Chapter 25: Family Cemetery-2

Varyan followed.

The carriers stepped next.

Then the others.

The royals. The nobles. The commoners.

Fistfuls of earth — each one a goodbye. The coffin slowly disappeared beneath the soil. The grave was filled in no time. But the crowd remained. No one moved.

A stone marker would be placed on the tenth day. For now, Varyan stepped forward and laid a dried rose on top — the same rose the little girl once held, her oath still echoing in its bloodied petals.

Seriya's sobs hadn't stopped.

Kaivan opened his eyes. They were red — not just from grief, but from something deeper.

Rising fury.

"Dear," he said softly, his voice calm but trembling, "today, cry all you want. From tomorrow…"

His gaze turned sharp.

"…the world will bleed. I don't care who did it. We'll show them how Sagnik was forged — and how it once ruled. They'll repay for touching the tears of my beloved."

Everyone nearby who harbored ill intent trembled. Sweat broke across their brows.

The crowd stirred.

Among the commoners, heads lifted — eyes red but burning. Rage pulsed beneath the grief. His words struck not as a threat, but as a promise. A voice to the voiceless pain.

Most clenched fists, as if already preparing to rise. Their grief found purpose in Kaivan's fury. And in that fury, they found their own.

No one dared speak — but their silence was no longer hollow.

Night fell.

Slowly, the people began to leave.

Lanterns flickered to life, casting long, wavering shadows across the rain-slicked ground.

Only a few remained —

Kaivan, Seriya, Varyan, the Triplets of the North, the Thalore family, and Vanya.

No one spoke.

They simply stood — watching Seriya as she cried until her voice broke.

Vanya stepped forward, but Raviel pulled her back.

He shook his head — Don't.

Vanya's steps faltered. Her brows drew together, confusion pressing against her sorrow. She opened her mouth, a protest half-formed — but Raviel's gaze stopped her.

She turned away, biting her lip, unsure why… unsure what unseen line she'd almost crossed.

Her fingers fidgeted — this helplessness, this inability to act, was new to her. All she could do was watch Seriya crumble.

And then Seriya collapsed mid-sob. Kaivan caught her. His expression was unreadable.

He stood, lifting her into his arms, silent. Varyan followed without a word.

"He looks… so disturbed," Vanya whispered, her voice low. "Because of Aariv's death—"

"No," Raviel cut her off. His voice was firm. "He mourned his son, yes. But her cry… that broke him."

He looked into Vanya's eyes.

"She cried only three times in her life. The first, when she was small. A boy pushed her while playing. I never saw that boy's family again."

Vanya's eyes widened.

"The second," Raviel continued, "was when we tried to force her into marriage. Kaivan razed half of Velmira. My father, my mother… all gone. None could stop him. Only Varyan stood beside him that day."

He turned toward the path Kaivan had taken.

"And now… this. This is the third time. But it's different. Her screams… her tears… I don't know what they'll unleash."

Vanya's lips parted in stunned silence.

Amarya spoke next, her tone grave. "The world will regret making her cry… more than assassinating Aariv."

Maeranya nodded. "He will remind them what terror meant under Sagnik's reign."

Raviel said, "I think it's impossible in today's world. But he might prove me wrong. Because once Saarya wakes up… everything will shift. Ministers and elders who stayed silent — they will begin to stir."

"Is she weak?" Vanya asked.

"Seems so," Raviel replied.

"Even my mother can't help?"

"If she could have… she would've been here," he said. "Even your grandfather wants Sagnik to fall. Your mother already faced backlash for sending you to carry the coffin."

"So… Sagnik will fall?"

Raviel smirked.

"You think Sagnik was built on sand? If it were, your grandfather would've swallowed it long ago. The most they can do is weaken it. But if Saarya holds strong… they won't touch a single hair."

He began walking. The others followed.

Then he stopped and turned.

"Vanya," he said. "Your mother didn't teach you everything. Sagnik doesn't have just two strong allies."

He paused.

"There's one more. Stronger than the rest. A place the world fears."

His eyes darkened.

"The world calls it — The Land of Tamas."

Vanya froze.

A chill crept down her spine. Her breath caught.

A Land, a story, a myth.

She murmured, "But that's just a story…"

"That place is real. Hidden. When the world feels Sagnik is in danger… they come."

Her childhood memories stirred — bedtime tales her mother once whispered.

Long, long ago, at the beginning of the world… there was a land called Kalakundala. Its people were proud, rich in wisdom and wealth. But they grew bold — too bold. They challenged the gods themselves.

And worse — they won.

The Creator, furious at the fall of His own, did not strike back with fire or wrath. Instead, He gave a gift — a curse.

He took water. And their lands dried.

He took fire. And their light died.

He took life — from everything but the people.

And left them cursed — never to die, never to speak, never to think.

Madness followed. To survive, they devoured one another.

The land disappeared, erased from maps, from time. But rumours say — if you travel deep into the Dead Sea on a moonless night… you'll hear their cries still.

That tale was told to scare children — to teach fear of gods.

Only a few knew it was real.

Her voice quivered. "That place… It's real?"

Raviel didn't answer.

Only Sagnik knows the path to enter it.

The silence between them thickened.

Raviel walked on. They all followed.

Behind them, the rain eased. The storm did not stop — it softened. As if… holding its breath.

And still, the question remained. Unspoken. Unanswered.

What sin had Aariv committed to be rejected by the cemetery?

What truth had the wind known?

Why had the soul of a king — beloved, mourned, wept by millions — been refused by his ancestors?

This wasn't the first.

The twenty-first king had been rejected, too. Buried in secret.

And now Aariv — the second to bear the name of the first king — had met the same fate.

Was it a coincidence? Or fate?

Or had each one committed a sin the world was never meant to know?