36) Chapter

Ereya rode like the wind, his horse pounding against the earth as if matching the storm brewing in his chest. The urgency of the message weighed heavily on him—Vatapi was under siege.

His wife, Pramila, and his uncle were in danger, surrounded by the Kalachurri forces.

The prince's mind was a tempest of fear and anger, his determination hardening with every mile.

As he crossed a narrow wooded path, his keen senses alerted him to a trap.

From the shadows of the trees, a group of rebels emerged, their weapons glinting in the filtered sunlight.

They were a motley group, fierce but undisciplined, emboldened by the chaos their forces had sown.

"Stop him!" their leader barked, raising his sword. "Kill him before he reaches Vatapi!"

Ereya pulled his horse to a sharp halt, his eyes narrowing at the ambush.

The fire of fury ignited within him. These men were the ones sowing destruction, threatening his kingdom, his family—Pramila. He would not let them take another step unpunished.

With a roar that seemed to shake the trees, Ereya unsheathed his sword, the steel catching the light like lightning.

"Cowards!" he shouted, his voice ringing with contempt. "Do you think you can stop me? Do you think you can touch what is mine?"

The rebels charged, but Ereya was faster. His horse surged forward, and with a swift, precise strike, he cleaved through the first man's armor, sending him crumpling to the ground.

The next came with a spear, but Ereya turned his horse sharply, dodging the thrust, and swung his blade in a deadly arc. The man's weapon fell from his hands as he stumbled, clutching his side, and collapsed.

The air was filled with the clash of steel and the shouts of the rebels, but Ereya was like a storm personified.

He dismounted in a fluid motion, his feet hitting the ground with purpose, and met the remaining attackers head-on.

His movements were a blend of raw power and calculated precision, each strike delivering lethal consequences.

One by one, the rebels fell, but their leader, a towering figure with a jagged scar across his face, stepped forward with a menacing grin.

"You fight well, but you're just one man. You can't save them."

Ereya's gaze burned like molten fire. "I don't need your words. Come and face me if you dare."

The rebel leader lunged, his blade aimed for Ereya's chest, but Ereya sidestepped with practiced ease. Using his momentum, Ereya brought his sword down hard, shattering the man's guard and sending him sprawling. Standing over him, Ereya pointed the tip of his blade at the man's throat.

"Run back to your king," Ereya growled. "Tell them this: The fury tiger is coming to hunt him. And if they lay a single finger on Vatapi or its people, I will rain fury upon them like they have never known."

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The chaos of the battlefield blurred into a storm of steel and blood as Dananjaya fought like a tiger unleashed.

His blade moved with ferocious precision, cutting down every rebel that dared to stand in his path.

His focus was unyielding, his body fueled by the adrenaline of battle—but then, then amid the madness, a thought pierced through the chaos.

Pramila.

Oh god She was alone in her chambers, defenseless amid this storm.

The image of her, vulnerable and scared, gripped his heart like a vice.

He crushed his current opponent with a swing so powerful it echoed above the clamor. His chest heaved as he turned toward the palace, resolve hardening in his eyes.

"She's all alone," he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice a growl of anguish.

Another rebel lunged at him, and Dananjaya met the attack head-on, slicing through the man with a brutal efficiency.

Panic clawed at his chest, fueling his movements.

He would not—could not—let anything happen to her. With a roar, he dispatched two more rebels in quick succession and began to sprint toward Pramila's chambers.

A group of rebels blocked the corridor leading to her private chambers, their faces twisted with determination. Dananjaya didn't hesitate. His roar of fury reverberated down the hall as he launched himself at them, his blade flashing like a silver flame.

They came at him from all sides, but he fought like a cornered tiger.

One after another, they fell to his blade, their blood staining the marble floors. When five of them grabbed him at once, trying to hold him back, Dananjaya's strength surged with pure desperation.

He threw them off, his sword slashing in a deadly arc.

"You think you can stop me?" he roared, his voice a thunderous declaration. "You dare to threaten her? You will die for this!"

The rebels faltered at his words, but he didn't give them a chance to regroup. He cut through them, the air thick with the sound of steel on steel and the grunts of men fighting for their lives.

Dananjaya was a storm, unrelenting and furious, cutting through anyone who dared stand between him and Pramila.

He didn't slow, didn't falter, even as exhaustion began to creep into his limbs. The thought of her alone, afraid, gave him strength beyond mortal limits.

Finally, he reached the corridor leading to Pramilas chambers. He saw them—the rebels pounding on her door, trying to force their way inside. His blood boiled, his grip on his sword tightening until his knuckles turned white.

Rage consumed him, a fire that burned brighter than anything he'd ever felt. "DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HER!" he bellowed, his voice shaking the very walls.

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Pramila's heart nearly stopped when a sudden, forceful banging rattled the chamber doors. The sound echoed through the room, sending a fresh wave of panic through her and the maids. The cries and clangs of swords outside now felt dangerously close.

"Devi! They're trying to get in!" one of the maids screamed, clutching another as tears streamed down her face.

Pramila stood abruptly, her face pale but her voice steady despite the chaos. "Push against the door!" she commanded, her tone sharper than the maids had ever heard before. "Do not let them in!"

The maids hesitated for a moment, wide-eyed, before scrambling to follow her orders. They braced their backs and shoulders against the heavy wood, their terrified whispers filling the air.

"Hold it! Hold it with all you have!" Pramila urged, her voice shaking but resolute.

The banging grew more violent, the doors shuddering with every impact. The maids struggled, their strength no match for the force pushing from the other side.

"Devi, please, sit back!" one of them cried, her voice breaking. But Pramila ignored the plea, stepping closer to the trembling doors. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her fear threatening to overwhelm her, but her determination keeping her upright.

"What's happening?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the noise. Her mind raced with terrible possibilities. Was this the end? Would she meet her death here?

"We can't hold it anymore!" one of the younger maids sobbed, her strength failing as she struggled against the force behind the door. Another maid whimpered, her knees buckling under the pressure.

Pramila's voice rang out again, sharp and commanding. "Move aside if you cannot hold it! Do not waste your strength!" Her breath hitched as she turned, her eyes scanning the room desperately.

"Devi, please," the older maid said, stepping forward with trembling hands. "You mustn't be here. Sit down, let us—"

"No!" Pramila snapped, her voice cracking with raw emotion. "I will not sit idly by while this happens! Hold the doors as long as you can!"

But it was no use. The maids' strength was failing. "We can't stop them," one whimpered, tears streaming down her face. Another collapsed to her knees, her back trembling under the pressure.

Pramila's pale face grew even paler as she took a step back. "Fall away," she ordered in a trembling voice. "Let them come through if they must. Do not hurt yourselves."

The maids, desperate and terrified, pulled away from the doors, guiding Pramila back toward the divan. "Sit, Devi. Please," one of them sobbed, her hands shaking as she pushed Pramila down onto the cushions. Another draped a shawl over her shoulders, as though trying to shield her from the horrors about to enter the room.

"We'll face whatever is to come together," one whispered, but her words were more a prayer than a reassurance.

The banging grew louder, each crash like a drumbeat heralding doom. Pramila's wide, tearful eyes were fixed on the trembling doors, her heart racing as if it would burst from her chest.

With one final, thunderous blow, the doors burst open, slamming against the walls. The maids screamed, recoiling in terror, and covered their faces.

Pramila sat frozen, her trembling hands gripped the edges of the divan.