Chapter 2 : Indra I

Beside the River Vael’thar – A Duel of Steel and Will

The River Vael’thar stretched wide, its clear waters reflecting the golden afternoon sun. Tall Elder Pines lined the riverbanks, casting long shadows over the vast grasslands. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and fresh leaves.

At the heart of this serene landscape, two warriors stood face to face, swords drawn.

Indra I, dressed in a flowing white robe embroidered with gold, held his blade with quiet confidence. His sharp silver eyes were locked onto his opponent—Talon Veydris, his closest friend and fiercest rival.

Talon smirked. "Still thinking, Indra? Or are you finally ready to fight?"

Indra I exhaled slowly, gripping his sword tighter. Then, he moved.

In a blink, he closed the distance, his blade flashing toward Talon’s chest. Talon barely had time to block before Indra struck again—fast, precise, relentless. Their swords clashed, ringing through the open fields.

Talon gritted his teeth. Indra was always one step ahead, forcing him onto the defensive. But Talon was strong, refusing to back down. He countered with a powerful strike toward Indra’s ribs.

Indra sidestepped smoothly, dodging the attack with ease. He feinted left, forcing Talon to react, then spun—delivering a sharp kick to his chest.

Talon stumbled back, gasping for air. Before he could recover, Indra’s sword was at his throat.

A moment of silence. Then, Talon chuckled. "Damn. You’re getting even faster."

Indra sheathed his blade, offering a hand. "And you're still as reckless as ever."

Talon took his hand and stood, shaking his head. "One day, I’ll win."

Indra smiled. "We’ll see."

They walked toward their waiting garments, changing into formal attire. The friendly competition was over, but war was coming, and both of them knew it.

Talon clapped a hand on Indra’s shoulder. "You fight like a king already."

Indra glanced at the flowing river, his expression unreadable. "A king rules. A warrior fights. I don't know which one I'm meant to be."

Talon smirked. "Then let’s keep fighting until you figure it out."

With that, they mounted their horses and set off toward Vaeloria, the capital of Indryan.

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The streets of Vaeloria were bustling. Merchants called out their wares, noblemen walked in clusters, and the grand Indryan Palace towered over the city, its golden spires gleaming under the sun.

Indra I and Talon rode through the streets, but something caught Indra’s sharp gaze—a lone figure moving suspiciously near a communications tower.

"See him?" Talon muttered.

Indra nodded. "He’s not from here. Let’s see what he’s up to."

They dismounted and followed the man quietly. As he crouched near the tower, fiddling with a small device, Indra spoke.

"Stop what you're doing."

The man jolted, eyes darting for an escape route. But before he could move, Talon stepped in his way.

"One chance," Indra said coldly. "Surrender."

The man lunged instead, drawing a dagger.

A mistake.

Indra moved fast, twisting his wrist. The blade clattered to the ground, and with one sharp strike to the ribs, the man collapsed.

Indra I stared at the man, the captured informant, his hands bound in iron shackles. The dimly lit chamber smelled of old parchment, candle wax… and blood.

The man trembled before him. Not from pain, but from knowing what was coming.

Indra I had done this before—extracted information through force when necessary. His father had taught him that mercy was a privilege, not a right.

Yet, for the briefest moment, a thought flickered in his mind. Is there another way?

But hesitation was weakness. Weakness led to ruin.

He stepped forward, eyes locked on him . “Tell me what you know, or I will have no use for your tongue.”

The prisoner swallowed hard. The words that followed would shape the fate of the Empire.

"The man flinched, his breath shallow. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”

Talon Veydris, standing by the doorway, let out a mocking chuckle. “Gods, you traitors really need to work on your lying skills.” He pushed off the wall and strolled toward him , his boots clicking against the stone floor. “Look at you. Sweating like a pig before the slaughter.”

Indra I didn’t move. His golden eyes bore into him . “I will ask once more.” His voice was softer this time, more dangerous. “Who gave the order?”

The man clenched his teeth, shaking his head. “I swear, I don’t—”

CRACK.

A muffled scream tore from his lips as Indra I grabbed his hand and bent a finger backward, snapping the bone with practiced ease. He gasped, body trembling as pain shot through him.

Talon whistled. “Oof. That one sounded nasty.” He crouched beside him , inspecting his trembling form. “Y’know, you should just talk before His Highness runs out of fingers to break. We’re reasonable people, aren’t we, Indra?”

Indra I remained silent, waiting.

The man's breathing turned ragged. “It was… it was—” He gritted his teeth, trying to resist.

Talon sighed. “Fine, then. Let’s start making bets. I say he lasts two more fingers before spilling everything.” He turned to Indra I. “What do you think? Three? Maybe four?”

Indra I’s grip didn’t loosen. “I don’t gamble with inevitabilities.”

The man shuddered, his resolve breaking. “Wait! I’ll talk—I’ll talk!”

Indra I finally let go, stepping back as the man slumped forward, gasping. “Then start speaking.”

The man trembled. "Freedom Alliance! I was sent by the Freedom Alliance!"

Indra’s grip tightened. "Your name?"

"Verric Solas!" the man gasped. "I was a minister in the Drakovian Empire, but after the government shift, I lost everything! They promised me power if I helped them!"

Indra exchanged a glance with Talon. A former Drakovian minister working with the rebels?

"What are they planning?"

Verric hesitated. Indra raised the dagger again.

"They’re waiting!" Verric cried. "The empires are still focused on rebuilding! The leaders are distracted! If they attack now, they’ll catch everyone unprepared!"

Indra’s mind raced. It made sense. The Emperors had been busy stabilizing their nations. Had they ignored the greater threat?

He let Verric fall to the ground. "Talon, alert the royal guard. Bring him to the palace. I need to speak to my father."

Talon nodded. The situation was worse than they thought.

Indra I turned toward the palace, his heart steady, but his mind on high alert.

---

The Indryan Council Chamber was filled with powerful figures—nobles, generals, and ministers, all waiting for the Emperor’s word.

Emperor Indra Vorn, a man of unshakable conviction, sat at the head of the table, his golden eyes sharp and commanding. His silver hair, streaked with age, was neatly tied back. Though middle-aged, his presence was as strong as ever.

Indra I stood before him, recounting everything.

The grand council chamber echoed with low murmurs as the Empire’s greatest strategists, generals, and nobles gathered around the war table. A holographic map of the Indryan borders flickered above them, marking contested zones with ominous red glows.

Lord Vaelen Duskryn, known for his sharp tongue, tapped his gauntlet against the marble table. “The rebels are scattered, desperate. If we strike now, we wipe them out before they take root.”

Across from him, High Chancellor Aldros, a man more politician than warrior, scoffed. “Blind aggression invites chaos. The common folk still remember the horrors of the last war. If we are seen as butchers, we push them further into the rebels’ arms.”

Indra I remained silent, observing the verbal duel. Two powerful men, each seeking to shape the Empire’s next move.

General Kael Orin leaned forward, his voice steady. “We cannot afford indecision. The rebels will not wait for us to weigh our options.”

Before Indra I

could speak, the doors to the chamber burst open. A soldier, panting and bloodied, stumbled in, falling to one knee.

“Urgent report! The rebels…