Northern Ocean — Dawn
The sky remained overcast, a thick ceiling of gray stretching endlessly across the sea. Light ca only in pale shades, filtered and uncertain.
The wreckage of three warships still floated in the distance. Black smoke curled from broken masts and scorched hulls. The ocean had swallowed the rest.
The Indiana fleet remained in full formation.
The Bernardian fleet had not moved since their counterstrike.
Bridge of the Divine Ram
Admiral Devgan stood over the command altar, arms behind his back. His face was calm, but his eyes were sharp with calculation.
Varun approached.
"Recovery ships are bringing in survivors. Three Thunderbirds wounded. One rider lost."
"Four ships gone. One crippled." Devgan’s voice remained level. "Expected losses for a first engagent."
Varun gave a crisp nod. "The enemy didn’t press forward."
"No," Devgan replied, walking to the edge of the altar. "They didn’t co to win. They ca to demonstrate. And they succeeded."
He stepped forward and gestured at the map rune.
"We tested them. Learned their range. Speed. Reaction. Now we adjust."
Indiana Empire — Imperial Capital
Hall of Divine Dominion
The ssage from Admiral Devgan had already arrived.
Emperor Yadav sat upon his obsidian throne, surrounded by silence. His ministers stood in rows—politicians, generals, and priests.
The room was cold—not from the weather, but from what had been read aloud.
"They are not bluffing."
"Casualties: three ships. One Thunderbird."
"Recomnd delay of full engagent until magical support arrives."
No one spoke until Yadav raised his eyes.
"General Rudra."
"Your Majesty."
"I trust Devgan’s judgnt. What do you see?"
"We underestimated them. I assud their systems were derivative—modified magic or spiritcraft. But they wield sothing... else. Their firepower, targeting speed, and mobility—none match known arcane signatures."
Yadav leaned forward.
"What are they, Rudra? Machines? Magic in disguise? Or sothing we’ve never seen before?"
Rudra hesitated. "...Technology, sire. A form we don’t fully understand. But real. I do not believe this is illusion or trickery."
At his side, Pri Minister Keshav spoke. "We must reconsider. We’re fighting an empire that doesn’t follow the sa rules."
Still, Yadav said nothing. His fingers tapped the black stone of his throne, steady and precise.
Then: "Acharya Narayan."
"These Bernardians are strange to fate. Their ships are veiled from spirit-sight. Their intentions do not echo through the Dreaming Veil."
"So," Yadav said. "No prophecy can see them."
"No, Majesty. But that does not an they are above destiny. It ans they walk a different path."
"Then let us step onto that path and show them how we walk."
He turned to Rudra.
"Authorize Devgan’s request. Dispatch two Sky Wings—full stormcaster units. I also want the Temple Guard’s Second Circle deployed. He will have his reinforcents."
Yadav paused, then added, "And tell Devgan he may not fail. I want the Bernard fleet drowned. Salt their ashes."
♦♦♦
Varnali Province — Ganges River
The sun had just risen above the wide, glistening waters of the Ganges.
Here, in the heart of Varnali Province—the 7th largest province in the Indiana Empire—the holy river flowed with gentle power, broad and steady, like the breath of the land itself. Mist clung to the banks, rising like smoke from the sacred water. Birds called across the still air. From distant towers, temple bells rang, soft and deep.
Near one of the ghats, a carved stone platform reached into the river. Petals floated by—marigolds, jasmine, lotus—set adrift by hands in prayer. The river moved slowly here, a broad breath of peace and power.
A man stood waist-deep in the water.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and still despite the cold. His hair was long and tied in a soldier’s knot. His beard was trimd neatly. He was bare-chested, wearing only a white dhoti. Around his neck, a simple copper pendant rested on his collarbone—a symbol of the Sky Legion, shaped like a soaring bird with wings of fire.
He closed his eyes, pressed his hands together in front of his forehead, and dipped beneath the water.
Once.
Twice.
Three tis.
Each ti, he held his breath and remained beneath just a little longer. Not as ritual alone—but as a reminder. Of silence. Of humility. Of control.
When he rose the third ti, his eyes opened—calm and clear.
He stepped onto the wet stone steps. Two guards stood nearby in ceremonial bronze cuirasses, one of them holding a clean white towel. They bowed as he approached.
He was wrapped and dried without a word.
Around them, early risers moved through their morning tasks—washing clothes by the river, lighting incense, feeding birds. Children ran along the steps with wet feet, and old won sat beneath temple columns, chanting verses from the Vedas of Fla.
Three n in gray coats waited at the top of the ghat, each marked with the insignia of the Imperial ssengers. They stood respectfully outside the circle of guards.
One of them stepped forward and bowed low.
"Sky Commander Aranya. Word from the Hall of Divine Dominion."
The guard captain took the scroll from the ssenger and handed it to Aranya.
Aranya took the sealed scroll, opened it, and read it.
Then he rolled it up slowly.
"North," he said softly.
"Yes, Commander. You are ordered to deploy to the Northern Ocean as reinforcent to the Grand Fleet."
Aranya gave a short nod.
An officer in a red sash stepped forward from behind.
Aranya turned to him. "Relay to Bharnavi Fortress. I’ll depart by nightfall. Ready my command ship and support wing."
"Yes, Commander."
He glanced back at the river once more.
A nearby priest, watching from under a banyan arch, raised a hand in quiet blessing.
"May the Ganges walk with your shadow, Sky Commander."
Aranya bowed his head in reply.
He turned from the ghat and began walking.
His guards followed without command, keeping pace as they moved along the narrow stone path. It wound between banyan roots and old shrines carved into the hillside.
People stepped aside as he passed. So bowed. Others folded their hands. A few lowered their heads and stood still until he was gone.
Aranya said nothing. His eyes stayed forward.
The path curved uphill, toward the road of his palace.
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