spineless, they were slowly whittled down with business, and imperial visits and hunting accidents.
Thinking of all this Raag felt suffocated and looked around to busy himself with something.
He didn't have it in him to go out and accompany the Governor.
Wanjen was following his shadow as if he was one himself, silent, loyal and unrelenting.
When the prince became increasingly lost watching the paintings he silently stepped closer and called out with concern.
"Your Highness?"
"Hm? Sorry, I lost myself for a moment. What happened to the map? Any news yet?"
"They stole it, Your Highness, but we can't bring it to you. They handed it to the Veiled Swords and went ahead to be a misdirection."
"Hm, all loose ends tied then? See to it that they never speak about it.
This is more than treason, more than defiance. It'll bring a war the likes of which Kusha can't bear.
Even our Shining Prince, my uncle, wouldn't have caused this deep an enmity were he alive."
"I'll get it done, Your Highness."
After saying this, Wanjen hesitated.
Raag flicked him a glance.
"Speak."
"It's not good to avoid the Governor, Your Highness," Wanjen said, his tone low enough that only the dead kings in the portraits could hear.
"He is imperious, but he is still the voice of the Emperor in these corners. Ignoring him will only be read as contempt."
"Contempt is the mildest of what I feel for him," Raag muttered, turning his back on the broken glass of Prince Chandra's portrait.
"He comes here only to remind us of our leash."
"An unbent knee draws the blade, my prince," Wanjen replied softly.
"You know this.
You know the truth behind the War of the Shining Prince.
Lady Maerie was a flimsy excuse. It was all about strength.
It was all about the Way of Zenith.
It was all about godhood."
Raag let out a harsh, silent breath.
Wanjen was right, as he always was.
To play the game of survival in Kusha, one had to swallow venom and smile as it burned.
Ever since he was a child he has been training in the Way and in magic.
He became an apprentice and an initiate at the age of 7.
By the age of 16 he was already a wielder and a magico.
At the age of 20 he advanced to a scholar in magic and now he's only waiting to advance in the Way, at the cusp of becoming a master.
To shield his fate and choose his own path.
But so what?
Aren't his knees still bent, isn't he still a grovelling worm for the Empire?
"I need strength, a lot more strength," he thought, his fist clenched.
"Fine," Raag said, straightening the heavy embroidered silk of his robes.
"Let us go feed the leeches."
---
The grand dining hall was heavy with the scent of roasted spiced meats and rich floral oils, framed by the quiet tension that always accompanied imperial visitors.
At the head of the high table sat King Shatkam, his face set like carved stone beneath his crown, flanked by the Queen.
To his right sat Crown Prince Anu, maintaining a rigid, dignified calm, while the youngest prince, Udham, fidgeted with his goblet.
Princess Vinita sat poised and quiet, her eyes sharp as she observed the hall.
Raag slipped quietly into his designated seat near the end of the royal line, offering a silent nod of reverence to his father before keeping his gaze measured.
Across from the royal family, draped in the understated luxury of imperial silk, sat the Governor of Payem.
Unlike a common tyrant who snarls, the Governor's contempt was wrapped in exquisite manners—polite, soft-spoken, and infinitely cold.
In the sunken court below the table, four performers moved across the polished marble.
Three men wielding light batons circled a single defensive fighter, their strikes flowing in a seamless, undulating rhythm—lunging high, sweeping low, whipping around in continuous wave-like arcs.
They seem like one entity, a snake.
"A fascinating spectacle, Your Majesty," the Governor murmured softly, setting his goblet down with barely a sound.
"To think that Kyoniyappo originated as simple wartime propaganda—a dance designed to mock the Kyoni people and mock their snake god.
And yet, over generations, it softened, traveled across borders, and found its place as a delicate circus for the nobility."
King Shatkam took a measured drink of his wine, his expression unreadable.
"Even tools of mocking propaganda lose their teeth with enough time, Governor. It becomes mere theater."
"Indeed," the Governor agreed, offering a gentle, pleasant smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Though theater often reflects reality, does it not?
People adapt, they perform, they dance to the rhythms set for them—all for the entertainment and peace of the higher courts."
Sitting at the edge of the royal presence, Raag felt a cold knot tighten in his gut as he watched the solitary fighter dodge and weave beneath the flashing batons.
A circus of nobility, Raag thought, his jaws clenching.
He stole a glance at his father and brothers, sitting stiffly under the Governor's polite, suffocating presence.
And what are we to the Empire?
We bow, we follow their protocol, we surrender our pride piece by piece, all so they can sit at our tables and watch the monkeys of Kusha perform for their survival.
The performance in the pit came to an end with a soft chime of a gong, the fighters bowing low before retreating into the shadows.
The Governor dabbed his lips with a linen napkin, his demeanor shifting into something far more deliberate.
He turned his focus back to King Shatkam, his voice dropping to a tone that demanded absolute attention from everyone at the royal table.
"Of course, Your Majesty, my presence here is not merely to enjoy your legendary hospitality," the Governor said, sweeping a gaze across the royal line, letting his eyes linger for a second on Crown Prince Anu, Raag, and young Udham.
King Shatkam leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the carved arms of his seat.
"Speak your mind, Governor."
"The Imperial Court has issued a decree," the Governor said softly, the polite facade dropping to reveal the unyielding weight of the Empire.
"Faoli is about to open."
A sudden, sharp silence fell over the table.
Even Udham froze, his hands stilling over his goblet.
Faoli was one of the isolated spaces controlled by the Mayura Empire, won in the early days of Emperor Shashtrabahu.
It was the Empire's golden goose, its foundation of power.
It was where Ajaatshatru found his Way of Strength.
Although the Way of Zenith is mostly hidden from the masses, they only know the way to power to be study of magic.
It's mostly an open secret in the upper nobility and royal lineages.
"The Emperor wishes to see the strength of the realm's next generation," the Governor continued, his smile thin and precise.
"The princes of Kusha are summoned to vie for a place inside.
It has been many years since your house stepped into the light of the Empire's true stage, Your Majesty.
Let us see if your sons carry the strength to stand among the chosen."
Raag could clearly see excitement in the eyes of Anu and Udham.
Anu's smiles became even more ingratiating towards the Governor as he inquired when and how he can participate.
Udham also tried speaking but was fixed in his place by the King's stare.
The Governor looked at Vinita and suddenly asked, "Don't you want to be a part of this, Your Highness?
I heard you were already at the peak of magico rank and about to advance to be a scholar.
Although imperial decree said nothing about princesses, I could look into it.
Maybe if you're visiting Payem, we could talk about it in more detail."
The table had gone silent by then.
When the Governor noticed it, he pretended as if it was a casual suggestion.
He coughed lightly and turned to Raag, to continue his flimsy pretence.
"And Prince Raag, you have never visited the heart of the Empire, right?
This could be a chance to meet and form connections with all the noteworthy young people of the Empire.
Maybe you'll be in luck and find your own way to strength."
"My way to strength? Are you sure?" Raag said sharply, as if he suddenly forgot to hide the venom in his words.
"I'd rather not. I have knee pain.
I'll take my leave, I'm done."
Saying the last part to the King, he stood and sauntered away from the table.
"Raag," the Queen called out, a bit fussily.
But by then he was out of the door.
That night, Shatkam Devaraya, the King of Kusha, subject of the Empire, invited Raag for a conversation that neither of the two wanted to have.