“How much longer must we wait?” asked the man, the feeling in his fingers restless. Nearby as candle flickered, the cool smell emanating the room in his home. “How long have we been planing this? Twenty years now, hasn’t it? I’ve risen to my place and you to yours, yet we still haven’t managed to pull the strings as much as we’d hoped.” He glanced past the window beside him, watching as the skies succumbed to the faint glimmer of nightfall, the orange, red and purple hues painting a vibrant image before the clouds could block it all again for, what he hoped, to be the last time.

“Patience, friend.” said the other man. A thud erupted as he moved his piece on the wooden board. “We’ve come this far already. We wouldn’t want to disgracefully fall to the ground now, do we?”

“Perhaps,” answered the man, still glancing towards the sky. The days after the end of the monsoons were usually the most beautiful. That was, at least, for him. For him, the vibrant dusk skies after the troubling monsoons were always the most beautiful. It was something that, even if he had spent fortunes getting artisans to paint, wouldn’t come close to the real scenery holding his eyes hostage.

“I still feel bad for the late Gahkhar and Lord Dhaliwal. Such a barbaric thing, really.”

“Truely.” He turned back to the board and moved his pawn forward. “But it doesn’t help my conscious knowing that we drove them into that situation to begin with. And it’s only backfired on us. Have you seen the shear number of people mourning their deaths on the streets of Surajpur? It’s terrifying to witness their influence.”

“I disagree.” replied the other, analyzing the board. “Yes, what we ended up driving them to commit to was essentially suicide and it may have backfired, especially with the increased recruitment among the more mainstream —perhaps militant— elements of the faith; however, I don’t see that as being a bad thing. Most of these young peasants are simply too idealistic and they’re just going to feed into the likelihood of war between the lords.”

The man moved a pawn forward. “Sometimes, we must step back and look at the bigger picture, my friend. How else can we see the goal if we only get caught up in the tiny details?”

“That much is true, I suppose. Perhaps I’ve been over-thinking things… too often nowadays…” he replied, grumbling as his friend snatched up a pawn. “I’ve heard the new lord of Gahkhpur is building his strength. He could be what we’ve been searching for in all of these years.”

“Bhagat ka Gahkhar?” The man asked. “Perhaps. He has the mind for it. He was able to repel the Afraari challenge, but don’t forget that it was with Vhaddawalia’s help. And he’s too young. Sides, he and Dhaliwal’s granddaughter seem to have quick the knack for terrorizing commoners.”

“Yes; however, those things are expected when a lord tries to establish control in an area after twenty long years. Hell, we even see it when Dhariwalia takes control of a village. And with Oodpur it’s different. Those bloody fools were trying to emulate Rakshaan’s society after living under Afraari rule for twenty years. If anything, they should be taught a stricter lesson.”

“You make a point, but why bring up his name in the first place if he just seems like every other lord in this land?”

“My point?” He stared at his friend for a good moment, trying to catch any semblance of expression. “The Gahkhar —despite his youth— plays different. I heard he even managed to strike a deal with an outsider to manage the salt coming from Oodpur. Is this not big? He’s completely turned his backs on those bastard merchants! We may be able to see our vision of Lohaan unfold!”

“Yes,” answered his colleague. “But do you really expect these merchants —these same people who’ve amassed wealth through shrewd deals and power-politics— to just let it slide? Especially Jattwalia, the one who was slighted? No. They’re greedy. They’ll use anything and anyone to bring Gahkhar into line since the salt trade is too valuable for them to lose. That much is absolute. They’ll first ridicule him and then have someone pressure him into signing unfavorable treaties and, when that happens, any hope of a strong lord emerging from this mess will vanish with him.”

“Damn… you bring a valid point,” he answered, the rush of excitement running through his hands calming. He moved his elephant piece forwards. “Then only time will tell. Hopefully this next conference lands the result we want, or it’s back to the drawing board yet again.”

“My Lord, the tent is prepared.”

Bhagat waved his hand. “Alright, cool. Go and eat Avignon, the men caught some deer earlier. We’ll need a good night’s rest if we want to make it to Surajpur by tomorrow afternoon. Damn those roads! When I have the money, I’ll rebuild them to withstand these bloody monsoons.”

Instead of words, the creeping crunching of leaves answered Bhagat’s question.

“No, My Lord. The contract we signed was very specific in regards to my duties and I’d rather obey the contract than your orders, if it means protecting your life.”

Bhagat turned, finding Avignon standing in place towards his right-side. At first, his insistence had been bothersome to him. But he did have a point.

“Fine then.” Bhagat frowned, facing downwards to watch his fading reflection in the lake as nightfall approached. The monsoons had made the roads . “I have all this authority and yet I can still be talked down to. Tell me, what were you back in your home country?”

“My home country?” he repeated. “Well… I was a part of a guard and an advisor for a marquis back in Franilleia, if you’d consider it as such.”

“Franilleia, huh… interesting, what exactly did you do?”

“Well, I’d help protect the marquis and direct his army to fight imperial forces to our east.”

“I see. A marquis.”

Bhagat gave the man a good look. It didn’t seem like Avignon was lying. Judging by the way he disciplined his men and conducted his affairs, he at least needed to be an officer. Though, if he had this kind of talent, why then had he decided to travel all the way here? From what he could recall, there was a Franilleian trade post in Asmaan from his conversations with Mayur. Why then, of all places, would a man like him travel into Azaad’s interior?

“Tell me one thing Avignon.”

“Yes, My Lord?”

“What forced you out of the guard? Or out of your country?”

“That…” His voice quivered. “I was driven out because of persecution.” He whispered, his voice frigid. “You see, magic in my homeland is only in the hands of a few and that makes it easier for the royalty to control. The kings simply hire the magicians into his own royal guard and make them loyal through… various means. Their abilities, too, are similar to yours as well. They require a special metal, like how you require that sword sheathed to your side.” He crouched down and leaned in to the water, staring into his fading reflection. “But people who can manipulate gunpowder are numerous. Even a peasant back home, if given the right training of course, could demolish the parliament into dust.”

“I see.” Bhagat glanced upwards to the trees flanking the pond. “Your power… I remember you had fainted after you threw that vial… is that related to your power?”

Avignon turned his gaze to Bhagat, and then back to the pond. “Yes… but the cost is more than that.”

“I see…” Bhagat raised himself back up. “I guess that’s the drawback. You snort the gunpowder and it acts like a drug, giving you a kick at the cost of addiction.” He examined the thoroughly-beaten trail turning around the pond. “Promise me this. Whatever you do, only use the gunpowder if it’s a life-or-death. Over-using that could make your condition worse.” Who lived in this part of the forest, so secluded from the nearest village?

“My Lord, where are you going?”

Avignon seemed impatient.

“Come with me, I’m curious about something.”

“You seem to always be curious, My Lord.” spoke Avignon. “Sometimes it’s best to leave your curiosity aside.”

“Damn, you really don’t hold back your punches, huh?” Bhagat chuckled, pulling out his sword and feeling as the fire gushed from the cross guard. “Relax, these are similar footsteps. Must be one or two people at most.”

Bhagat glanced upwards. The clouds were beginning to settle in, perhaps for one last shower. Though that made him nervous, since he’d become semi-useless. But then another thought struck him. Were the monsoons supposed to last this long? Though it must be a coincidence, considering the fact it rained for only one season a year. If anything, he should be more grateful, since more water would ensure a better harvest.

Bhagat glanced down on the beaten path again, noticing a split. He looked up and waved his sword, noticing a faint light in the distance.

“There’s something there.”

Bhagat took a step forward. And then another step.

A sigh escaped from behind. “I don’t think this is wise, My Lord.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think so either, but I’m too invested at this point. It’s like a plot from a movie or something.”

“What’s a movie?”

“It’s….” Bhagat lowered his voice. How could you describe something you’ve seen and felt to someone who doesn’t? “Well, I don’t know, something that replays someone’s movements, conversations and scenery.”

“Interesting…” replied Avignon, his voice interested. “Exactly how much do you know that the second-most intelligent man doesn’t?”

“Well…” Bhagat frowned. “I don’t really know how… but I just know these things.”

“That’s a very contradictory statement.”

“Yeah, well… you could say I don’t really seem like a normal person.”

Together they slowly crept along the trail, stepping through the sinking soil and passing through the low leaves and sprawling bushes. As they approached, the faint light grew brighter until Bhagat could make out a little hut secluded in the forest shroud. It looked to be constructed of mud, with a long cloth acting as the door entrance. The light from the structure revealed a few felled trunks resting on the structures side.

“My Lord…”

Bhagat raised his hand, watching as the hung cloth unfurled. Exiting the structure was a elderly figure, covered in red-saffron cloth. A priest? Bhagat narrowed his eyes to make out the man’s figure. No bracelets nor necklaces of gold. And the man himself looked to be exceedingly old, with wrinkles across exposed on his rugged skin.

“Come Avignon.”

Bhagat took a few steps forwards, approaching the open area under the rising moon despite Avignon’s feeble protests. The elder took a seat along the fell trunks and faced him, donning a gentle smile.

“I was expecting someone to greet me on this night.” He gave a light chuckle, joining his two hands together. “Greetings Lord Bhagat Gahkhar.”

Chills ran down his legs, blinking. How does he know my name? It couldn’t have reached this far, I’ve just about left Vhaddawalia’s territory. Bhagat reciprocated either way to avoid giving off a rude appearance. Though there was an added detail that surprised him the most. How could his voice seem so out-of-place for his age?

“Greetings elder.”

The priest simply sat in place, crossing his legs and straightening his posture. “What brings you here on this night?”

“What brings me here?” The question felt too specific. What should he say? That he only came here because of a beaten trail? “Well… we came to see why there was a faint light in the forest.”

The man glared at Bhagat. It seemed he were analyzing him, probing for the truth in his words perhaps, or through his facade. A sweat trailed his cheek.

“I cannot blame you,” he said. “Back in my youth, I too would have the urge to explore beyond my home. It is human nature after all.”

Bhagat nodded. “But elder, why do you live here? Why not live in the closest village and seek out your meditation in the woods? Why live here alone, and bear such a burden for your age?”

The elder nodded. “Yes, it does seem like that, doesn’t it? Why should I, a man of many years, resort to living like this?” The man glanced up to the sky. “A friend had once told me that to be liberated in my life I must be able to let go of wordly desires and instead understand this World’s truth. And that is what I’ve done. For as we die our bodies will only turn to dust and kiss the dirt from which we were birthed. It’s almost poetic. We are mortal and yet so prone to sin. It’s hopeless.”

We all live to die, huh? The idea was simple. Perhaps a bit too simple.

“I’ve lived for quite some time, My Lord. I’ve seen villages burned. I’ve seen kings rise only to hear them fall from afar. I’ve seen dynasties extinguished and prosperity coming out of it all, but slowly, and yet the cycle repeats and repeats and repeats, again and again and again.”

“That is the history of our people after all.”

The hermit nodded. “Yes, that is what our land is after all. A crossroad for many to bear their fury.” The sage picked off a stick and eerily stood back up on his two legs. “Tell me, Lord Gahkhar. You are but one of many, each one with a vastly different view of how this land can overcome its tragedies. What do you think you must do to save this land?”

“Pardon?” Bhagat blinked at the man before scratching his forehead. “How do I… save this land?”

The man nodded.

“Well… ” Bhagat furrowed his brows. How could he change it? He was but a new lord, making his way into a nest of snakes. And the way the man put it, it seemed that the differences that existed within the Confederacy were greater than its similarities. The moonlight found its way to them, the glistening beam piercing through the clouds and past the shaking leaves. Nearby a deer peaked in, staring as if examining their conversation.

Bhagat curled his fingers into a fist. “The only way we can possibly break free from this curse is with a a strong state. And for that we need a king. No, we have to have a king. And I shall help him navigate the storm.”

The man carefully examined him. “How can a king arise? There no longer is a Lothaar to lead the land. So, who shall become king?”

“Didn’t the Lothaars not rise in the vacuum left after the Simbaq era? If so, then a lord must rise now to meet the challenges posed from outside. Yet, barely anything has changed!” shouted Bhagat, raising his arm. “None of them besides a few have reformed from the last war. Some have even turned greedy and waste the blood of our people for petty reasons. The people go hungry. Orphans are numerous. We’re surrounded by wolves. How else can these problems be solved if there’s no strong figure to lead us! The conference that I’m about to go to will only devolve into petty squabbles. No work will ever be done. The role we assume for our people will only ever be used for selfish purposes. We call ourselves lions and yet we all act like cubs. We are a pride divided and no Creator, no Almighty, no deity and no saint can save us from ourselves.”

Bhagat drew in his breaths and faced the moon peaking through the clouds. “I am sorry for speaking to you like this; however, I lose sleep thinking about this very real possibility. That our land will be finished and this project, beginning with the Lothaars, will end with our cowardice. It makes me sad and mad. It’s weird. We can do so much for our people to prosper, and yet us lords all can’t even agree on what’s more of a threat,” he added, chuckling. “When the Afraaris were encircling Gahkhpur, instead of any of the lords sending their men in my plea for help, they sent me a letter to demand I come to Surajpur before any help could be distributed. That just goes to show their bloody priorities.”

A gust of wind whipped the leaves into a frenzy, shaking the branches as they sought for calm. And while the wind howled the white glimmer from the moon retreated back into the embrace of the clouds, forcing the men gathered back into the clutches of the dark.

“I understand what you wish for, My Lord.” he said, his voice fleeting.

Bhagat froze —turning— trying to search for the sage.

“Perhaps you should do what the other lords cannot,” began the sage, his voice distant. “Why help the next Raja when you can become it.”

“Wait? What?” shouted Bhagat, lighting his sword on fire and swinging it about. “No lord will accept it!” The flicks of fire seared into his skin, paining him as he looked around. “Wait!”

“My Lord!” shouted a chorus of faint voices from behind. “My Lord! Where are you!”

“Child, if you aren’t worthy with the knowledge you possess, then who among kings is?” The sage’s voice echoed, fading into the forest as the surroundings fell pitch black. “Now go, your warriors await you.”

“What? But… what? How do you know!” Bhagat shouted, his voice echoing back as the wind subsided.

No response.

Bhagat crept forward, lightly waving his burning sword to make out the surroundings.

“What… what in the hell?” whispered Avignon. “What in the fuck was that?”

Bhagat hovered his blade towards where the house sat. “I… I don’t know…”

“My Lord! Where are you!”

“The house…” began Avignon. “It’s… it’s…”

“Yeah,” replied Bhagat, finding the structure degraded to mud and the cloth laying on top of the rubble. “It’s returned to the Earth.”