Veerendra sat on the edge of her bed, the weight of his chainmail suddenly unbearable. This was the moment he had dreaded for sixteen years. He could use her. Train her as a weapon. Send her into the tilism to destroy Tej Singh and the sorcerers. She would win. He knew it.
“You already know,” she said, not looking up. Her voice was calm, like his. “The tilism calls to me, Father. I can feel it beneath the fort. It’s not a labyrinth. It’s a cage. For something they put inside our bloodline.”
For twenty years, it worked. His people were fed. His borders were quiet. irrfan khan chandrakanta
The next morning, Veerendra gave a single order: “Prepare the labyrinth entrance. And bring me my wife’s tantrik dagger—the one that cuts illusions, not flesh.”
Chandrakanta finally looked at him. Her eyes held the ancient weariness of someone who had already made her choice. “You spent your life burying magic, Father. But you can’t bury what’s in the blood. Tej Singh will come. The tilism will break open. And then, no one will have a choice.” Veerendra sat on the edge of her bed,
But she would not return as his daughter.
She hugged him tighter. “And the magic?” Train her as a weapon
King Veerendra Singh of Vijaygarh did not believe in magic. He believed in grain silos, treaty papers, and the sharp edge of a well-made sword. He had inherited a kingdom riven by the tantric wars of his father’s time—a chaos of aainas (mirrors), tilism (illusions), and power-hungry jaadugars (sorcerers). His solution had been brutal and simple: exile all sorcerers, seal the underground labyrinth of the tilism , and rule by reason.