The meeting hall of the Suryavrat kingdom was filled with the intoxicating smell of sandalwood and jasmines mixed with greed and ambition. Opulence seeped in every corner of the room, just like its rulers, dressed in extravagance. King Ranjit Rajvardhan reclined across his throne like a man already victorious. War, to him, appeared less a risk and more an inevitability he intended to enjoy.
Gold caught the torchlight on his crown, on his rings, on the edges of his smile. Just a step below sat a cohort of kings, from the smaller kingdoms of Kshatragarh, Jamgadh, Dantkhand and few others. These kingdoms were scattered to the north of Suryavrat. And their kings were vain men, who mistook proximity to power for power itself.
For the Flame to Burn, It Needs a Spark These words—these poems, musings, echoes of soul—they are pieces of me, offered to the void. If they’ve ever stirred something in you, made silence feel understood or chaos feel poetic… Then let your support be the wind beneath this fire. A small gesture. A mighty impact. Because art survives on love—and the occasional coffee. ☕✨
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