The land changed as they neared the edge of Suryavarta.

  The air grew sharper, the roads wider, and the horizon opened into a sweep of fortifications that stretched farther than the eye could follow. What began as scattered outposts soon merged into one vast bastion of stone and steel—a border city built for vigilance, not comfort.

  The Frontier Fortress of Surya Dwar, the southern gate of the realm.

  Massive gates of blackened iron towered at both ends of the city-like compound, one facing the heart of Suryavarta, the other toward the broken lands of Avanendra. Between them rose a maze of stone walls, barracks, armories, and towers marked with the blazing sun emblem of Suryavarta.

  Banners of crimson and gold fluttered from every battlement—the emblem of the Garuda Battalion, protectors of the realm and one of the oldest military orders in existence. Soldiers moved with disciplined precision, their armor gleaming in the noon light, their formations sharp even in the constant bustle.

  Dharan whistled under his breath. “It’s like another city,” he said.

  “It is,” Vashrya replied quietly. “This fortress is the first shield of Suryavarta. When Avanendra falls to war, this gate must never fall.”

  This time, Surya had announced his arrival well before reaching the walls. The watchtowers had sent word ahead, and as they approached the great inner gate, a small honor guard stepped forward to receive them. The soldiers saluted sharply as the captain bowed.

  “Welcome, Your Highness. The garrison has been expecting you.”

  Surya nodded, his tone even. “At ease, Captain. We come not as royalty, but as warriors of Suryavarta.”

  Even so, whispers spread through the ranks as they passed. Many had never seen the prince in person—only heard tales of the Fire and Water he wielded. But this time, there was little celebration, no fanfare. The air carried a hum of urgency, tension coiled like a drawn bowstring.

  Inside the fortress, the hum of activity grew louder—messengers rushing between barracks, smiths working through the day, healers tending to soldiers in shaded courtyards. Despite the apparent order, everyone moved with a quiet dread, as if waiting for something unseen.

  At the heart of the compound stood the command tower. There, Surya and his companions were led into a broad chamber where the banners of Suryavarta hung beside the symbol of the Garuda Battalion—a golden eagle poised mid-flight, wings outstretched to shield the sun.

  Waiting for them was a tall, broad-shouldered man in silvered armor, his beard streaked with grey, his eyes sharp and clear.

  “Prince Surya of Suryavarta,” he greeted, bowing respectfully. “I am Commander Veeraditya Sen, co-commander of the Garuda Battalion and warden of the southern gate.”

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  Surya bowed slightly in return. “It is an honor, Commander Sen. Your reputation reaches even the capital.”

  The man smiled faintly. “And yours, my prince, reaches far beyond it. You honor my post by setting foot here.”

  The companions bowed as well—awed to stand before a living legend of the Suryavarta army. They had seen Sen once before, on festival grounds in the capital, addressing thousands with his thunderous voice. Here, though, his presence was quieter, tempered by months of battle.

  He motioned them to a large table covered with maps and coded scrolls. “Please, sit. You have arrived at a tense hour.”

  Surya leaned forward. “We heard rumors of increased attacks even before leaving Kashi. Tell me—what is the situation at the border?”

  Sen exhaled slowly, eyes scanning the maps. “Dire, and strange. A year ago, our spies reported Avanendra’s armies acting erratically—burning their own fields, abandoning strongholds, launching raids with no strategy or pattern. We believed it was infighting. Then the attacks crossed the border. Swift. Brutal. Mindless.”

  “Mindless?” Pratap echoed.

  Sen nodded grimly. “That’s the word. They don’t fight like men anymore. They throw themselves into battle as if pain means nothing. No discipline, no formation, no retreat. They fight until nothing remains of them.”

  Vashrya exchanged a glance with Surya. “Then it is as we feared.”

  Surya’s voice lowered. “Commander… these are not mere soldiers. The corruption behind this war is older and darker than politics. It is called Rakshasa—a force that infects the spirit, twists will into destruction.”

  For a moment, silence filled the chamber. Sen’s expression barely shifted, but his eyes betrayed unease.

  “I’ve heard the word,” he said slowly. “Old legends told by temple elders. Demons of shadow and hunger. But if that is true, it would explain much—their ferocity, their madness.”

  “It is true,” Vashrya confirmed quietly. “And it spreads faster than rumor.”

  Sen straightened, his gaze sharpening. “If that is the case, we must act with caution. The border is already stretched thin. We cannot afford panic among the ranks.”

  Surya nodded. “Then we will go and find its source. If this corruption began within Avanendra, we must reach its heart before it reaches us.”

  The commander’s head snapped up. “Go? Across the border? Impossible.”

  Surya met his gaze evenly. “You know what is at stake, Commander. I did not come to observe. I came to end what began here.”

  Sen’s jaw tightened. “And I cannot permit the prince of Suryavarta to cross into enemy lands. Especially not now, in the midst of war. Your safety is not yours alone—it belongs to the kingdom.”

  “I am not here as prince,” Surya replied firmly. “I am here as a warrior.”

  The commander’s sternness softened, though only slightly. “And as a warrior, I respect your courage. But as a commander, I cannot allow it. You and your companions will remain here under my protection while I send word to the capital. Until I receive the Maharaja’s command, you are to stay within these walls.”

  The air in the chamber grew heavy. Dharan’s hand twitched toward his sword hilt, but Surya raised a hand, silencing him.

  “Very well,” Surya said after a pause, his voice calm but steady. “We will wait.”

  Sen inclined his head, though his eyes lingered on Surya with a mixture of respect and unease. “You are welcome in my fortress, my prince. But please understand—this is not a cage. It is a wall between our world and chaos. And I will not let either side fall.”

  As they were escorted to their quarters within the great fortress, the weight of the walls seemed to close around them. Beyond the gate, the land of Avanendra waited—silent, broken, and dark.

  For now, though, they were bound by duty, caught between the will of the realm and the call of something far older stirring beyond the border.

  And though the fortress bustled with soldiers and light, Surya could not shake the feeling that the true battle had already begun—just not yet where men could see it.