The rain had stopped by the time Laga arrived at the old man's estate, a sprawling mansion nestled among tall oaks at the edge of the city. The sky was clearing, casting a soft glow over the quiet grounds.
A tall wrought-iron gate creaked open, and a young woman stepped forward. Her eyes were sharp but held a softness that surprised Laga. This must be the granddaughter.
"Welcome," she said, voice steady but curious. "I'm Hana."
Laga bowed slightly. "It's an honor, Miss Hana."
As they walked through the gardens, Hana spoke of the family, of hopes and fears, but never once asked about his past. It was clear she had no idea who he really was.
Inside, the old man sat in his study, eyes tired but alive with gratitude. He watched Laga with a mixture of respect and something unspoken.
Later that evening, as the night deepened, Laga stood by the window, watching the city lights flicker.
His mind drifted to the many faces he had left behind—the disciples unaware of each other's existence, the empire built piece by piece, the secrets carefully guarded.
He had lived many lives, yet this was the first time he had truly felt free.
Yet, beneath the calm, a storm was gathering.
In distant cities, powerful men and women prepared moves in the grand game, unaware that the man called Sanda was already three steps ahead.
Tonight marked a new chapter—not just for Laga, but for the entire world.
And soon, the shadows would begin to move.