While Ashvath and Sita returned through the shadowed forests of Magadha, another flame was rising far to the east—in the sacred temples of Kalinga, where drums beat not for war, but for awakening.
This war would not be of men alone.
---
In the Temple of Bhairavi
The temple sat nestled in black stone cliffs, carved into the earth like a wound. Inside, a gathering of robed priests and warriors stood in a circle of fire, chanting with rhythmic fury. At the center was Mokshara, Kalinga's war priestess—veiled in crimson silk, her arms painted in vermilion symbols.
A massive bowl of blood burned at her feet.
She raised her voice.
"Magadha's lions march west with steel and ambition, but they forget..."
She turned toward the idol behind her—a figure of rage, destruction, and rebirth.
"We do not kneel. We become gods."
The warriors pounded their chests.
"Our enemies shall see visions before they die. Their minds will twist. Their dreams will scream."
She threw a handful of sacred ash into the flames.
"A shadow walks beside Ashoka. Kill the prince, the war will rage. But kill the shadow—and the war will collapse."
---
Back in Magadha's Camp
Ashoka studied the returning pair from the high terrace of his command tent. His arms were folded; his eyes unreadable.
"Together again?" he said softly as Ashvath and Sita dismounted. "How convenient."
Ashvath walked up, calm. "They weren't saboteurs. Not soldiers. They were tribal. Worshippers of something older than war."
Ashoka's eyes narrowed.
"The jungle ghosts..." he muttered. "I've heard the name. I thought it was myth."
"They bleed like men," Ashvath replied.
"But they serve someone," Sita added. "And that someone wants more than Magadha's defeat. They want decay. Madness."
Ashoka was quiet for a moment, then turned away.
"Then let them come. I'll bury them beside their gods."
---
A Night of Wine and Memory
That night, wine flowed again—not from celebration, but from the hunger for forgetting.
Ashvath sat beside the fire. Sita leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. A flute played in the distance, melancholic.
"You were almost gentle," she whispered.
He smiled faintly. "Don't say that out loud. The sword might grow jealous."
"You ever think of leaving all this? The war, the blades, the blood?"
"Sometimes," he said, voice low. "Then I remember—I don't know who I am without it."
She took his hand again. "Then let's find out, after Kalinga."
He turned to her, finally, fully.
"After Kalinga… everything changes."
They kissed—not as a beginning, but as a promise in the dark.
---
The Assassin's Arrival
In the forest beyond the camp, a shadow moved without sound.
Clad in black, with poison in his pouch and a blade carved from bone, the assassin had only one name:
"Kill the Shadow."
He whispered it like a prayer as he watched the lights of the Magadhan camp flicker in the distance.
---
End of Chapter 5