The Council of Flame

The Great Hall of Saptarishi had not seen light in nearly a decade.

Its domed ceiling—once a mosaic of starlight, gemstone, and gold—was dulled by time and neglect. The obsidian pillars that bore the weight of the empire's legacy stood half-cracked. Yet as banners of House Suryaansh were unfurled once more, and the fusion lanterns were lit, the ancient hall awakened.

And with it came the old lords.

They arrived in sleek landers, towering landcruisers, and rust-covered freighters. Aristocrats, warriors, survivors—each bearing a different symbol, each with a different agenda. Some bowed to Ashoka's legacy. Others had only come to sniff out the corpse of a fallen dynasty.

There was Lord Devdan of House Vritra, armor gilded in venomous green, always smiling too long.

Lady Kaushiki of House Neelakant, her cloak lined with AI-threaded mesh, face hidden behind a veil of sapphire data.

And Admiral Viraj Rao, former high commander of the void fleet, now a half-cybernetic relic of a forgotten war.

The nobles took their seats in concentric circles. At the center, Ashoka stood alone—no crown, no throne. Only the armor of Vajra-One and the flame of legacy in his gaze.

He let silence stretch.

A test.

Several barons fidgeted. A few whispered.

Then Devdan broke the silence.

"Lord Ashoka," he said, voice smooth as oil. "We honor your summons—but are we not here to discuss survival? The Nyros pirates claim the moons. Your planetary industries are dead. Your family—"

"Still breathes," Ashoka interrupted.

Gasps rippled. Devdan paled slightly, though he kept his grin.

Ashoka stepped forward, voice low but cutting.

"Ten years ago, you watched our fleets fall. Five years ago, you fed on the corpse of Aryavrat. And now, when I scorch the sky with a single craft and bring the Black Maw to its knees, you call this survival?"

He activated the central holomap.

Blueprints bloomed in the air—new city grids, satellite defense rings, terraforming pods, war factories, and orbital shipyards. House Suryaansh's future. Project: Solar Reign.

"I am not here to beg for your allegiance. I am here to offer you a place in the rising dawn—or leave you in the shadows."

The council murmured. Power flickered behind cautious eyes.

Then Lady Kaushiki spoke, her voice filtered through her veil.

"And if we refuse?"

Ashoka smiled coldly. "Then I let the people choose. And they will not choose cowards."

He tossed a data crystal onto the table. It contained his recorded transmission from the Black Maw's fall. Live proof. Viral. Already spreading.

Devdan's jaw clenched.

Kaushiki went silent.

Only Admiral Viraj stood slowly, his mechanical eye gleaming.

"I served your mother," he said. "She never asked for loyalty. She earned it. Today… so have you."

He knelt.

One by one, the others followed.

Ashoka stood tall, fire roaring in his blood.

The Grand Council was his again.

And the empire had begun to burn anew—with purpose.