The moonless sky hung heavy over Shaniwar Wada as Amar teleported into the gardens, emerging from a shadow near the ancient peepal tree. The fort's crumbling walls loomed like silent guardians, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine. His golden eyes scanned the darkness, shadows coiling at his feet, but tonight his stance was less aggressive, his chaotic heart tempered by curiosity and strategy. He'd spent the day contemplating the Messenger's words, weighing the risks of alliance. A free spirit, mischievous but not evil, the Darkness had said. If he can be a friend, he knows much. Amar approached the stone bench, where the hooded figure sat, his shimmering robe catching faint starlight, his grin already visible in the gloom.
"Well, well, back so soon?" the Messenger called, his voice light and teasing, waving Amar over like an old companion. "I was starting to think you'd stand me up! Sit, sit—the night's young, and the stars are whispering secrets."
Amar sat cautiously, his shadows calming but alert. "I thought about what you said," he began, his tone measured, not the growl of their first meeting. "You're right—I could use a… friend in this game. Someone who sees the board from the edges. I'm willing, but on one condition: tell me what you want. Truly. No riddles."
The Messenger's eyes twinkled, his grin widening like a cat spotting cream. "Oh, Amar, you're warming up already! No aggression tonight? I like this side of you—less thunder, more thunderbolt." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his hooded gaze sparkling. "What do I want? Simple, really. To be your friend. And front-row seats to what happens next. Your storm against The Man's symphony? It's going to be spectacular! I've watched from afar too long—let me tag along, stir a pot or two, and enjoy the show."
Amar's brow furrowed, his golden eyes steady. "Why me? Why not The Man? He's got power, a network, the committee backing him. You could have front-row seats to his empire."
The Messenger threw his head back, laughing—a bright, infectious sound that echoed through the garden like wind chimes in a breeze. "The Man? That bearded bore and his stuffy group? Please! I don't like them, Amar. They're all chains and control—deception, bribery, blackmail, pulling strings from the shadows. Me? I'm a free spirit! I flit where I please, no leashes, no agendas. But you… you've caught my interest. Chaos with a heart, justice in the dark. It's fresh, exciting! I want in on your story."
Amar nodded slowly, absorbing. "Alright. Friends, then. But I need more than cheers from the sidelines. Tell me about The Man—his strength, his weaknesses. And these proxies… how many are there? What's their game?"
The Messenger's grin softened, his voice turning conspiratorial. "Ah, now we're talking! First, you're strong, Amar—way stronger than a normal proxy. Unnaturally so. I've been around a long, long time—seen history unfold, empires rise and crumble like sandcastles. But I've never seen anyone like you. This power of yours… who's your patron? The one who gave it must be immense, but clearly not big on making proxies. You're an anomaly, a storm in a teacup."
Amar's chaotic heart quickened. "An anomaly? What do you mean?"
The Messenger leaned in, his eyes gleaming. "All the proxies out there—and there are hundreds, mind you, with their contracted puppets—they're old players. Immortal, in a way: no dying of age as long as their primordial keeps the juice flowing. But they can be killed, oh yes—by other proxies, or a force strong enough to shatter their essence. The Man and his group? They're the kings of the shadows, controlling the world through tricks—deception, bribes, blackmail. They pull strings on governments, economies, lives."
Amar's voice sharpened. "If they're so powerful, why hide? Why not show their true strength and rule as kings?"
The Messenger chuckled, shaking his head. "Because they're not as strong as you, Amar. That's the twist! They're proxies, sure, but limited. Take The Man—he's Sound's pet, controlling through vibrations, whispers that bend minds. But he can't command all sound, everywhere. Just a fraction, a sliver of the primordial's power. All proxies are like that—immortal shells with cracks. They hide because exposure means vulnerability. One wrong move, and a stronger force—like you—could end them. You're the anomaly, the wildcard who could topple their game."
Amar sat back, the weight of the words sinking in. Hundreds of proxies, a hidden empire of control. "And you? Where do you fit in all this?"
The Messenger's grin returned, playful as ever. "Me? Oh, I'm just along for the ride.