In the early morning's tender embrace, when the world still slumbered beneath the velvety veil of night, a soft exhale of nature's essence rustled through the air. The quietude of night had hushed the day's clamour, allowing the tranquillity of dawn to envelop the surroundings. A gentle zephyr, delicate and soothing, caressed the leaves of trees that stood like silent witnesses beneath the celestial dome. The clan castle emerged, a sentinel of grandeur, embraced by the gentle arms of the fading darkness. The moon, with its silvery luminescence, bestowed an otherworldly gleam upon the weathered stones, painting them with an ethereal hue. The castle's contours cast long, spectral shadows, as if ancient spirits whispered forgotten tales of times long past. In this enchanting hour, the castle wore an enigmatic aura, a repository of mysteries waiting to unfold, as if the very breeze carried echoes of untold narratives.

Within the grand walls of the clan castle, an atmosphere of solemnity hung like a heavy tapestry. The air was thick with anticipation and a sense of gravity as if the very walls absorbed the weight of the moment. Tall, ornate pillars lined the expansive hall, their surfaces etched with the chronicles of the sect's history, illuminated by the soft flicker of torchlight.

At the heart of the castle, the royal court sprawled beneath a vaulted ceiling adorned with intricate frescoes depicting scenes of valour, sacrifice, and the struggles of the sect's ancestors. A long table of polished mahogany dominated the chamber, flanked by intricately carved chairs where the elders of the sect were gathered. Their countenances bore a complexity of emotions, each one reflecting a lifetime of devotion and responsibility.

The elders, distinguished by their age and wisdom, sat in a semi-circle, their eyes fixed upon their Sect leader, “Lord! Tread with caution when dealing with the young master.” cautioned one of the elders, breaking the hush that had settled over the assembly. "The Nagas had intended to position the young master as the clan leader, ensnaring him within their influence much as they did with the previous lord. Your swift action foiled their plans, prompting them to seek retribution. They now seek any pretext to undermine you and the standing of our clan, aiming for our unwavering subjugation. Allegations have already been hurled, accusing you of responsibility for the demise of the former lord."

“Yes, lord, we should be careful.” The other elders voice their concern.

While our status aligns with that of the Great Nagas as a second-grade clan, their influence is augmented by a greater potency and ambition. The previous lord was effectively a marionette under their control, dutifully executing their every command. They are unwilling to countenance relinquishing their dominance over our clan, especially since this juncture serves as a pivotal moment for them to ascend to the esteemed first grade.

Presently, their machinations are aimed against us, designed to reassert their supremacy. Disguised as a quest for justice for the former lord, they are probing the circumstances surrounding his demise, searching for any avenue to cast aspersions on us. The spectre looms that any harm befalling the young master would provide them with a pretext to invoke righteousness, rallying against us in an attempt to consume us.

Other clans, akin to opportunistic vultures, would seize this chance to swoop down and claim their share, leaving our clan gravely incapacitated. The potential consequence is the ruin of our clan, my Lord. It is imperative that you deny them even the slightest justification, lest we become victims of their predatory ambitions.

The mood was sombre, a reflection of the weighty matters that had brought them together. Furrowed brows and pensive gazes spoke volumes, hinting at the gravity of the situation that had summoned them to the royal court. The elders' complex expressions ranged from contemplative concern to steely resolve, each one grappling with their own understanding of the challenges ahead.

Alfred rose from his seat and spoke,

Calm yourselves, everyone! Remember, we stand united under the banner of righteousness. Their ability to act against us lacks substance without proper evidence. Allow me to assure each of you that I bear no responsibility for the former lord's demise. It is true that we harboured our disagreements, and I openly criticized his political choices. Our mutual antipathy was undeniable. Nevertheless, when his decisions aligned with the betterment of our clan—albeit a rarity—I stood beside him. Conversely, I staunchly opposed his misjudgements.

I distinctly recall advising him against his ill-fated journey to the God’s Acre, a venture that was bound to exceed his capabilities, a feat even the esteemed Great Naga clan would find challenging. This predicament is the consequence of appointing an inadequately qualified individual to leadership. Regrettably, he merely functioned as a puppet manipulated by their strings. Their culpability in his demise exceeds our own, for they were the architects behind the curtain, supplying him with information about the central region (God’s Acre), blinded by his greed for power. It is my belief that they orchestrated his downfall, subtly testing the information through his vulnerabilities.

Yes! I seized the chance when it presented itself before me. If they decide to confront us due to their inability to establish another puppet as the lord, they better come prepared. In the grand scheme, the big fish devours the smaller ones, and within this vast pond, many more significant fishes exist.

Lord, what if they fabricate evidence against us?

That prospect has not eluded my consideration. I have taken proactive steps to address this concern. I dispatched detailed information regarding the circumstances encompassing our lord's demise, along with evidence that indirectly implicates the Naga faction—although their name remains unspoken—to major clans and the esteemed Order of the Zaštitnik. While the evidence may not suffice to trigger the Order's intervention, it will undoubtedly keep the Nagas off balance. Should they initiate an attack against us, it would provide the larger powers with a justifiable pretext for intervention. Essentially, this arrangement establishes a state of mutual restraint between us and the Nagas. If they lay a hand on us, it would result in mutual annihilation.

And what of the young master, my Lord? Could he not pose an obstacle?

Fear not, for I have devised a comprehensive strategy to eliminate that troublesome brat without getting our hands dirty.

Everyone quieted down and listened eagerly in anticipation.

My intention is to dispatch him to Rudrashila, the revered academy of the awakened.

"…?" The elders exchanged glances, their puzzlement palpable. "But, my Lord, is Rudrashila not reserved for the most promising talents of each clan?" One ventured to speak. Rudrashila, the institution founded by the first Sword Saint before his untimely demise, catered to the finest emerging talents across the continent. It was an unassailable edict that each clan send at least one of their brightest prospects annually.

Indeed, not only their brightest but sometimes their least auspicious as well. Rudrashila serves as a crucible where one either emerges as the apex performer or a mere supporter of those who attains that status. That brat, with his mediocre aptitude and propensity for impatience, is unlikely to survive in such an environment. Even if he were to persist, his fangs would have waned considerably by the time he emerged.

However, my Lord, what of the esteemed elder Geoffrey and the other elders aligned with his faction? Could they potentially voice opposition?

In truth, how could they? We shall convey our unwavering belief in the exceptional talent harboured by our young master. After all, he stands poised to ascend as the future lord of our clan, destined to become a steadfast pillar of strength for our principal lineage. Such a grand future lord ought not to be belittled. Should their resistance persist, and should the young master remain unswayed, we can assert that his qualities deem him unfit to inherit Lordship. Regardless of the outcome, we stand to emerge victorious.

Yet, what if he emerges from the academy as the most accomplished student?

A significant contingency, to be sure; nonetheless, such an outcome remains speculative. Even in the event of his triumph, graduation from the Rudrashila necessitates a minimum of ten years, save for the extraordinary few who might achieve an accelerated trajectory. But even under such circumstances, by the time he concludes his tenure, the Naga clan would have receded into oblivion.

"Lord, your wisdom is undeniably profound. Our decision to follow your guidance was undoubtedly the correct one. As our new clan lord, you shall undoubtedly elevate our clan to unprecedented heights." All the elders present agreed in unison.

Ensure that the brat will depart discreetly before the ceremony, without any fanfare. His presence during the event could undoubtedly create a ruckus and ruin my moment. The ceremony must unfold flawlessly, with the anticipation of attendees from other clans. I wish to pre-empt any grounds for complaint.

Consider it done, my lord.

Yuvan, a slender thirteen-year-old boy of pallid complexion, was draped in nothing more than a soiled dothi, an embodiment of destitution and undernourishment. He toiled amidst the fields, positioned just beyond the castle's walls.

Worn down by a day's relentless labour, fatigue began its gradual descent. Unbeknownst to him, his gaze fixated upon the tower—not with the innocence of a child, but rather the unflinching focus of a predator. Despite his outward appearance of lethargy, his eyes radiated an intensity that belied his young age, potentially evoking terror by the startling intensity emanating from this unassuming twelve-year-old.

Immersed in a cocoon of pensive reflection, he found his mind weaving a seamless tapestry of thoughts, instinctively dissecting and scrutinizing every detail. His musings took flight toward the gate tower's architectural design, adorned with sinuous serpent sculptures cast in a gesture of welcome. Even in the depths of the late hour, the gate tower retained its resplendence, a manifestation of majesty in itself. As for the castle, it exceeded his every expectation, an unparalleled sight that stretched expansively across vast hectares of land. Its grandeur was akin to a regal palace, a sight that left him utterly astonished.

From his vantage point, he could discern the sanctum sanctorum dedicated to Shesha, the sovereign of serpents, and Shahmaran, the feminine embodiment of the serpentine enigma, nestled within the eastern courtyard. The view offered by his position encompassed this hallowed space, providing a glimpse of their divine presence. A sudden remembrance of his mother entered his chain of thoughts, in the previous birth his mother used to worship the Nagas.

Born during the British Raj era into a Dalit family, positioned at the lowest rung of the caste hierarchy, Yuvan found himself targeted by the cruel taunts and humiliations of his privileged upper-caste peers. It wasn't that Yuvan lacked the courage to stand up for himself, but the ramifications of such a stance were chillingly dire. A reprisal could spell the annihilation of not only Yuvan himself but also his entire family, and his fellow caste members would stand as mere witnesses or even collaborators to appease those of higher social standing. Irrespective of the era, the persistent presence of class conflict ensured that the upper echelons would extend the privilege of being treated as a human being only selectively.

The unkindness of children could often eclipse even the harshness of adults, demonstrated through their thoughtless remarks and unprovoked aggression. These young minds would emulate their parents' conduct and strive to outdo them. Yuvan, pursued by his schoolmates, would seek refuge in an alley that was deemed impure by the higher caste individuals. In this sanctuary, they would berate Yuvan and invoke dire curses, warning him of the dire consequences of crossing the boundaries of social hierarchy. However, Yuvan stood firm in his place; experience had taught him that the curses hurled his way were markedly milder than the brutal thrashings he would endure otherwise. And so, he would remain entrenched in that alley until his tormentors dispersed, the strains of a nearby tea stall's radio serenading him amidst his solitary respite.

During an era when the fervent demand for independence, regardless of the cost, had reached its pinnacle, Yuvan similarly aligned himself with this sentiment, cultivating a profound animosity toward the British colonizers. The presence of his alcoholic and abusive father, who held the position of a havaldar—a constable within the Indian Imperial Police—added weight to the cause. Accounts of the struggles for freedom and the passionate discussions of the patriots at the tea stall stirred Yuvan’s dormant spirit from its slumber.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Yuvan's life was a canvas of discontent; he nurtured a belief that this existence would metamorphose once his nation achieved its long-awaited freedom. He harboured a fervent desire to actively partake in the struggle and heed the call of the esteemed leader, yet he deliberately forwent such a path, a decision influenced by his mother's presence. This choice didn't stem from a yearning for the non-existent embrace of maternal love, but rather was an expression of gratitude. He was indebted to the indistinct image imprinted upon his mind, that of his mother draped in a green and yellow saree, tenderly placing a cool towel upon his fevered brow. Several years ago, Yuvan had been grievously ill, teetering on the precipice of mortality. During this trying period, his mother had stood as his caretaker, and his decision to remain by her side served as an act of recompense. Should he depart, his father would be left with a lone recipient to receive his pent-up frustrations.

On that eventful day, Yuvan made his way homeward after evading the torment of bullies. Before him stretched a sizeable gathering amassed in front of his house. Some of the women, upon noticing his approach, cried out, "Oh! The poor boy! How could she leave him alone in the clutches of such a malevolent father?"

THUD!!

Abruptly, Yuvan sensed a dull impact against the back of his head.

"Cease your reverie, you low-born imbecile!" The air reverberated with the shrillness of the outbursts, emanating from a man well into his late forties. His figure, emaciated and gaunt, bore a skeletal quality as his ribs protruded visibly beneath a scant layer of sinew that clung to his frame. Not a trace of fat adorned his physique. Stripping away his skin would reveal the meticulously detailed musculature of a human body, the culmination of decades entrenched in servitude and bondage.

Exhaustion hung heavy upon him, just as it did upon the entirety of his village. With a ceremony imminent in the following week, preparations were in full swing. The fortress that stood before them was no sovereign's palace, for the era of kings had long faded into the annals of history. In its stead, it served as the stronghold for a clan and its leader, assuming the mantle of authority over the encompassing territory. Even in the midst of collective exhaustion, not a single soul permitted themselves respite. The relentless endeavour persisted, fuelled by the collective awareness that even a hint of idleness if perceived by those in the upper echelons, could ensnare the entire village in repercussions.

As the fervent labour surged around him, he beheld his oddball of a son daydreaming shamelessly. In that instance, the torrent of pent-up frustration and anger found a convenient outlet, erupting in a torrential cascade.

"Utterly worthless!"

To Yuvan, it felt akin to a surreal fantasy, a cascade of years past that appeared no more substantial than dreams. Yet, an unwavering certainty anchored itself within his consciousness. This was no dream. This was his stark reality, an existence that appeared destined to extend throughout an eternity of unending hardship.

Was he fated to be forever ensnared in such a wretched existence?

His father's tirade pressed on...

"Do your chores, lest you go without a drop of water. Observe your siblings—how diligently they undertake their duties... You, a blight upon this family and this village. You..!You.. should have perished in place of your mother..."

Without needing to cast a glance backwards, Yuvan stooped to gather the excavated soil. It was an anomaly for him to display a lapse in vigilance; the toll of physical exhaustion invariably echoed within the corridors of his mind. After all, being a twelve-year-old came with inherent limitations. Were it not for the impending ceremony, the welts from a thorough thrashing would have painted his skin shades of blue and black.

Preceding the ascension of the new lord, the consensus was to avert any incidents. Recent times had witnessed the tragic demise of the former lord and his designated heir. With the next in line merely thirteen years of age, the new lord found little difficulty in rallying support and quelling the nascent resistance posed by the faction led by the venerable Elder Geoffrey. The extent of the new lord's involvement in their deaths remained shrouded in ambiguity, yet one certainty persisted: the next successor wouldn't escape unscathed.

Anticipation brewed within Yuvan as the upcoming ceremony loomed. Oblivious to his father's ceaseless complaints, he pressed forward. A sense of serenity pervaded him, untouched by even a trace of animosity.

For what purpose lay in nurturing resentment? From a different vantage point, he comprehended the rationale behind his father's reproaches and the affronts he had endured from both erstwhile friends and adversaries. The law of the world was inexorable—where might reign supreme, and the weak found themselves consumed, dictated by the survival of the fittest. Regardless of the dimensions—be it class, race, or station held no reprieve.

Within the framework of Hinduism, Samsara embodies an unbroken sequence of mortality and rebirth, encompassing the transmigration of souls as they journey through various births. This perpetual cycle is shaped by the cumulative influence of one's karmic deeds and thoughts across their current and previous existences. Moreover, Samsara can be interpreted as a state of unawareness concerning the atman (inner self) and the ultimate reality (Brahman). The realization of the atman paves the way for the attainment of moksa (liberation), regarded as the pinnacle accomplishment attainable by any entity. As one embraces moksa, the inexorable result is the cessation of the Samsara cycle.

Transmigrating into an unfamiliar time and place posed its own challenges. Yet, navigating an era entrenched in a hierarchical class system, especially while being born at its lowest rung, was akin to enduring an ongoing nightmare for Yuvan. Since his consciousness had come to inhabit this reality, he had grappled with a fervent desire to extricate himself from this dire circumstance. However, comprehending his predicament required access to knowledge, a privilege forever beyond his reach as long as he remained ensnared in enslavement.

The prospect of escape held allure, but survival itself demanded fortuitous encounters, not to mention the realization of his ambitious aspirations.

Whenever Yuvan embarked on his chores, his surroundings became a canvas of observation: the lay of the land, the tapestry of trees, the crops that flourished, the people and their intricate interactions. He studied their traditions, culture, the depths of their knowledge, the nuances of their attire, the tools they wielded, and the craftsmanship that bespoke a particular epoch. Every detail was meticulously noted, for within this trove of observations lay the potential for any morsel of information that might aid his cause – be it substantial or trivial, factual or mythical. All he sought was a glimmer of insight into his predicament and a chance at survival.

Gaining the confidence of the adults proved a relatively simple feat; channelling his interest and eagerness into listening to their life stories prompted them to open up like unguarded birds. To his astonishment, he unearthed unexpected revelations. Paganism reigned supreme as the dominant religion, and the landscapes, mountains, and rivers bore different names and configurations. Initially attributing this diversity to his limited exploration, his interactions with well-travelled individuals further confounded him. Their unfamiliarity with other religions and the distinct names of locations puzzled him. Elements like clan systems and unfamiliar technologies further deepened the enigma.

Had he traversed not just time, but also space, arriving in an epoch before the proliferation of other belief systems? Was this indeed the same world he had departed from?

The more Yuvan absorbed, the more fervently this question surged within him. Armed with his advanced knowledge, he recognized its potential, yet his current station at the lowest echelon of society limited his agency. The caste into which he was born was an immutable designation, impervious to change. Thus, his sole recourse lay in the pursuit of tantra, an avenue he was determined to explore through any conceivable means. Only by doing so could he inaugurate his authentic odyssey.

As he meticulously formulated schemes and plans, they were consigned to await the morrow. Tonight, he chose to immerse himself in the ceremonial feast, savouring a steaming bowl of boiled rice, before surrendering to slumber akin to a lifeless log. Sharpness would be imperative for the impending day when his designs would commence their unfurling.

The break of dawn belonged to the birds. Boldly singing praises for the ascending sun, with no predator in sight.

In the vicinity of the castle's eastern courtyard, a congregation of birds clustered by the hallway windows. Through the pristine, crystal-clear dewdrops clinging to the windows, they spotted a rapid approach of predators—shrieking and clamouring. In trepidation, the birds silenced their melodies and took flight.

"Elder Geoffrey...!! Elder Geoffrey...!!" One of the seniors leading the group cried out from the forefront. Their journey through the hallway led them to their intended destination.

“Respected elder, you must intervene!"

"At all costs, you must stop him!"

"If you fail, it will be catastrophic!"

Seated behind his study desk, a robust man in his sixties lifted his gaze over the rims of his glasses, surveying the early morning interruption.

"Take a deep breath and compose yourselves!" Geoffrey gestured for his attendants to withdraw, "Close the door behind you," he commanded.

"This matter must be of utmost significance to have warranted such an early disruption; knowing very well how I detest disturbances during these hours. Speak up, then, what has compelled you to appear here, screaming like a lunatic?"

"They... they're sending the young master to the awakened school, Rudrashila," one of them managed to convey in a single breath.

"What?!! He dares...!" Geoffrey sprang from his seat, his eyes a mixture of shock and restrained fury. He locked gazes with the elder and inquired, "When?"

The elder looked away as if bearing responsibility. The elder regained composure and, without making eye contact, responded, "Just days before the ceremony."

"Hmmm..."

"Other elders are already abandoning our cause; our faction is dwindling. If we fail to rescue the young master, it could spell the end for us. You must intervene, great elder. Prevent this before it's too late."

"No, we can't!"

"But..."

Geoffrey gestured curtly, silencing the words.

"Such an action would broadcast to the world that our young master is inept."

"But, Lord, the young master won't survive in that academy."

"Yes, I am aware. He has indeed outsmarted us this time. Do not fret; I will reach out to the Great Naga Clan. They will not abandon us, I am certain. And do not inform the young master. I will break the news myself. I'd rather avoid another outburst that could exacerbate the situation."

knock! A knock on the door interrupted their deliberations.

Who is it?

"Great elder, the young master wishes to see you."

Infuriated, he demanded, "Which imbecile fed his ears?"

All present stood with downcast faces.

"Argh! No matter, he'd find out eventually, either through our side or another."

"Let the young master know I will join him shortly."

"The rest of you, leave!"

As Geoffrey moved to the window, his gaze fixed on the outside world, he mused, "Tsk! He's leaving me no room for a comeback."

Exiting Geoffrey's office and halfway down the hallway, Percival mused, "Doesn't the great elder seem somewhat different?"

"No, he appeared the same," responded one of them.

"Not externally," Percival persisted, "there's something different about him. A certain lack."

"We saw nothing amiss, elder Percival," others chimed in, and the matter was dropped.

The door to the young master's chamber swung open with a deliberate grace, admitting the hushed figure of an elder, draped in the intricate garb of his venerable status. The room was imbued with an air of tension as if the very walls held their breath in anticipation of the impending encounter.

Inside, the young master paced restlessly, his every step echoing a seething storm of emotions. Shadows danced across his furrowed brow as he tried to tame the tempest within, his hands clenched and unclenched in an unceasing rhythm. The room's rich tapestries and opulent furnishings bore witness to his wealth, but his countenance betrayed a turmoil that transcended material trappings.

The elder's presence was a palpable force, carrying an aura of wisdom and authority that seemed to temper the charged atmosphere. His steps were measured, each footfall resonating with years of experience etched into the very fibre of his being. Wrinkles crinkled at the corners of his eyes, revealing the wealth of stories and trials he had weathered throughout his lifetime.

As the elder approached, the young master's gaze lifted from the intricately patterned rug beneath his feet. Their eyes met, a silent exchange that spoke volumes. A moment of stillness hung suspended in the air, like a fragile thread holding the storm at bay.

"At last, Geoffrey, you've chosen to reveal yourself."

Lord!! I was trying to find a solution to our dilemma.

No need.

What?… My Lord?

I am not leaving!

My Lord, you mustn't. That's precisely what he desires; we'd be playing into his hands.

Enough! My decision is final. Why should I suffer due to your inadequacies?

I am filled with shame, My Lord. I beseech your gracious forgiveness for your humble servant. But I implore you to grant me one more opportunity to speak. I am prepared to accept any consequences thereafter.

Speak!!

My Lord, should you choose not to go, then he will declare you an imbecile. Other elders will depart, and even the Nagas shall forsake us. Your worth shall erode. And, My Lord, should your worth diminish, you shall be reduced to a mere thirteen-year-old boy. The notion of inheriting the Lordship shall fade, and your current title shall slip through your fingers. You will be relegated to the ranks of an ordinary clan member, your very life and death subject to the clan leader's whims—who considers you as a thorn by his side.

"But how can my refusal to join an academy result in such dire consequences?"

"Rudrashila is not just any academy; it wields dominion over the entire earth. Born from a coalition of all the clans, it stands as the earth's guardian force. Over time, it has evolved into the pre-eminent power of the land. None can oppose its decisions."

"But how does all of this concern me?"

"Each year, every clan is obliged to send a member under the age of fourteen to the academy."

"Then why not send another in my stead?"

"It is not feasible. Only the clan leader has the authority to nominate a candidate, and that candidate must be the most exceptional among us. Sending an inferior candidate would be deemed an affront to the Order."

"Then, how can he suggest my name when he's not even our clan leader?"

"Though not officially, he is the acting clan leader, ratified by the Order and the other clans. He wields the leader's power, and with the majority of the elders' support, our options are limited."

"What if I were to go into hiding and—"

"My Lord, there is little we can do. Please reconsider your decision. I have faith in your abilities; I'm certain you shall triumph over this challenge. Once you graduate, he shall be nought but a speck before you, subject to your mercy. You will qualify to lead the Great Naga clan; even super forces might extend invitations for you to join their ranks as an elder. Even graduating with the lowest distinction shall secure your bright future. Rest assured, I've discussed matters with the Nagas; they shall fully support you in the academy. All you need to do is embark on this journey, navigate through the academy's trials, and graduate. Every detail has been accounted for. What say you, My Lord?"

"Never interrupt me again!"

Startled, Geoffrey momentarily fumbled. "What?!" Realizing his lapse, he swiftly bowed. "Please, forgive your humble servant; I beg pardon for my earlier discourtesy. I momentarily lost control..."

"Enough with the theatrics! Cease the feigned respect, humility, and excuses. I shall go, not due to intimidation. I've grown weary of relying on incapable individuals like you. If I remain here any longer, I shall end up as weak and pathetic as the lot of you."

"I shall return, and I shall return stronger, prepared to address all challenges. That includes you."

"My Lord, I shall patiently await your return."

"Leave me be, so I may prepare for your journey."

"Hmm, be gone!"

Backing away with a bow, Geoffrey exited the room, his thoughts a torrent. ‘Impudent brat, daring to issue threats,’ he mused as he retraced his steps to his office. ‘Do you truly believe the Naga clan will shield you within the Rudrashila? A wishful notion! The academies operate beyond the reach of even the most formidable forces, then what can a regional power like Nagas could achieve.’

"Great elder!" Attendees offered obeisance along his path.

‘But even if they could, why would they? You've forfeited your worth since the new lord's ascent. The sole value you hold for us lies in your death, and die you shall.’

"Great elder!" his associate addressed him, "Make arrangements for the young master's journey?" Geoffrey commanded.

"Yes, great elder."

‘Your demise shall herald the clan's downfall. We shall attribute your death to the new lord, using righteousness as a pretext, for the sake of justice and your demise. The aftermath? The clan shall be left reeling, the Nagas shall pounce like a venomous serpent, consuming all in their path.’