A Glimpse... A Deserted Desert
There was a deep sense of sorrow and silence in the winds of this barren land, as if the earth itself was silently preparing for a great storm. The sun blazed high in the sky, as though determined to scorch the lifeless desert into ashes. Its sharp rays made the sand glisten like glass, hiding an untold pain in their shimmering glow. Everything was still and silent, yet an eerie restlessness lingered beneath the calm.
If one listened closely, a faint tremor could be felt in the desert winds, as if the land itself was shivering. Then, slowly piercing through the silence, the sound of galloping hooves echoed from a distance. A horse was racing forward, as though its rider carried a message of great urgency.
At last, a figure emerged—mounted on a black horse. His face was wrapped in a dark cloth, concealing his identity. His black attire carried the fierce aura of valor and fury—like that of a warrior hardened by countless battles. His eyes were filled with hatred and deep waves of struggle, as if he carried a tempest within. He seemed more terrifying than a snowstorm, and in the depths of his gaze resided a mysterious power that could destroy any enemy in an instant.
In his hand gleamed a sword, glinting even more fiercely in the sunlight. Drops of blood dripped from its edge, silently soaking into the burning desert sand—as if even the earth had accepted them.
In his left hand, he firmly held the horse's reins, and the steed obeyed his every command.
Some time ago in Bhagirgarh
The people of Bhaagigarh were going about their daily routines. Everything was calm and picturesque. Then suddenly, something happened—something no one had imagined. Enemy warriors from across the border stormed into the land of Bhaagigarh on horseback, spreading chaos wherever they went. Their swords, stained with the blood of the innocent, left behind trails of cruelty and devastation. Cries echoed through the air—anguished screams of pain. The entire region of Bhaagigarh writhed in agony.
In the Present...
There was turmoil everywhere. Amid the chaos, a voice rose.
A woman holding her two-month-old child looked toward the enemy soldiers, tears streaming down her face.
"You wicked beasts! Do you even know the consequence of your cruelty and massacre? The same motherland you are defiling today has birthed a lion-hearted warrior who will answer your brutality with even greater fury!"
As soon as she spoke, the winds began to change direction. Seeing this, a glow of pride lit up her face.
A young warrior on horseback surged forward toward the woman. With such agility, he beheaded an enemy soldier in a single strike, right in front of her. And this... was only the beginning.
He turned the entire battle in moments. One man stood against thousands—and won. He slew all the soldiers in the blink of an eye, and the woman stood there, witnessing his bravery.
The warrior then approached her, looking into her eyes as if offering a silent promise of justice. She was about to thank him, but before she could speak, he tugged the horse's reins and vanished into the alleys of Bhaagigarh like the wind.
The woman, awestruck, whispered, "Who is this great warrior? And where did he come from?"
The few remaining enemy soldiers, bloodied and wounded, fled for their lives and returned to their kingdom.
Pukhraj City...
The royal court was adorned with gold and silver ornaments and draped in luxurious silks. On a grand throne sat King Indrabhani of Pukhraj. He was dressed in lavish garments, embroidered with gold and silver. His clothes were always in deep, vivid colors—crimson, royal blue, and shimmering gold—that reflected his high status and power. A majestic crown adorned his waist, and a solid scepter rested in his hand, symbolizing his dominance. Young, bold, and regal—his physique was imposing. His eyes radiated brilliance, but his heart was far less noble than his appearance. He exuded royal charisma and confidence, but within, he valued only beauty above all.
To him, nothing mattered more than appearance. Even the palace maids looked like princesses, for he believed that anything not beautiful had no place in Pukhraj. It was even said that women were not dear to him—they were merely ornaments of the court.
Inside the palace, luxury overflowed in every corner.
Seated beside him was Queen Jannat—a woman of striking beauty and stern temperament. Yet, her eyes held a deep sorrow. It had been five years since their marriage, yet they remained childless. Indrabhani had not married her for love but out of duty—to ensure the continuation of his royal lineage.
As Prime Minister Uday was discussing the concerns of Pukhraj, wounded soldiers suddenly staggered into the court. Their bodies bore deep wounds, their faces contorted in pain. The entire assembly was stunned at the sight.
One soldier, speaking with great difficulty, said, "Your Majesty, forgive us. We tried our best to spread terror in Bhaagigarh, but an unknown warrior appeared. Alone, he destroyed our entire battalion. Even together, we couldn't defeat him. He was... extraordinary."
Rage consumed King Indrabhani. Rising from his throne, he bellowed, "What am I hearing? You dare glorify another man's valor before me? Do you know the price of this insolence?"
His eyes burned with fury—his voice dripped with hatred and vengeance. Turning to the Prime Minister, he commanded, "These soldiers shall be hanged the entire city of Pukhraj at sunrise."
At his word, the guards seized the soldiers and threw them into the dungeons. A heavy silence fell over the royal court.
Nightfall…
Bhagigarh was fast asleep, wrapped in a deep slumber. Everything was still when, suddenly, a figure cloaked in black silently slipped through its borders. It was the same warrior who had saved Bhagigarh from the terror of Pukhraj's soldiers.
The figure crept into a dignified-looking house like a thief. Avoiding all eyes, they opened a window and stepped inside. The room was empty. Perhaps it belonged to the same young person. The youth lit a lamp first, then looked toward a large vessel filled with water, angled near the window.
As they stepped closer to the vessel and removed the black cloth covering their face, someone snuffed out the lamp from behind. Darkness spread across the room, but a faint silvery light from the moon filtered in through the window.
Someone approached from behind and untied the cloth from the warrior's head, letting their hair fall loose. But the surprising part was—those long, thick black locks didn't belong to a man, but a woman.
Just then, the lamp was lit again, and a soft voice echoed,
"Hmm! So, how many did you slay today, our future queen—Kalyani?"
So the warrior was not a young man, but a woman?
Kalyani—her complexion a warm golden wheat, her forehead radiating strength, long flowing black hair that cascaded to her waist, eyes burning with the fire of a warrior, and a fearless smile gracing her face. Kalyani was a rare blend of beauty and bravery. Even if her skin lacked the porcelain smoothness many admired, her valor and courage surpassed them all—something we've already witnessed.
Her eyes met the man standing before her, and a smile played on her lips.
The man was Prince Chiragjeet, the eldest son of King Bhupendrajeet and Queen Roopbaai of Bhagigarh.
Approaching Kalyani, he said with a smirk,
"Am I wrong, my future queen?"
Kalyani, whose face had just flushed red with shyness, suddenly turned somber.
With a heavy tone, she replied,
"What are you saying, Your Highness? How can I be your consort? You are the heir to Bhagigarh, and I... I am just an ordinary woman from this kingdom, a mere companion to your sister."
Prince Chiragjeet, his voice rising slightly in frustration,
"Do you not love me? We've loved each other since childhood…"
Before he could finish, Kalyani interrupted in a firm voice,
"That was nothing but childish folly. Such folly is charming only in childhood, not in youth. And it does not befit a prince to be in the company of an unmarried woman at this hour of night."
Furious, Prince Chiragjeet stepped toward her, gripping her arm.
"Look into my eyes and say it again, Kalyani. Was that just folly? Don't forget—I am the future king of this land. I can have whatever I desire… including you. And no one, not even you, can stop me."
With that, he stormed out, leaving silence in his wake.
In Pukhraj…
King Indrabhani tossed and turned on his velvet-soft bed, restless from the news brought by his soldiers. His thoughts kept circling back to the mysterious warrior—Kalyani.
He murmured to himself,
"Who is this new warrior in Bhagigarh who has dared to inflict such loss upon my army?"
Clapping his hands, he summoned two guards stationed outside and ordered,
"Bring the wounded soldier before me."
Soon, the injured man was ushered into the chamber. Rising from his bed, Indrabhani approached him and asked,
"I want to see what that warrior looks like."
A painter was brought in. As the wounded soldier described the warrior's features, the artist brought them to life with swift, deliberate strokes.
Once the painting was complete, Indrabhani dismissed everyone with a gesture.
He stood before the artwork, studying it. For a moment, he was frozen—stunned by the fire in the warrior's eyes.
Smirking sideways, Indrabhani whispered,
"So, you are the one. We shall meet soon."
The Next Morning in Bhagigarh…
The sun rose over Bhagigarh with unusual celebration—and why not? There were two great reasons for joy today: the enemy soldiers had been driven out the previous day, and today was the coronation of Prince Chirag Veer Singh. The entire city glowed with festivity.
The Royal Palace of Bhagigarh…
The palace sparkled more than usual. Inside, handmaids hurried about with trays of precious jewels of diamonds and pearls, heading toward Princess Prabha, the younger sister of Prince Chiragjeet.
Prabha's beauty was legendary—not just across the kingdom, but beyond its borders too. Her fair complexion, almond-shaped sparkling eyes, and soft pink lips made her a vision of grace.
A handmaiden approached her,
"Princess, shall we begin your preparations, if it pleases you?"
Prabha stood by the door, her gaze fixed.
"No… Why hasn't my friend arrived yet? Go, bring her at once."
The maid turned to leave, but just then, a silhouette appeared at the doorway.
"May I come in?"
Turning toward the voice, the princess's face lit up in a smile. It was Kalyani.
Dressed in a red garment, Kalyani exuded a rare, radiant beauty. She entered the chamber and sat beside the princess.
Prabha dismissed the maids, leaving the two friends alone.
Looking at Kalyani's attire, she teased,
"What's this? Kalyani… in red? Ah, I understand now—my brother's favorite color, isn't it?"
Kalyani blushed,
"Oh, stop. If someone hears, what will they think? Besides, I like red too."
Prabha laughed,
"Caught red-handed, aren't we? That's why you took so long to get here. Enough chatter now—help me get ready. It's a big day."
Kalyani smiled,
"Come, let's get you ready quickly."
Meanwhile, in Pukhraj, word of Bhagigarh's coronation reached King Indrabhani. He was determined to ensure that Chiragjeet did not ascend the throne. The enmity between the two kingdoms was generations old, but even more intense was the personal hatred between Indrabhani and Chiragjeet. If ever they stood face to face, no one could predict the outcome.
In the royal court, Indrabhani sat on his throne, his face burning with rage.
"What's this we hear? Celebration in Bhagigarh? Such joy is unacceptable!"
Then, to everyone's surprise, he began to laugh.
The court was stunned—one moment he was fuming, the next, calm as a still river. But this was no madness. The real reason was far more calculated.