The dawn, broke over Surat's dusty roads, painting the horizon in hues of saffron and gold, as Jai Vora led his team—Amir, Kofi, Ravi, Manoj, Sarita, and the bound 15-year-old girl leader—toward Ahmedabad. Two sturdy horses flanked a creaking cart pulled by two more, its wooden frame laden with supplies, weapons, and the heavy weight of vengeance. Jai, nine years old but fueled by the cunning of his 2025 mind, gripped the reins, his heart a forge of resolve. The spies, including the elusive Keshav, would reach the Ahmedabad merchant-noble, Arjun Malhotra, today, unaware that Jai's team had razed their warehouse hideout and reclaimed the stolen recipes, spices, and funds. "They won't see us coming," Jai thought, his pulse quickening at the thought of outwitting a foe who'd killed his guards. The Emperor System, his secret AI-spirit guide, thrummed in his mind: "Two days to Ahmedabad, Jai. You're moving like lightning—this noble won't expect Vora's wrath so soon. Quest progress:
The journey stretched across two grueling days, the Gujarat plains unfolding in a blur of sun-scorched fields and tamarind groves. Dust swirled around the cart's wheels, the horses' hooves drumming a relentless rhythm. The girl, her wrists bound by coarse rope, sat in the cart, her sharp eyes darting between Jai and the endless horizon. Her silence was a fortress, her loyalty tethered solely to her kidnapped younger sister, whose fate hung in Malhotra's cruel grasp. Sarita, a gentle anchor, rode beside her, offering sips of water from a goatskin flask, her gaze kind but vigilant. "Rest, child," Sarita murmured, but the girl's only response was a flicker of conflicted hope, her thoughts a tangle of distrust and desperation.
Amir and Kofi, their Bladework and Blacksmithing skills a bulwark of strength, rode ahead, their eyes scanning for bandits or Malhotra's scouts. Ravi and Manoj, ever watchful, flanked the cart, their hands resting on Kofi's forged daggers, ready for ambushes. Jai's hatred for the East India Company, a smoldering ember from his past life as Vihaan Roy, flared briefly—could Mala be their pawn, a shadow of foreign greed? No evidence yet, but the system's warning kept his senses razor-sharp. At night, camped under a banyan tree's sprawling canopy, Jai studied the stars, his mind mapping the noble's downfall. The system pinged: "You're playing a dangerous game, kid. Mala's court connections could summon Mughal muscle. Stay sharp."
By evening of the second day, Ahmedabad's gates loomed, their weathered stone crowned with minarets that glowed like embers in the fading light. The city thrummed with life—bazaars bursting with silk merchants, spice vendors, and the clatter of oxcarts. Moving through the crowded lanes, where the scent of saffron and sandalwood mingled with the tang of sweat, they reached Lord Vikram Singh's haveli—a fortress of intricately carved sandstone, its arches adorned with floral motifs that caught the torchlight like frozen flames.
Vikram, their noble ally, greeted Jai with a warrior's clasp, his silk kurta shimmering under the glow of brass lamps. His beard, streaked with silver, framed a face both warm and weathered, his eyes alight with curiosity. "Young Jai, you've grown bolder with each moon," he said, ushering the team into a courtyard where a feast awaited. Over plates of spiced lamb, buttery naan, and bowls of kheer fragrant with cardamom, Jai shed the lie he'd told Anil, laying bare the truth: assassins, not mere thieves, had struck Vora Trading Company, stealing recipes, spices, and funds, and killing two guards. He recounted the warehouse battle—the smoke arrows, the girl's capture, and his ruthless execution of her men. The girl, seated silently at the table's edge under Sarita's guard, stared at her untouched plate, her bound wrists hidden beneath a shawl.
Vikram's eyes widened, a newfound respect kindling. "You're no mere merchant, Jai," he said, his voice rich with awe. "A sharp mind and a steel heart—crushing enemies is the only way to protect what's yours. In this land, strength speaks louder than gold." He leaned back, sipping rosewater, his gaze flickering to the girl. "You've done what seasoned lords would hesitate to do."
Jai leaned forward, his voice low. "Who is this enemy, Vikram? I need everything you know." Vikram's tone grew grave, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup. "Arjun Mala, merchant-noble, is no small foe. Rich as a sultan, cunning as a fox, with Emperor Jahangir's ear at court. His estate, on Ahmedabad's outskirts, is a fortress—walled, guarded by loyal men, a maze of traps and secrets. He's my rival in the emperor's faction games, always scheming to outshine us." Vikram paused, his eyes narrowing. "He's jealous of your rise, Jai. Your restaurant, your memberships—it's a threat to his trade empire."
Vikram offered two of his stealth squad: Dhruv, a wiry man in his thirties with a scar slicing his brow, his movements fluid as a panther's; and Sameer, slightly younger, with hawk-like eyes that missed nothing. "They've scouted Malhotra's estate," Vikram said. "They know its hidden gates, its guard rotations. They'll guide you." He stroked his beard, his voice a challenge. "What's your plan, Jai?"
Jai's mind raced, the system pinging: "Mala's a big fish, kid. Those stealth guards are a bonus, but you're walking into a viper's nest. Plan tight, or you'll be snake food." The girl, her wrists still roped, watched Jai, her thoughts a jumble of distrust and hope for her sister's salvation. Jai met Vikram's gaze, his voice steady as iron. "We'll infiltrate his estate—find the girl's sister, steal his coin, and end his threat to Vora Trading Company. But I need more information, your eyes, Vikram. If Malaa had prepaired against us, or had called on Jahangir's favor, I need to know." Vikram nodded, his respect a steel bond forged in shared ambition. "You'll have my spies' reports, Jai. Mala won't slip through."
The team retired to a guest wing, its marble floors cool underfoot, the air heavy with jasmine from the courtyard. Sarita led the girl to a locked chamber, her Perception a silent sentinel. Jai stood by a latticed window, Ahmedabad's lights flickering like a constellation of threats. Malhotra's shadow loomed, his wealth and courtly ties a fortress of their own. But Jai's empire—Vora Trading Company, his "Wings of Freedom"—would not bend. The sea's distant whisper, carried on the night breeze, was a call to war.