Eleventh Chapter: The Fall of Kaylira
Behind the dark doors of the Balan Empire, in a silent corner of a hidden chamber, sit twelve tall princes. In their eyes gleams mockery, and in their minds a single breath spreads like cold poison.
Among them, the eldest, Gamar Balan—who commands fifteen thousand Thanlas—declared in a voice hard and cold,
"Barzak Bhagar is nothing but a danger to us. He must be removed."
But the path of direct attack and open war was now sealed. Barzak was like a grey storm-cloud, and a simple blade was not enough to cut through him.
So they began weaving a dark political scheme—an inner snare that would break Barzak's strength from within, a poison of betrayal meant to rip apart his heart.
In silent agreement, they stood.
The twelve entered a deserted room where every wall held ancient maps and dust-covered chronicles. The light was dim, and from the cracks of the damp walls came a faint, cold draft.
Here, the princes sat and crafted a flawless false letter—a document that would shatter Barzak Bhagar's trust in life itself.
The letter claimed that Barzak had trapped Queen Bahar in a web of deceit, and that he was using the Samardun people to create a plan to destroy the kingdom of Kaylira. A close circle of a secret faction had "revealed" that Barzak's scheme was nothing but a bloody game that would plunge the realm into chaos.
At first glance, it was clear this was no ordinary lie. Every word carried smoke like poison; every sentence bore such weight that a reader's heart could almost break.
The forged document was written so smoothly that it felt like a part of history itself—like a guarded secret truth.
One by one, the princes signed the fake document, as if approving a respected proposal in a grand council.
Some wanted to make the forgery appear utterly harmless to hide its stench, but most knew exactly how this vile deceit would destroy Barzak.
That night, the letter was carried across the Yordil Mountains by a secret imperial courier—one of the Balans' treacherous smugglers.
The courier's footsteps whispered like frost in the dense darkness of the cave paths.
Slowly, the letter reached Queen Bahar—once a princess of dreams, now holding only emptiness as thin as smoke.
It was the time when Barzak had left in search of the legendary Thanoro. Queen Bahar was alone.
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The vast cavern.
A frost-laden cave in the Yordil Mountains—where even a single breath seemed frozen in place. From the high ceiling, drops of ice fell one by one, their sound echoing like the slow heartbeat of time.
In one dark corner of the cavern, a chimney fire cast a faint glow. The surroundings were buried in ice, as if emotions themselves had frozen here.
In the very centre stood a monumental throne—an ancient witness that seemed to stand beyond memory.
The throne was so enormous that in its shadow a person felt no bigger than an ant.
Its structure was carved from a fusion of frozen ice and stone, and through the clarity of that ice shimmered the memories of a thousand years. The back rose like a mountain, engraved with symbols of an unknown civilisation—mysterious signs glowing faint blue, cutting through the cavern's darkness.
The armrests curled like dragon claws, cold yet unyielding in their power. Sitting upon the throne felt as if all the air in the world had hardened inside one's chest, and before the eyes rose the memories of the ancient age.
Understood — thank you for the correction.
Here is the corrected version, English ONLY, line-by-line, same spacing, same breaks, no Bengali anywhere, novel-style English.
Ice hangs around the cave like a royal crown, and in their reflection the throne becomes even more otherworldly.
This throne is not merely a place to sit—it is the core of an ancient power, a seat of force that has waited through the ages for the chosen one who can withstand its cold yet burning might.
Queen Bahar sits upon that throne. In her hand is a letter—worn, yet filled with fierce poison.
When she read the first words of the letter… it felt as though someone had torn her heart straight out of her chest.
Those words are still circling around her mind.
"Barzak's pact with the Balan Empire… using your name… in your absence…"
At first she could not believe it. Not a word came from her soft lips; only her eyes widened, her throat went dry. A storm raged inside her heart, yet outside—there was only silence.
Her eyes slowly filled, but she did not cry at first. She simply sat. Staring at the letter.
Her lips trembled, yet no sound came out. The trust she had built with blood, bound with her very soul—that trust shattered in a single moment.
Barzak Bhagar—the man she thought was her beloved, her shield-bearer, her husband, the other half of her soul—how could he…?
Her eyes froze on the last lines of the letter:
"In exchange for your exile he has promised to surrender the northern frontier."
A scream surged up from inside her chest, but it did not break through her lips. She only drew a silent breath—a breath filled with pain. Her nails scraped the paper, as if trying to erase every word, tear it apart… but she could not. Because those words were buried in her heart like thorns.
Her shoulders trembled, her lips quivered, yet no sound escaped.
And yet… then began the crying. Not from the eyes—not at first. It started in the throat, then burst like a sudden breaking.
"No… no no no…"
Her voice was so broken it sounded like a shattered melody. She suddenly collapsed to the ground, the letter in her hand, curling into herself.
Her forehead rested against the throne. It felt as though the throne touched the emptiness inside her chest.
Barzak's promises, his touch, his words—now all lies.
All a snare.
All a curse.
Bahar was alone. Her sobs echoed against the cave walls, returning again and again, as if her own suffering was stabbing her from behind.
Her fingers had turned bluish from the cold, yet she did not let go of the letter. She read it again and again—those words she refused to believe. A sudden sigh escaped her throat—a sound like a world collapsing.
"Why… Barzak…? I gave you everything… everything…"
Her throat tightened. It felt as if she could no longer breathe. She clutched her chest, as though the pain had become physical.
"You said you would stay until the end…!"
Tears streamed from her eyes now. Both eyes burned red. She bit her lips—like someone was tearing her apart from within.
She lifted her head and stared at the wall—her eyes filled with red terror, with frantic pain.
"What have you taken from me, Barzak?"
"My… my throne? My heart?"
Her voice then was like that of a dead woman. Quiet, hollow.
The air was heavy, and even the faint hidden light deep inside the cave seemed to be fading.