Night had fallen over the camp, but Ashvath's eyes remained open. The stars above whispered ancient names, and his hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword—not in fear, but in memory.
That night, the fire didn't warm him.
---
A Royal Summon at Midnight
A soldier knocked softly against the wooden pillar outside his tent.
"The Prince calls," he said.
Ashvath rose without a word.
Ashoka's inner chamber was dimly lit, burning with slow coals and heavy incense. He sat on a cushion, fingers tracing the map of Kalinga with slow, thoughtful strokes.
"Ashvath," he began, not looking up. "We have a... problem. One not fit for ears outside this tent."
Ashvath stood silent, alert.
"Our supply lines have been touched. Silently. Swiftly. My quartermaster says it's sabotage. I say it's betrayal."
He pointed to a mark on the map near the eastern river pass.
"I want you to go alone. Find the traitor, or the truth. Either will serve."
Ashvath nodded. "And if I find both?"
Ashoka finally looked up. "Then you choose which to kill."
---
The Eastern Pass
Two nights later, Ashvath rode alone through whispering trees, cloaked in mist. The air was thick with wildflowers and the silence of unseen things. He reached the ruins of an old temple by the river—the very place Ashoka had marked.
There, a figure waited. Hooded. Still.
Ashvath stepped closer, blade not drawn—but not forgotten.
The figure pulled back the hood.
It was Sita.
"You?" he breathed. "Why are you here?"
"I could ask the same," she replied.
Her eyes held no fear.
"I've been watching the supply trail," she said. "Something is wrong. The soldiers who vanish leave no blood. No sound. It's not Kalinga tactics."
They both froze as a sound slithered through the trees.
A soft chant. A rustle. Not human.
Ashvath drew his sword.
"Stay behind me."
From the trees came figures—not men, but gaunt creatures with painted skin, ash smeared across their faces. Tribal. Forgotten. Followers of the old blood.
One stepped forward. His teeth were filed to points.
"Your war means nothing to us," the creature hissed. "But your blood will wake our god."
Ashvath didn't answer. He moved like thunder.
The fight was brutal and short. He didn't hesitate—he became the storm. Sita fought too, with a dagger she drew from her boot, surprising him with grace and fury.
When it ended, the clearing was soaked in silence and blood.
Ashvath looked down at the bodies, then at Sita.
"They weren't traitors," she said.
"No," he agreed. "But someone sent them. Or woke them."
---
A Bond Forged in Fire
They sat beside the river after, their skin cut and bruised, their breath steady.
"Why do you really fight?" Sita asked him, finally.
Ashvath looked at the moon.
"Because the day I stop, I'll have to remember everything I've lost."
She reached out and gently took his hand.
"Then let me be the reason you don't lose everything again."
For the first time, he didn't pull away.
---
End of Chapter 4