Several days later…
The blazing sun poured its merciless light across the vast lands of the Chandrapur Kingdom, stretching endlessly in every direction. Along a dusty road that cut through the empire, Kalyani and Dhruva moved forward—slowly, painfully—each step carrying the weight of days spent wandering without rest.
Their clothes were stained with dirt and travel-worn grime. Dust clung to their skin, and exhaustion showed clearly in their movements. Every breath they took felt heavier than the last, as though the road itself was testing their will to continue.
Suddenly, Kalyani's steps faltered.
Her body swayed, her strength giving way without warning, and she collapsed to the ground.
"Ma!"
Dhruva's eyes widened in panic. He rushed to her side, dropping to his knees as fear tightened his chest.
"What happened, Ma?" he cried, his voice trembling. "Are you hurt?"
Kalyani's face had gone pale, drained of color, her features etched with exhaustion. Still, she tried to smile—forcing warmth into an expression her body could no longer support.
"It's nothing, Dhruva," she said weakly. "I'm just… a little tired. Let me rest for a moment. We'll move again soon."
But Dhruva didn't believe her.
His gaze dropped to her feet—and his heart clenched.
Her soles were torn and bleeding, the skin cracked raw from endless walking. Fresh blood stained the dust beneath her, silently telling a truth her words tried to hide.
Swallowing hard, Dhruva gently helped his mother up and guided her toward a shaded corner near a small roadside shop. He lowered her carefully to the ground, making sure her back rested against the wall, away from the sun's cruelty.
Then he knelt before her again, his small hands tightening into fists.
"Ma…" he said softly, but there was steel beneath his voice.
"You have a fever. You can't keep walking like this."
Kalyani lifted her hand with effort and gently touched Dhruva's cheek, her fingers trembling. Her voice was barely above a whisper, fragile yet filled with a mother's instinct to comfort.
"Don't worry about me, Dhruva," she said softly. "Just let me rest for a while. I'll be fine."
But Dhruva wasn't convinced.
He looked around the bustling streets where merchants shouted prices, townsfolk moved with purpose, and life continued—unbothered by the suffering of a tired woman and her son. Carts rolled past, footsteps echoed, and laughter drifted through the air, painfully out of place.
Something hardened inside him.
Dhruva slowly stood up, his small frame straightening with quiet resolve.
"You stay here, Ma," he said firmly. "I'll find something for you to eat."
Before Kalyani could protest, he had already turned away.
In seconds, Dhruva disappeared into the crowd, his slender body weaving through the chaos of the marketplace with surprising agility. People brushed past him without notice as he pushed forward, driven by a single thought—his mother must eat.
The noise of the market surrounded him: bargaining voices, clinking coins, calling vendors. At last, he stopped before a small sweet shop tucked between larger stalls. Trays of freshly made sweets were displayed proudly, their rich aroma filling the air.
The scent was tempting—but Dhruva's hunger clawed at his stomach so fiercely that even the sweetness offered no comfort.
He swallowed, stepped closer to the counter, and looked up at the shopkeeper.
"Bhaiya…" he said, his voice earnest, almost pleading.
"Please give me something to eat. My mother is very sick. If she doesn't eat, her condition will get worse."
The shopkeeper—a heavyset man with a hardened face—looked Dhruva up and down, his gaze lingering on the boy's torn clothes and dirt-streaked skin.
"Do you have any coins, boy?" he asked curtly.
Dhruva shook his head, desperation plain on his small face.
"I don't have any coins," he said earnestly. "But I promise I'll repay you soon. If you want, I can work for you—I'm good at helping. I'll do whatever you ask."
The shopkeeper's brows knitted together, irritation sharpening his voice.
"No coins, no food!" he snapped. "Do you think I run a charity? Get out of here!"
Dhruva tried once more, his voice trembling with emotion.
"But my mother—"
Before he could finish, the shopkeeper stormed out from behind the counter and shoved him aside.
There was a brief scuffle—a dull thud—as Dhruva stumbled backward, nearly losing his balance.
"Get lost, beggar!" the man shouted. "Don't waste my time!"
Dhruva's eyes locked onto the tray of sweets displayed at the front of the shop. For a heartbeat, his mind went blank. Hunger, fear, and desperation collided—
and instinct took over.
Without thinking, he lunged forward, grabbed a handful of sweets, and ran.
The shopkeeper's furious shouts exploded behind him, cutting through the noise of the market.
"Thief! Stop him!"
Dhruva sprinted through the crowded street, clutching the sweets tightly as if they were his last hope. But fate had already stepped into his path.
He crashed headfirst into a towering man clad in fine armor.
The impact sent Dhruva flying backward—
and the armored man lost his balance, slipping and falling straight into a heap of dung piled along the roadside.
For a split second, there was stunned silence.
Then the market erupted in laughter.
People gasped, pointed, and burst into uncontrollable chuckles.
The man who had fallen was no ordinary soldier.
He was Commander Bhanuraj—the feared and respected military commander of the kingdom.
Humiliated and furious, Bhanuraj struggled to his feet, filth smeared across his polished armor. His face burned red with rage.
"Boy!" he thundered.
"You have made a grave mistake!"
Wiping the muck from his armor with trembling hands, the commander turned and roared at his guards.
"Seize that child!" he commanded.
As Dhruva darted through the winding streets, chaos erupted across the once-bustling marketplace. His heart pounded violently in his chest, each breath burning as he ran. Behind him, the furious shouts of soldiers echoed relentlessly—voices sharp with authority and intent, closing in with every passing second.
Dhruva twisted and turned with instinctive intelligence, narrowly slipping from their grasp again and again. His nimble feet carried him through narrow alleyways and across open courtyards, his small body moving with a speed born of desperation and survival.
Suddenly, two soldiers stepped directly into his path, blocking his escape.
Without hesitation, Dhruva leapt into the air. Using their shoulders like stepping stones, he vaulted over them in one swift motion. The soldiers staggered backward, their startled cries swallowed by the sound of Dhruva's defiant sprint as he surged ahead.
The chase spilled upward—onto rooftops.
Dhruva scrambled up with frantic urgency, seeking higher ground, his eyes scanning desperately for another way out. Tiles slipped beneath his feet as he ran, the city stretching below him like a maze.
Then—
A shadow fell across his path.
Before he could react, a powerful figure stood in front of him.
Commander Bhanuraj.
The sharp rustle of fabric cut through the air—
followed by the brutal impact of a kick landing with a sickening thud.
The force hurled Dhruva backward. He crashed hard against the roof, pain exploding through his body. Blood spilled from his nose as he struggled to push himself up, his vision blurring.
But he didn't get the chance.
The soldiers descended on him like wolves.
Rough hands seized his arms and legs, pinning him down despite his frantic resistance. Dhruva fought, twisting and straining—but the weight of armored bodies overwhelmed him.
Chains began to rattle violently. Fabric tore. Dhruva's breath came in broken gasps as rough hands dragged him down.
His clothes were ripped from his small frame, his arms twisted painfully behind his back and bound tight. Forced onto his knees, Dhruva struggled to steady himself, the dust beneath him mixing with drops of blood and sweat.
A murmur spread through the marketplace.
Commander Bhanuraj stepped forward and lifted his sword.
The blade burned red-hot, its heated edge glinting dangerously under the harsh sunlight. As the weapon rose, people gathered closer despite themselves—fear and curiosity pulling them in equal measure.
Then—
Kalyani pushed through the crowd.
She fell to her knees before the commander, her trembling hands pressed to the ground. Tears streamed down her face as desperation broke her voice.
"Please, Commander," she pleaded.
"Spare my son. He did this for me. Punish me instead—give me any punishment you wish, but let him go. I will do whatever you ask."
A heavy silence fell over the crowd as Bhanuraj turned to look at her.
Faces around them froze—some filled with pity, others with dread.
Bhanuraj's expression hardened, contempt sharpening his voice.
"Anything?" he scoffed angrily.
"Your son didn't merely steal—he humiliated me. I am the commander of this kingdom, and he threw me into filth before all these people!"
His words rang through the marketplace, heavy with wounded pride and rage.
He tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword and spoke with a cold, mocking edge to his voice.
"But do not worry," Bhanuraj said slowly.
"I will not kill him. No… his punishment will be a lesson for everyone."
A hush fell over the crowd.
"Today," he continued, his voice rising,
"I will brand him a thief—so that every soul in this kingdom knows his crime."
As Bhanuraj thrust the blade into a nearby furnace, the crowd collectively held its breath. Flames roared higher, licking the steel as the sword began to glow, radiating brutal heat.
Kalyani screamed and tried to rush toward Dhruva, but soldiers seized her, holding her back. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled helplessly against them.
"No!" she cried.
"Stop! Please—don't hurt him!"
Bound and forced to his knees, Dhruva lifted his chin defiantly. Fear burned in his eyes—but so did a quiet, unspoken courage. He did not look away.
Bhanuraj approached him slowly.
The branding sword crackled with heat, the air around it shimmering as it drew closer—
close enough for Dhruva to feel the scorching breath of the iron.
A sharp metallic hiss cut through the air. Flames crackled loudly, and the uneasy murmurs of the crowd grew heavier, more restless with every passing second.
As the heated blade hovered just above Dhruva's back, poised to strike—
a commanding voice thundered from behind.
"What is happening here?!"
The sound echoed across the marketplace like a whip.
All eyes snapped toward the source. The crowd parted instinctively, people stepping back in haste. Soldiers straightened at once and bowed their heads low, fear replacing arrogance in their posture.
Through the opening in the crowd, a regal figure emerged.
Maharaj Virendra himself had arrived.
Clad in royal attire, his presence alone carried unquestionable authority. His gaze swept across the scene—taking in the bound child, the weeping woman, the blazing furnace, and the sword suspended in cruelty.
The murmurs died instantly.
Even the air seemed to still.
Anger flickered beneath the king's composed expression, his eyes sharp with judgment. There was no mistaking it—this was not a king who had come merely to observe.
He had come to intervene.
And with his arrival, the fate that hovered over Dhruva trembled—
uncertain for the very first time.