Shangri-la Imperial court, judge chamber

The air in the chamber was thick with the scent of burning incense, a stark contrast to the tension that gripped the room. The hall, though grand, felt suffocatingly small for Vrisha as he stood before the towering seat of Minister Vayur, one of the most loathsome yet feared individuals in all of Shambhala.

Seated on a high-backed chair adorned with intricate carvings of mythical beasts, Vayur barely lifted his gaze from the parchment before him. The handful of court officials present whispered among themselves, their murmurs like rustling leaves before a storm.

Vrisha exhaled sharply, standing firm, his hands clenched behind his back. He had prepared himself for this, every word, every breath measured. Yet the weight of what he had done loomed over him like a phantom.

“You decimated a Raigon,” Vayur finally spoke, his voice a slow, slithering venom that crept into every corner of the chamber. “A sacred beast, revered since the time of our ancestors. And for what?” His piercing gaze finally met Vrisha’s, dark and unreadable.

Vrisha stepped forward, bowing slightly before presenting the report. “The creature attacked first. I had no choice but to defend myself.” His voice was even, unwavering, but he knew well that reason alone would not suffice in this court.

Vayur leaned back, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest. “No choice, you say?” He picked up the parchment, eyes scanning the carefully constructed words that concealed Drona’s identity behind the vague mention of a masked figure. “And this… masked man you speak of, the one who supposedly aided you, who is he?”

Vrisha’s jaw tightened. “An unknown traveler, my lord. He appeared at the right moment. I did not see his face, nor did he linger.”

A low chuckle escaped Vayur’s lips, humorless and cold. “How convenient.” He dropped the parchment onto the table before him and folded his hands together. “And yet, I find it difficult to believe that a mere traveler would appear in the dead of night, in the depths of the wild, and conveniently intervene in a battle against a beast revered by the heavens themselves.”

The court officials exchanged wary glances, their eyes flickering between Vrisha and the minister. Silence hung like a guillotine.

Vrisha held his ground. “I can only report what I have seen, my lord.”

Vayur studied him for a long, agonizing moment before sighing, shaking his head. “The death of a Raigon is no trivial matter. You are aware of the consequences?”

Vrisha nodded. “I am.”

“Then you are also aware that such an act is considered an omen.” Vayur’s voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of an avalanche. “Raigons do not attack unprovoked. They are the protectors of balance. If one struck at you first, then something has already begun shifting in the fabric of this world.”

A flicker of uncertainty passed through Vrisha’s expression, but he remained silent. He had felt it too, that something beyond his understanding was unfolding.

Vayur stood, his imposing figure casting an elongated shadow across the stone floor. “For now, I abscind myself from punishing you for your deeds. But know this, Vrisha.” He stepped forward, voice dropping to a chilling murmur. “I will be watching. And should I find the truth to be otherwise… you will pray that death finds you before I do.”

A shiver crawled up Vrisha’s spine, but he only bowed in response, keeping his face unreadable. “I understand, my lord.”

“Good.” Vayur turned sharply, his robes billowing as he made his way toward the chamber’s exit. “You are dismissed.”

As Vrisha stepped out of the suffocating chamber and into the cool night air, he exhaled slowly, his breath unsteady. The weight of the summons still pressed heavily upon him, but at least, for now, he had survived. The worst had passed, yet an unsettling feeling gnawed at him. Something had shifted. The chain of actions set in motion today would not stop. Drona was there, alive, moving in the shadows. And that meant Dwitansh was already changing.

The long corridor stretched before him, lined with solemn torches flickering in the quiet night. A familiar figure stood waiting at the far end, leaning against a cold marble pillar. Raghuvendra, his second-in-command, his oldest friend, and the only other person who shared the burden of the past.

As Vrisha approached, Raghuvendra straightened, his sharp eyes scanning Vrisha’s expression. The silence between them was thick, heavy with words neither had spoken in years. Finally, Raghuvendra broke it.

“Commander, why did you fabricate the narration?” His voice was low, wary, but edged with something deeper, concern, or perhaps, fear. “You will suffer the same fate as Drona if they ever find out.”

Vrisha let out a dry chuckle, devoid of amusement. He turned slightly, gazing up at the night sky. It was vast, endless, indifferent to the turmoil beneath it.

“He has suffered more than us,” Vrisha murmured, his voice carrying a quiet reverence. “That too, in solitude.”

Raghuvendra clenched his jaw, as if resisting the pull of buried memories. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sheathed blade. “And yet, you protected him. You replaced him with a nameless masked man in your report. Why?”

Vrisha finally met Raghuvendra’s gaze. His eyes, dark with history, reflected something far heavier than duty, remorse. “Thanks to him, you and I are yet to be branded as traitors, Raghuvendra.” The words lingered between them, a quiet confession wrapped in a debt neither could ever repay.

Raghuvendra swallowed, his throat dry. The name, Drona, hung between them like an echo of the past, one they had long tried to forget, yet it refused to fade. It had been thirteen years. Thirteen years of silence, of avoidance, of pushing forward with the weight of an unspoken truth on their backs.

“Thirteen years already…” Vrisha’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the sorrow of a lifetime.

Raghuvendra lowered his gaze, the memories stirring once more, the day they last saw Drona, the betrayal they had not been able to stop, the friend they had abandoned. And now, he was back, stepping into a world that had already condemned him once.

Regret was a cruel thing, it did not demand immediate penance, but it never allowed one to forget either.

Vrisha exhaled sharply, pulling himself together. His tone hardened, a shield against the emotions clawing at his insides. “Let’s leave it at that.”

Raghuvendra flinched at the finality in his voice but said nothing. They both knew contemplating the past would change nothing. The mistakes had already been made. The only question now was, how long before their consequences finally caught up with them?

The torches flickered as the wind picked up, casting long shadows against the walls. Without another word, they turned and walked away from the chamber, stepping forward into an uncertain future, one where Drona was no longer just a name buried in their past but a force that would soon demand reckoning.

As Vrisha and Raghuvendra stepped out of the suffocating confines of the royal court, the crisp night air did little to ease the weight pressing upon their shoulders. Their entourage stood at attention outside, their expressions tense, as if sensing the burden their leaders carried.

Ahilya, sharp-eyed and ever composed, adjusted her glasses as she stepped forward. Her voice, though steady, carried the weight of urgency.

“We’ve received intel, ‘Nirvana’ is planning another raid.”

A sharp silence gripped the air.

“Damn it! One thing after another. Those hooligans,” Raghuvendra exhaled in frustration, his fingers twitching at his side.

Vrisha, however, remained unnervingly still, absorbing the information without so much as a shift in expression. His mind was elsewhere, haunted by the specter of past decisions, of betrayals and sacrifices long buried. The attack didn’t faze him, not when his thoughts still lingered on the man they had once called comrade.

The entourage’s gaze instinctively fell on their commander, awaiting his verdict.

“If it’s Nirvana… without him, we’ll be fine,” Vrisha finally stated, his voice laced with a quiet certainty that sent a ripple of confidence through the group.

Without another word, he turned on his heel, leading the way back to camp, his stride purposeful but his thoughts tangled in the ghosts of Raigon’s blood and Drona’s silent torment.

The entourage followed, their disciplined formation snapping into place.

As they moved, a stout newcomer in their ranks hesitated before murmuring to Ahilya, “Who exactly is ‘he’?”

Ahilya halted for a second, inhaling sharply as if the very name carried weight. “Shreesh.”

The name landed heavily, stirring unease.

The recruit blinked, recalling the reports he had studied. “Ahh… The leader of the terrorist group.”

Ahilya gave a dry laugh, devoid of humor. “Leader? He’s far worse. A phantom in the shadows, a man who bends fate itself. And yet…” she hesitated, her voice laced with something between awe and frustration, “…not once in all these years has he ever faced Commander directly. Whether by sheer cunning or something else, he always evades him.”

Her words left a lingering chill in the air as the group continued their march into the darkness, shadows of old battles looming over the horizon.

Somewhere at the Southwestern Borders of Shambhala

The night was eerily still. A thick veil of mist rolled across the rugged terrain, swallowing the distant echoes of rustling leaves and the distant cries of nocturnal creatures. The moon, veiled in ominous clouds, cast long, fragmented shadows over the land.

And then, he stepped forward.

A figure emerged from the darkness, his presence alone sending a ripple of unease through the gathered soldiers. His lean yet muscular frame moved with an effortless grace, each step carrying an air of controlled chaos, as though the very fabric of the world trembled beneath his will. The dim torchlight flickered over his face, revealing sharp, chiseled features identical to Kriday’s, except for the deep, jagged scar carving through his right cheek.

The moment recognition struck, a strangled voice broke the silence.

"Shreesh…"

A single name was all it took to ignite panic.

The Shambhalan soldiers tensed, hands instinctively reaching for their weapons. Their bodies stiffened, their minds scrambling to process the sudden presence of a ghost they had only whispered about in hushed tones.

But it was already too late.

Before they could react, shadows moved, quick, precise, merciless. Figures emerged from the mist like phantoms, their blades glinting under the fractured moonlight. The Nirvana insurgents had surrounded them, encroaching like an unrelenting tide.

Shreesh stood unmoving, his eyes gleaming with a wicked amusement as his men tightened their grip on the prey. He tilted his head slightly, his shorter, tousled locks falling messily over his forehead, accentuating the untamed aura that surrounded him. Unlike Kriday, whose gaze bore curiosity and defiance, Shreesh’s eyes held something far more terrifying, the promise of destruction.

As the tension thickened, the scent of fear mingling with the crisp night air, Shreesh finally spoke, his voice smooth yet laced with underlying volatility.

“Care to Join us.”

His smirk deepened, reveling in the chaos that was about to unfold.