The morning sun filtered through the foggy air of Agra, casting a pale gold hue over the cracked rooftops and tangled streets. The air hummed with the weight of departure, a new phase of life. Hanitra adjusted her duffle bag over her shoulder as her foster father, Kasim Waqaar, placed a protective hand on her head.
"Be careful in Jaipur, bitiya," he said, voice low and warm. "It's not just a city of palaces. It's a city of masks."
Hanitra smiled, soft and grateful. "I'll be fine, Baba. It's just a conference and the beginning of your Tara, don't fret too much. Aapka BP high ho jayega. I'm not walking into a war." (Your BP will go high.)
"I know," he said. "But chasing truth... has always invited war."
His words lingered in the air like incense smoke, and she carried them in her heart as she made two important stops before hitting the highway.
The Taj Mahal was her sanctuary-eternal, silent, and wise. Its marble shimmered under the sun like frozen time. A monument to undying love... or perhaps, unhealed loss. She stood still in the gardens, surrounded by tourists, but entirely alone in her thoughts.
"This is it," she whispered to herself. "A new beginning. No more just dreaming about truth. The conference is my foundation of this journey. Just let me have enough patience, Taj." She smiled as the breeze touched her cheeks, it was a sign from her friend, not the emperor but the monument itself. Her fingers, since childhood, had traced the carvings, reminiscing them as a prayer, a song. For her, Taj wasn't a sign of religious architecture, it was history, it was a timeless legacy, it was an art of time itself, of how the monument had stood, in rebellions and in peace.
Then came her Kanha Temple, tucked away near the Yamuna, quiet and fragrant with marigolds and camphor. She knelt, closed her eyes, and felt the old weight of fear lift off her chest.
"Bless me, Kanha," she said to the blissful, smiling idol after offering prayers. "Not to be right-but to be brave. "
The priest smiled, placing a hand on her head. "May Kanha show you the truths you thrive on laado. And may you survive their revelations."
With that, she slid into her black Verna, the windows down, wind brushing against her face, and set course for Jaipur.
The city welcomed her not with peace-but with power.
The Global Journalism Conference was held at the Maharaja Convention Hall, a place so opulent it made her blink. Security guards with earpieces moved like shadows. Lanyards with gold borders dangled around necks. Every corridor echoed with polished shoes and muttered headlines.
She parked her Verna at the student delegate zone and entered with her ID pass clipped to her blazer. Inside, the energy was electric. Powerful journalists, editors, media moguls, and politicians mingled in curated chaos. The press badges sparkled almost as much as the camera flashes. Hanitra, seated in the special section reserved for recent graduates, wore a modest navy blue blazer and kept a notepad ready on her lap. Her eyes soaked in everything-the crowd, the panelists, the old legends of journalism walking by with gravitas, and the soft murmurs of media moguls.
Then came a moment that shifted the atmosphere.
A senior editor, known for his incisive commentary, leaned into the microphone and remarked, " In India, truth walks with a limp. And sometimes, the limp is deliberate. In our pursuit of this same truth, we often forget that some truths are buried for a reason."
At this, Rajeev Shekhawat, one of the guests seated on the stage, cleared his throat and added, "Truth isn't light. It's acid. It erodes structures, institutions, reputations. Ask Miheer Rathore..."
A pause. A pin-drop silence.
"...the former Chief Minister of Rajasthan. Assassinated, as we all know. But it wasn't a bullet that killed him. It might have been the truth he dared to reveal. Our leader was pure, but do we dare to deny the fact that he was killed? All I know is-he died after attempting to expose a truth far older and uglier than we were ready for.""
The room shifted. Some journalists coughed. A few exchanged glances. One elderly man stood and left quietly.
Hanitra's heart skipped.
Miheer Singh Rathore. She had searched him yesterday.
The name alone brought a tremble to the air, as if the past had crawled into the room uninvited.
I needed space. My head buzzed. During the next break, I decided to wander off towards the restroom near the staff corridor.
That's when my ears heard them-two boys, not more than twenty-seven, huddled near the stairwell, speaking in rushed whispers.
"...all twenty arriving tonight at Station 4," one said. "CM will be thrilled. Said it's the final lot."
Hanitra paused mid-step, ears pricking up. The CM? The Son of Miheer Rathore?
"We need to wrap it quietly. No traces, no loose ends."
"Boss said code red if anyone sniffs. Snakes only move in silence."
Snakes, code words, or in the literal sense. I peeked around the corner-couldn't see their faces clearly. My gut twisted.
Why whisper if it's nothing shady?
I dared to lean closer but only caught fragments.
"...move them by midnight..."
"...CM's orders. He wants none of this traced."
Then, a sound. A shoe scraping. I, as if naturally, stepped back too fast-and bumped into someone solid.
"Oof-watch it!" I snapped.
"Maybe look where you're going next time," came the same infuriatingly calm voice my ears had remembered.
Kanha! What have I done to upset you?
Shivaay Rathore.
Black shirt, watch glinting, unreadable eyes.
Of course it's him. For the third time.
Our eyes met-mine full of alarm, his of annoyance quickly melting into curiosity.
"Seriously? Are you following me or are we just cosmically cursed?" he asked, brushing imaginary dust off his expensive-than-your-existence- shirt.
I raised an eyebrow. "I could ask you the same."
"He narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me, I am this state's Chief Minister's son and the CFO of one of the most known textiles companies here. Moreover, it's you who is alien here, on the very soil of the state I have literally spent a quarter of my life in."
How dare he.
"Listen Mr. Rathore, I am a journalism graduate, invited here. Wait- were you mentally absent when I was handed the invitation by Dhairya Sir?"
"The son of a Chief Minister doesn't concern himself with mere daily incidents."
The name hit like a hammer. My memory flared with the whispers-CM... delivery... snakes.
Shivaay tilted his head slightly. "You look like you just saw a ghost." He had watched my expression change.
"Peachy," she said. "Just making mental notes,""
"Well, write something nice then," he smirked, then answered a buzz from his phone. "Excuse me."
I didn't wait for his return, not like I was supposed to, but seriously Kanha? Three times, with the same damn charcoal-eyed human who probably hates human existence in his three-kilometre radius?
Getting a call from my secretary, I stepped away, into the garden outside. The call was short and sharp
"Lakshay?"
"Yes, sir. Delivery ready. Weapons are staged at Sapphire Station 4."
"Don't let them proceed till I check. Hold off and keep visuals offline. I will be there soon."
"Understood."
I ended the call, then diverted my steps to approach the VIP seating area where the CM, my father, sat conversing with another politician. My eyes watched the crowd with trained eyes. Enemies wore smiles here.
I bent subtly and whispered in code, "Phase Seven's hatchlings are in the basket."
The CM gave a slow nod, never breaking his conversation. It was a clear signal from him to proceed. Thus, I wasted no more seconds to leave for the SS4. i.e. Sapphire Station 4, in Jhotwara, a sub-urb in the outskirts of the capital.
AUTHOR'S POV
Hanitra, meanwhile, made her way back into the auditorium.
She barely sat when her favourite journalist took the stage-a fierce woman in a navy blue saree, eyes sharp like drawn arrows.
"Being a journalist," she said, "isn't about writing stories. It's about disturbing comfort. Your job isn't to report-it's to unnerve."
Hanitra scribbled the line down, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
Snakes. CM. Shivaay.
Something is buried deep in this state. And it's slithering just beneath the surface. But does someone has the guts to even talk about it?
The journey didn't last more than fifteen minutes. Station 4 was nestled in the dry scrublands, about 3 km distance from the Jaipur borders. It looked like an abandoned freight station to an outsider-half-buried in rust and dust, with overgrown grass and a disused rail track that hadn't seen a real train in decades. But beneath the façade was an underground vault, built with military precision. Concrete tunnels ran under the station, monitored by silent sensors and high-clearance biometric locks.
The facility was veiled in silence, as if the walls themselves understood the weight of what they contained. I entered through the western entrance, greeted by Lakshay and two men joining us just a few seconds later. I walked through the dim-lit underground hangar, flanked by my three most trusted people here.
Crates stood like tombs, unmarked and sealed with high-grade locks, marked with non-descript codes. Cold air hissed from the refrigerated storage units, guarding sensitive cargo. One bore the faded code: X7-MIRAGE.
I inspected one of them, removed the gloves, and felt for the heat signature beneath the seal, medicinal drugs. Then I moved to the second section, guns, all newly manufactured. Loading one of them, I fired at an abandoned corner in the left. An Absolute beauty! . Forget girls, Russian weapons are really something different.
I walked between the newly delivered twenty containers, inspecting randomly chosen ones. Inside-black crates of imported arms, silencers, thermal scopes, and custom ammo.
"You sure this route is clean?" I asked quietly.
"Triple checked," Lakshay nodded. "No one's followed. No surveillance flagged."
I took a deep breath and walked to the farthest end of the corridor, where a secured terminal blinked softly.
The screen scanned my tapped fingerprints, then came an iris scan. It was K who wanted an iris scan to be a part of the security, I had opted for a passcode.
Access Granted.
Inside was a dark digital network-encrypted, untraceable. I opened the Sapphire Core Communications Portal and typed:
Phase VII complete. Twenty delivered. No external breach. Station 4 sealed. Next phase: pending verification.
The message was sent to six other IDs.
The seven controllers of Sapphire.
One by one, their icons came online:
S (Shivaay)
K
V
D
VR
SC
A
We were the Seven Controllers of Sapphire, bonded by blood, loyalty, and secrets. Each had risen through fire, chosen by the system-or broken by it and rebuilt.
The replies came in, swift.
D: SC, your work ahead.
SC: In the way already, clearance within two days.
V: No leaks?
S: Ghost trail verified. No heat.
K: Next phase?
S: Awaiting further intel from South corridor.
A: We move when you say.
VR: May the serpent stay silent.
I closed the terminal. As always, the Core Seven never revealed real names on Sapphire's logs.
"Move the containers to Vault 3," I told Lakshay. "Rotate access codes."
"Done."
I stepped into the night, looking at the moon hanging over the arid lands.
Each delivery. Each meeting. Each silence.
Lakshay broke the stance of my thoughts.
"Sir, a new activity was seen about The White Lion. A new person, from Agra. Never searched about it before."
The White Lion, my grandfather, the purest leader even to this date. Everyone in the underworld respected him. He was fierce, kind and lethal at the same time. He had always believed in being true, atleast to yourself, so that no one ever dares to stain your legacy.
"Name?" I had to know what the person's intentions while searching my grandfather's name were. Especially with the elections date to be announced in the next two months.
"Someone named Hanitra, a recent graduate from CSRU. She was present here today. The search lasted twenty minutes on our site."
Seriously? Again? Is the Shivji of my mom playing a game with me?
"She is no threat, personally reviewed. Just a journalism graduate. No need to worry Lakshay."
"As you say boss. If there is any serious activity, I'll inform you."
I gave him a nod and prepared my departure from there. The containers were received and checked, now the next phase was clearance for shipment. It was SC's department. He managed the clear track routes.
The drive to home was peaceful, as always. But a storm awaited for me inside. My family was being dramatic, well, again. This time? over a damn remote.
Yuvaan, the 22 years old, had it in his hands, the screen showing a match between his two favourite football teams. I am damn sure, if one of them looses, he is going to cry a bait and at the same time, laugh like a maniac. Why do people have multiple favourite teams, be satisfied with one.
Aahan, the 24 years old, is practically pinning him down, it was Six in the evening and he had a reality show to watch, something about adventures.
Aarya, 19 is arguing with Varun, 21, asking him to get the remote as the two older ones fight. She herself was making a dish, Mac and cheese, I guess. Well, a horror movie had its television premier today, and not even a tsunami can stop them from watching it .
Mom was reprimanding Dad, her eyes sharper than a dagger, as he had eaten a sweet, which I think, was left by her for me.
Chachu and Chachi were trying to control the two boys, now having Varun pressed between them. Chachi had her classic threat- "I'll unplug this damn thing."
I don't think anyone would have noticed my presence as I moved towards the stairs. But then came a loud, roaring voice and I realised someone had bat ears.
"Shivaay Singh Rathore, I dare you to climb another step." The queen of the house. But wait- she said my full name. Shivaay, what did you do this time?
Nothing, I swear.
"Yes mom? Is something wrong?" I turned towards her, slowly, praying to live a live longer.
"Yes, everything in this damn zoo is wrong. I had asked, no- ordered you to finish that only piece of sweet before leaving for the conference. Par nahi, janaab ko meri baat samajh mein kahan aati hai? Ab dekho, your dad had it. Vo specially banaye the maine, tumhare low-calorie-high-protein and glutten-free rule ko dhyaan mein rakhkar. Lekin nahi, maa ka to kya hai? Vo to phir bana degi, haina? Aur kaam hi kya hai mujhe?"
(But no, why would sir listen to me. They were made specially by me, aligning with your diet rule. But no, Mom can make it again, right? What else she has to do)
Hell Shivaay, you are doomed today.
"It's okay maa. Barfi hi to thi, dad ne khayi, maine khayi, ek hi baat hai."
(It was just a barfi, there's no difference if dad ate it or me.)
"Really? Fine then, decide. Which one of you is going to have a dinner. Afterall, baap-bete ka ek hi toh pait hai."
(You both share a stomach, afterall.)
"Maa," I went towards her, giving her a back hug. Please Mummy ke Shivji, let it help. "It's all fine. Anger is not good for you. I didn't have the barfi because dad left in hurry. Ab CM sir ke saamne late thodi ho sakta hoon, right dad?"
(Now, I can't be late in front of the Chief Minister)
I looked at the supreme commander, winked and showed a sinful smile- almost displaying- aapki biwi, aap sambhalo.
(Your wife, your tension.)
"Abhiraj? Aapne mere bete ko khana tak nahi khane diya? Mein ek din charity work ke liye kya gyi, aap mere bete se vrat rakhva rahe hain? "
(Abhiraj? You didn't even let my child have breakfast? I just went to charity work and you are already having my son do fasting?)
"Jaan, I love you, but this son of yours is lying. We left at nine thirty. He should have eaten breakfast before that."
I looked at Maa, eyes innocent than even a child. "Maa, meeting thi, remember I told you last night? I had a virtual meet till nine fifteen. Aapke CM Sir ne ek baar sochcha bhi nahi ki unka bada beta bhookha hai. He said- 'Shivaay, it's nine thirty already, we are going to be late.' Ab aap hi batao maa, kya karta, rebellion for breakfast?"
(Mom, a meeting. Your CM Sir didn't even bother to think that his eldest son was hungry.. Now you tell me Mom, what should have I done? A rebellion)
"Abhiraj? Don't you love your son. Mera bachcha," She turned to me, caressing my face. "Shivaay, take a bath and come down soon, I'll make you something tasty for dinner. My baby must have been tired."
Her eyes turn sharp again as she turned to face dad, mouthing-'I'll see you next time.'
As the cold water touched my skin, my nerves relaxed. The day wasn't tiring but quite engaging. First that conference, Dadu's name used suddenly and then the delivery of cargo and- WAIT- Dadu's name. Why did Mr. Shekhawat say it suddenly, more like citing an example of dangerous truths?
I called Lakshay, asking him to track the recent activity of the man. Cybercrime and technology were under K's department, but his father chaired them. His team handled all our tech-work. It wasn't as if I couldn't handle technology all alone, but rather, we had split divisions. Dividing was more efficient than to do it all alone.
The dinner at our long marble table was everything but peaceful. Yuvaan had mixed emotions- it was a draw. He was cheering for the performance of the players of a team, then changing his expressions as the other didn't win. Aarya and Varun still had half an hour before their movie premiered and the atmosphere was already set to their vibes. Aahan was all sulking as the show ended with someone's else win than his favourite person. Maa was a silent storm, still glaring at dad every time he asked for another piece or pass him a bowl. Chachi was glaring at the boys, and I did the privilege to look at the tv, its plug was out, well Radhika Singh Rathore never gave mere threats. Chachu and I were the only sane people at the dining table, exchanging glances that clearly said- 'When are we dropping them to a zoo?'
"Shivaay," Dad's voice silenced the whole table, "When is the QGC scheduled?" Quarterly Gangs Conference, but infamously called Supreme Assembly.
"No update Dad. However, rumors are saying of the upcoming week."
"It's going to be serious this time bhai, Sapphire is already at the radar for that Syrian capsule case."
"I understand Aahan, but no serious tensions. Supreme has always favoured us. He will prevent any serious sanctions."
"Shivaay, apni Sapphire baad mein sambhalna, pehele khana finish karo. Baap bete chain se khana bhi nahi khate"
(Shivaay, handle your Sapphire later, first finish the dinner. Both father and son never have food peacefully.)
"Bhai- sorry badi maa, but I need to ask- The capsule case involves serious clients, will the board oversee it? It personally likes the west asians more."
"Aarya, don't think too much. The Supreme controls QGC, not the board. Supreme and Sapphire are close enough."
"Meri dining table to apni secret society ka newsletter baha rakha hai tum sabne."
(You all have made my dining table your secret society's newsletter.)
"Come on Badi Maa, calling it secret society kills its charm, humari Sapphire ka naam bhi rich hai."
"Varun, real power lies in those who rule without charms."
"Vaise bhai, is Dhairya bhai coming home this weekend?" Yuvaan asked, diverting the topic
"Dhairya is coming?" The sparks in Chachi's voice were transparent.
"It's really been months since we saw our boy, Radhika."
"Yes bhabhi, let's prepare something special only for him."
"Yes Maa, even I'll take a holiday from the college."
My family and their obsession with an idiot of education minister.
"No, he is not, I didn't invite him. This is your punishment for sending me with your favourite wild animal."
"Tu khana kha kaise sakta hai, Shivaay? Mera Dhairya wahan Lucknow mein, bina kisi ke rehe raha hai, aur tujhe thodi daya bhi nahi aa rahi, khud to aisa kha raha jaise centuries se bhookha ho?"
Maa, seriously?
(How can you even eat food, Shivaay? My Dhairya is there, alone in Lucknow, and you have no sympathy, eating like you never had food since centuries?)
"Your Dhairya has an entire state's education system to control, he is not alone. And moreover, agar mujhse zyada vo pasand hai to usse hi iss ghar mein rakh lo, mein sanyas le leta hoon, what do you say?"
(If you love him more than me, why not keep him here instead of me, I'll take renunciation)
"This boy and his jealousy. Tum hi rehelo. Dhairya ko hum apne aap sambhal lenge." Even Chachu favours him, what is he, monsoon?
(Fine, You have your stay here, we will take care of Dhairya ourselves.)
The dinner was over and everyone had departed to their rooms, probably sleeping by now. However, I had to call the six, the meet was soon and we were at radar. Two weeks ago, we intercepted a confidential Syrian tech shipment meant for black auction. Thought it was clean. But it had a military tag buried deep in the container's steel walls. Now? Intelligence networks across Europe are watching the trail.
The room was fully illuminated with lights, there was no way sleep was coming to me. I sat hunched over my encrypted laptop, the one given to all by K. I tapped in the master override code.
Accessing: CORE 7 - Sapphire Internal Line
Status: Secure. Participants: 7/7
The screen flickered. One by one, six windows lit up - faces emerging from across the country, across time zones, across state borders.
K. (Mumbai): silent storm, the cyber head.
VR. (Gujarat): sharp, reactive, the capital head.
A. (Hyderabad): lethal poison, the medical science head.
V. (Delhi): charming and cruel, the intelligence head.
D. (UP): cold, brutal, the ideology-media head .
SC. (MP): explosive, dangerous, the law and coverage head.
And then, at the center, their de-facto leader - Shivaay Singh Rathore.
He didn't waste time, he never did.
Shivaay:
"Syrian capsule case... it's real. It's ours, the bugs were found this evening. And the others know."
The silence that followed was loud.
VR.(shocked):
"Tu serious hai? That capsule had military intel, bro. We swore off state deals."
(Are you serious?)
V.(calmly):
"They're already talking. Two Triad outfits sniffing around the intel trail. Supreme Assembly is in 7 days, and we're the headline scandal."
K. (tight voice):
"They'll use this to push Sapphire off the board."
A.:
"Not push - erase. Public blame in front of the Supreme means death sentences. Sapphire will be marked rogue."
Shivaay (nods, serious):
"This isn't a whisper anymore. The Romanians and Bangkok faction are already collecting votes for a cleansing motion."
SC. (furious):
"We give one answer. We admit nothing. And if they push - we remind them why we're the ones they fear."
V. (leans in):
"We need control before that Assembly. If one more loose string appears - we lose our seat."
K.:
"And once you lose a seat in the Core Circle... you lose your name. Your bloodline. Everything."
Shivaay (cold):
"That won't happen. I've traced the delivery. No one from the outside knows how deep it went. We kill the whisper before it becomes an echo."
SC.:
"And I would like to remind, we are missing something great. The warehouse attack."
A.:
"Wait, what attack? Where? Is everyone safe? Why don't I know this? Shivaay?"
Shivaay:
"Umm, Shekhawats attacked our warehouse in Ajmer and Aahan was there. So, I.. umm.. kinda killed their 13 men in their Kisangarh remote site."
K.:
"Kinda? Matlab kitna? Five bones? Twelve?"
(Kinda? Means how much?)
Shivaay:
"I mean I killed them, not kinda,... yeah whatever that is."
A pause. Then Dhairya spoke, for the first time since the meeting.
D.:
"What if the Supreme confronts us, practically you, directly?"
Shivaay:
"Then we do what we've always done. We lie well. We move fast. And we remind them - even a Supreme needs weapons to stay supreme."
A faint smirk broke on VR's face.
VR.:
"Kya line thi, bhai."
(What a line bro.)
A. (calmly):
"We still need a contingency plan. If Supreme declares internal investigation, we need an escape narrative. Maybe pin it on a splinter faction - Delhi, or Russian operatives."
Shivaay:
"Agreed. I'll prepare two fallback stories. You all start sweeping your own ends. No chatter, no deviations. Sapphire survives. Even if we don't."
The faces went quiet.
No more laughs.
No arrogance.
Just seven kings realizing they might be standing on a collapsing throne.
V. (finally):
"Let's play it like the ghosts we are. No scent. No shadow. No slip."
Shivaay (locks eyes into the camera):
"We are Sapphire. We don't run. We rewrite the board."
Meeting Terminated.
All traces wiped.
Shivaay leaned back, rubbing his forehead.
And whispered to himself:
"The Assembly won't break me. I'll burn it first."
Meanwhile, somewhere in India.
Person1, a man in his mid-fifties, holds a paper in his hand, that reads- Sanjeevni has got the Dharma.
A woman, somewhere in her late 40s and early 50s, stands to his right, pouring him tea. She had a glow, unmatched, as the person generally said.
"Are you gonna play a game, love?" she handed him the cup, but the man took her hand instead, making her sit on a chair to his left.
"If it's a yes, aap ijaazat dengi hume?"
(Will you allow me?)
She chuckles, her man had always loved her. She, for him, was a queen, even her breaths held command for him.
"Someone from Agra searched about Miheer Singh Rathore today."
Confusion and maybe some traces of a nostalgic amusement were covering the man's expression. "The White Lion? It's been ages since he was last remembered."
"Then let's give his soul some privilege of being remembered."
"You know the name, who the searcher was?"
She shakes her head. "Na, the person might have used an encryption or have gone incognito. Aap vo chhodiye, aur ye bataiye, when is the Assembly scheduled, I want to get you a new suit this time, not that boring black one."
(Leaving all this, tell me when is the Assembly?)
He raises his brows, with a small smirk. "If Her Highness may remember, you fell in love with me when I was wearing the same, boring black suit. But it's fine. Bataiye, kya colour dale hum iss bar, bus red mat kahiyega."
(It's okay, which colour you want me to wear this time, but please don't say red.)
She had a small pout, her antics when she wanted her husband to do something. "It's okay, wear black, I don't have any other idea."
"Ye sahi tricks hain aapki, narazgi aur gussa to apni naak par rakhti hain aap. Fine, hum red hi daal kar jayenge. But in return, you will wear your red saree, the same you wore when you first stepped here."
(You have got great evil tricks. Frustration and anger always stay on your nose. Fine, I'll wear red.)
"Pur hum to Assembly attend karte hi nahi, fir kyun?"
(But I don't attend the assembly meetings, then why?)
"Humare liye, jaan."
(For me, Jaan.)
He kissed her forehead and left to take a call.
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