Kunal burst through the imposing doors of the Mumbai University library, the humid night air clinging to him like a second skin. He scanned the vast, hushed reading room, spotting Ananya hunched over a table piled high with books near the restricted archives section, waving frantically. "Idhar!" she hissed, beckoning him over. He navigated the maze of shelves, his heart still hammering from Ashoka's dream-message and Ananya's urgent summons. The library felt different tonight – quieter, colder, the shadows seeming deeper than usual.
"What is it? Kya mila?" he asked, breathless, sliding into the chair opposite her.
Ananya pushed a heavy, leather-bound volume towards him, its pages brittle with age. She pointed to a passage written in elegant, archaic Sanskrit, different from the palm-leaf script he'd seen before, yet instantly, unnervingly comprehensible to him.
"I was cross-referencing Mauryan succession disputes in lesser-known Jain and Ajivika texts," she whispered, her voice tight with excitement and something akin to fear. "Standard histories barely mention Kunala's fate after exile. But look at this commentary… yeh dekho."
Kunal leaned closer, reading the words that seemed to shimmer slightly under the dim library light:
'Beware the shadow council (gūḍha-sabhā) that poisoned the Queen's ear and struck down the Lotus-Eyed Prince (Kamalanetra Kumāra). Their lineage persists (Vaṃśaḥ pravartate)... fearing the cycle's turn (yugaparivartana) and the return prophesied (pratyāgamanaṁ uktaṁ) under the Crimson Star. They watch while concealed (Antarhitaḥ paśyanti)... lest the scales of Dharma be righted (dharmasya tulā sthāpyeta).'
"Shadow council?" Kunal murmured, the Sanskrit terms echoing strangely in his mind alongside their meaning. A chill traced its way down his spine. "Vaṃśaḥ pravartate... their lineage persists? What does that even mean? And 'watch while concealed'?" It resonated disturbingly with Ashoka's warning: 'The forces that conspired against you still linger... others are watching from beyond this realm.'
"I don't know," Ananya admitted, "but it's not just history, Kunal. A lineage that persists? Fearing a prophesied return now? This sounds like... today. Like what Ashoka told you."
Kunal stared at the text, his mind racing. Lingering forces. Watchers. A prophecy woven into the fabric of time – his Niyati, his destiny, intertwined with ancient malice. He looked up, noticing how the lights overhead seemed to flicker almost imperceptibly. Was it just old wiring, or...?
He felt it then – a sudden, intense pressure, as if the air itself was thickening. A wave of dizziness washed over him, stronger than before. The scent of sandalwood from his memories mingled sharply with the musty smell of old paper, and something else… something metallic, like old blood… filled his nostrils.
"Kunal?" Ananya's voice sounded distant, alarmed. "Theek ho na?" (Are you okay?)
He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. The library dissolved around him.
Flash.
He was on a throne – not the grand imperial seat, but a smaller, ornate one in a private chamber. Rājāsanam. Rich silks surrounded him. He couldn't see – the world was the textured darkness he remembered from the blinding – but he could feel the presence approach.
A rustle of fine fabric. A familiar, cloying perfume – Tishyaraksha's.
"Such a pity," her voice, cold and sharp, echoed in the chamber, devoid of the fleeting regret he'd sensed before. "You could have been useful. But you chose righteousness. Dharma. Like your father."
Fear, cold and absolute, gripped him. He tried to rise, to call out, but his limbs felt heavy, unresponsive. Drugged?
Then, another presence. Silent. Looming behind him.
He felt, rather than saw, the glint of metal near his throat. A sharp, searing line of pain—faster, more final than the blinding. A choked gasp. Vadho. Murder.
Darkness. Not the darkness of blindness, but a deeper, colder, absolute void.
Kunal choked, lurching forward, his hands flying to his own throat. He gasped for air, the library swimming violently back into focus. Ananya was on her feet, her face pale with alarm.
"Kunal! What was it? Another memory? Kya dekha?" (What did you see?)
He nodded, unable to speak for a moment, the phantom sensation of the blade still burning against his skin. He finally met her wide, terrified eyes.
"They didn't just blind me, Annie," he rasped, his voice raw. "That council... Tishyaraksha... they finished it." He swallowed, the words tasting like bile. "I remember dying. They assassinated me."
Ananya sank back into her chair, staring at the passage in the ancient book, then back at Kunal's haunted face. The pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity.
"The gūḍha-sabhā... the shadow council," she whispered. "Vaṃśaḥ pravartate... their lineage persists... fearing the return..." She looked at Kunal, the implication hanging heavy in the stale library air. "Ashoka was right. The forces that killed you... they might still be here. Now. And somehow, they know you're remembering."
The library suddenly felt less like a sanctuary and more like the most exposed place in the world. The storm hadn't passed; it was gathering, and Kunal wasn't just uncovering a forgotten history – he was stepping back into the crosshairs of an ancient, unfinished war.
To be continued...