It had been three days since the khabri brought news of the war. The entire Garudraj fortress was cloaked in an unsettling silence, its people waiting—praying—for a sign of hope to guide them, like the unwavering Dhruvtara.


    Then, suddenly, a deafening bang echoed through the gates.


    Leelavati''s heart jumped. "Who could that be, Maasaa?"


    Her mother’s brows knitted in concern. "Such an aggressive thud cannot be a good sign, Leela."


    “The war has raged for a fortnight already, and we haven’t heard from the khabri. What could be worse than that?” a woman murmured in the background.


    A chilling thought crept into Leelavati’s mind—what if Garudraj, like Suryaditya, was under attack?


    A wave of fear crashed over her, turning her skin cold. She had only heard and read of wars, of extreme practices like Jauhar, but the mere thought of losing her loved ones—her home—left her breathless.


    Another thud shattered her trance. She bolted toward the gates.


    "Who is it, Dwarpal?" she demanded.


    The gatekeeper’s voice was strained. "It is the Mughal general Kalamuddin Ali. We will do our best to hold them off, but you must take the women and children and escape through the underground passage."


    There was no time to think. She turned on her heels and rushed to the aangan, where the women huddled together.


    “We must leave. The Mughals are here!” she called out, urgency sharpening her voice. “We’ll escape through the underground passage. Hurry!"


    She moved swiftly, guiding the elder women one by one into the narrow tunnel leading to the outskirts of Garudraj.


    Most of them had gone when she realized something—Kunwar was missing.


    Her chest tightened. Hadn''t she sent her mother in first to lead the group? Then where was Kunwar?


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    "Phuli, look after them! I have to find Kunwar!" she ordered before sprinting back inside.


    She searched his chamber. Empty.


    The terrace. Nothing.


    The darbar. No sign of him.


    Panic clawed at her throat. Where could he be?


    Then, the dwarpal came running. “Kunwari-sa, Kunwar-sa refuses to leave. He says that, as the only male of the royal family present, it is his duty to protect the people.”


    Leelavati’s blood ran cold.


    "He is twelve," she breathed. "He hasn’t even learned what he needs to fight."


    She glanced at the tunnel—only a handful of women remained to escape. But her brother…


    She hurried toward the gates.


    "Kunwar-sa, you must leave with us," she pleaded, grabbing his arm. "If you stay, you will die. You are not as skilled as even the lowest-ranking soldier in our army!"


    "Strength comes from courage, Aapaa, not just years of practice," he argued. "Even Maharana Pratap fought wars as a child. That experience made him a warrior! Let me fight for honor!"


    "You are the only heir, Kunwar," she countered, gripping his wrist tighter. "If Bapu-sa does not return, you are all that remains!"


    The fortress trembled under another mighty blow.


    With a heart-wrenching decision, she yanked her brother behind her. "Dwarpal-ji, the fortress is in your hands."


    Then, with one final, thunderous crash, the colossal gates splintered. Iron groaned wood cracked, and the once-unshakable doors shuddered open.


    The Mughals had breached Garudraj.


    Leelavati’s worst fear had come true.


    The fortress was vulnerable.


    She instinctively shielded Kunwar behind her, stepping backward as enemy shadows spilled through the gates.


    Just as the gates crashed open, a sea of Mughal soldiers poured in. But beyond them, past the chaos, a lone figure sat atop a black stallion, watching. Silent. Unmoving. His gaze met Leelavati’s—calculating, patient, inevitable.


    The Mughal king had arrived—not for her, not for any one soul, but for the land itself.