The night wrapped Ahmedabad in a velvet hush, its minarets silhouetted against a star-strewn sky, as Jai Vora slipped into the guest wing of Lord Vikram Singh's sandstone haveli. The air was thick with jasmine and the faint tang of lamp oil, but Jai's mind burned with purpose. The 15-year-old girl leader, her wrists still bound by coarse rope, sat in a locked chamber, her sharp eyes glinting in the flicker of a single brass lamp. Her silence was a fortress, but Jai, nine years old yet wielding the cunning of his 2025 mind, saw cracks in her defenses. The Emperor System, his secret AI-spirit guide, thrummed in his mind: "She's your key to Malhotra, Jai. Break her loyalty to that noble, and you've got an ally sharper than any blade. But tread carefully—her heart's a storm."
Jai crouched before her, his Charm a quiet force. "You don't trust me," he said, voice low but steady, "and I get it. But you saw Vikram Singh tonight—his respect, his warriors, his haveli. He's a noble as powerful as Arjun Mala, and he's with me. I'm not just talk—I've got the strength, the allies, to take Mala down." He leaned closer, his eyes fierce yet kind. "I'll save your sister. That's my promise. But I need you to help me find her."
The girl's gaze wavered, her thoughts a whirlwind of doubt and hope. Vikram's warm clasp, his awe at Jai's ruthless warehouse victory, had shaken her. She'd thought Jai strong—his team's smoke arrows and blades had crushed her men—but no match for Mala's empire. Yet here was Vikram Singh, a lord rivaling Mala's courtly clout, treating this nine-year-old like a king. Her mind reeled, replaying the feast: the spiced lamb, the cardamom-laced kheer, Jai's tale of assassins and fire. He'd killed her subordinates, men she despised—leering, groping cowards she'd dominated only with her skill. Since age eleven, Mala had molded her into his blade, sending her on missions to kill, steal, and spy, her Agility and Stealth a leash he tightened with her sister's life. Her parents, assassins themselves, had died when she was ten, leaving her and her younger sister—trained from age five—in a world that valued their blades but not their blood. Mala's organization was a cage she hated, its promises hollow, her sacrifices ignored.
She stared at Jai, her heart a battlefield. He could have tortured her, broken her with pain, but he hadn't. He'd brought her to Ahmedabad, promising her sister's freedom, his voice carrying a sincerity she'd never known. Deep within, a flicker of hope stirred—a chance to escape Mala, to save her sister, to break free. But trust was a luxury she couldn't afford; betrayal could cost her sister's life. Her lips stayed sealed, but her eyes betrayed a storm of emotions—fear, hate, and a fragile spark of belief.
Jai stood, sensing her turmoil. "Think on it," he said softly. "I don't need your answer tonight, but I'm not Mala. I keep my word." He left, the door's lock clicking behind him, Sarita's Perception a silent sentinel outside. The system pinged: "You're getting to her, kid. That hope's your wedge—pry it open, and she's yours. But Mala's estate is next. Plan tight."
The girl sat alone, the lamp's glow casting shadows across her face. Her mind churned: Jai's strength, his allies, his restraint. She hated Mala, his greed, his control, but escaping his grasp seemed impossible. Yet Jai's promise, his team's power, Vikram's backing—they were a lifeline she'd never dared imagine. She curled her knees to her chest, the rope biting her wrists, and wrestled with her choice as the night deepened.
Jai retired to his chamber, the marble floor cool underfoot, Ahmedabad's lights flickering through a latticed window. His heart ached for the girl's pain, but his resolve burned brighter—Mala's empire would fall, and Vora's would rise. The sea's distant whisper, carried on the breeze, was a call to battle.