The twins, soldiers, and Vanmargis moved quickly through the dense forest, heading toward Aghorvan. Their movement was calculated and quiet. They took the longer path through the woods to avoid patrols or suspicion. The terrain was uneven, filled with thorny bushes and low-hanging branches, but they pressed on without complaint. Every hour mattered. If they were seen, everything would collapse.
Sarthak had already returned to Anantagadh. He sat in the quiet of his chamber, away from the noise of preparation. Outside, his men were training, reinforcing defenses, and preparing for a battle that might never come. He had ordered them to be ready for a surprise attack from any direction, at any time. Yet, here he was, still and thoughtful.
He could send word to Rankriti. He could crush the threat before it reached Aghorvan. But something stopped him. If she came, the enemy would have succeeded. If he committed his entire force to stop the attack, he would have to shift focus from other fronts, and they would succeed again. So he chose to wait.
"They want to bait me," he said quietly to himself. "They want me to move my forces and leave something open."
He sat back in his chair and looked at the wall in front of him. He trusted his instincts. The real game hadn't even begun yet. He knew Aghorvan was their aim. The distraction would begin there. But the real attack was somewhere else.
Back in the forest, the convoy pushed forward. The Vanmargis led the way, familiar with the jungle paths and old hunting trails. They moved without sound, like shadows blending with trees. Behind them followed the twins, flanked by soldiers. They were alert, ready to fight if needed, but also prepared for stealth.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the trees cast long shadows. The smell of the earth grew damp and heavier with evening. Birds flew past them, startled by the movement. Aghorvan was getting closer.
By the time they reached the outskirts of the city, it was near dusk. The grand entrance of Aghorvan stood ahead—massive stone arches now dulled with age. Moss clung to the walls. The old iron gates had rusted, though they still stood tall. A few guards stood at the entrance, watching the road but not expecting anything unusual.
Vanmargis walked ahead casually. They had native roots here. Their presence raised no alarm. The guards at the gate glanced at them, then turned back to their routine patrol.
The rest of the group waited behind in the cover of trees. The twins held their position. Raghav observed the road. Rudra looked toward the old walls. They didn't speak. They waited for the signal.
Inside Aghorvan, the city was silent. Only a few hundred people still lived here. They had refused to leave after the king's assassination. Some stayed because they had nowhere to go. Others clung to memories or routines. The streets were almost empty. A few women washed clothes near old wells. Children played in alleys. Men sat in silence, watching the road.
The city had once been a jewel of Jangala Mandala. Broad avenues, tall buildings, marble courtyards, mansions. Now, it was a skeleton of its past. The people who remained lived near the city center, close to the ruined temple and the castle. The castle was still majestic, even if time had eaten into its walls. And in front of it stood the ancient temple, crumbling but still alive with something sacred.
A single lamp flickered near the entrance of the temple. It was the only light in a sea of shadows. The walls of the temple were cracked. Vines wrapped around its pillars. Yet, despite the ruin, the place felt untouched. Something old lived here. Something guarded.
Vanmargis moved through the city quietly. One by one, they located and took down patrolling guards. Every action was precise. No sound. No resistance. A guard would disappear into an alley. Another wouldn't return from his round. The alarm wasn't raised—at first.
But after the sixth man didn't return, someone noticed. Bells rang out. A high whistle followed. The city stirred.
Citizens were moved to shelters. The guards regrouped and headed toward the temple. Their boots echoed in the empty streets. The temple's outer courtyard lit up as guards surrounded it. On the roof, a huge crossbow was mounted. A soldier climbed to man it. Two others joined him—one scanning the city, the other feeding instructions.
The temple defenders were ready. Over a hundred guards formed a wall around the front of the temple. They knew something was coming. They were not confused, only prepared.
That was when the twins and their soldiers entered.
As the alarm continued to ring, the gate opened from within. The twins and their soldiers rushed into the city. The Vanmargis guided them through old paths. They weaved through streets and alleys until they stood in front of the temple. The guards didn't move. They stood firm. The tension was sharp enough to cut through.
Suddenly, the crossbow let loose. A massive iron bolt shot through the air. It missed the soldiers but landed nearby with a loud thud. Dust flew. Everyone froze. No one spoke. The silence after the strike was heavier than the sound.
The twins took a step forward.
Just then, a voice echoed behind them.
"Before you attack the guards, don't you want to know what they are guarding?"