It was eight when I woke up. All thanks to the information those locals had provided me, I stayed up till two last night. It was only when a notification about sleep routine popped that I realised how late had it been and there was no trace of sleep in my eyes. Completing my morning routine, I stepped out to have fresh smell of the marigold flowers that the temple was being decorated with. It was Holi in five days and people hare a local festival, called Phoolon Ki Holi, two days before the occasion.
I was walking my way to the aunties who have taken the charge of feeding me daily, when my eyes suddenly fell on the RAJASTHAN PATRIKA newspaper. The headline read- 'A Man shot at Achrol fort, identifies as Ravindra Yadav.' I freeze in my tracks. Ravindra Yadav, the same man those men were talking about. The same man I stayed up last night searching for. The contractor.
He was now dead, the same day I heard about him. This was not an ordinary coincidence, if it was one, at all. But why was he killled? Was Abhiraj Rathore behind it, or was it his son? Waiting for the perfect time, to strike. The public may be given the privilege of not doubting them. Beacause asm per them, had Abhiraj wanted it, he would have the man killed the very instance they talked about his father, but he was silent. Too silent. But the man had disappeared three days after the police report. Was it just a show for the public? To clear his name, even if a bit?
Reading the whole article I realised that it was the work of some criminal syndicate. Ravindra was found with some weapons, mostly guns. Was he at bad terms with someone or was the Chief Minister of this state smarter?
Next, I knew where to search, where to pay my next visit. DHARMA FOUNDATION, the organisation Ravindra Yadav was serving before he disappeared. They might have something to tell about him. It is Friday today, and the foundation is closed for outsiders on weekends. Thus, I have three days to look into this, whatever connection Ravindra and the foundation shared, how deep it ran and also, what the foundation actually is.
The news was all about Yadav today. Fortunately, there were no traces of the one behind his death. We had placed a few fake evidences that led to the theory that some criminal syndicate members were behind this. If one looked closely to one of the gun, it had a carving of a snake, the mark of weapons that belonged to the Shekhawats. Luckily, I had a spy transplanted in the weapons department of the Shekhawats, who supplied me with the fact that all new weapons of them had this carving. As the syndicates will surely hear about this, diverting their doubts is the best I can do.
We were all having our breakfast when Dad looked at me, his eyes were not soft, which meant he was about to either ask a serious question or speak something serious.
"I highly doubt you are the one behind it." Everyone paused. They knew when Abhiraj Miheer Singh Rathore was speaking, no one could ignore.
"And I highly doubt you are right, dad." My voice was cool, a small smirk tucked on my lips.
"SHIVAAY! DO YOU EVEN REALISE WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"
"I killed Ravindra Yadav, I guess?" At this point, his patience had broke, well all thanks to the cockiness I inherited from him, my answers tested his patience.
"Don't speak in that tone to your father, Shivaay Abhiraj Singh Rathore. You clearly know what I am asking. You did that after the date of the Assembly was announced. I am sure you even predicted the consequences?"
"Papa, there is no need to worry. No traces of Sapphire, none. We had it planned even before the assembly was announced. Moreover, had I not done that, Yadav would have been in Italy by now, out of our hands. And you better than anyone know what it means to kill your prey out of the territory."
"Mind telling me why his execution was demanded by the might Shivaay Singh Rathore?"
"He had Sapphire's internal documents. Jay found it when he sensed an interaction in the cloud, that linked to SS5. Had to eliminate him."
"Bas, subah shaam tum dono baap-bete aur tumhari Sapphire. Iss ghar ko war room kyun nahi declare kar dete? Kam se kam shaanti se ek time ka khana to khane diya karo. Subha Sapphire, Dopeher Sapphire, Shaam Sapphire. Main kehe rahi hoon, kisi din tum dono ko maine hi maar dena hai."
(All throughout the day, it's you father and son and your damn Sapphire. Why don't you just declare this home as a war room? Let people have atleast a meal in peace. Sapphire in the morning, afternoon and evening. I am warning, I'll kill you both one day.)
Mom, in her morning temper.
"Mom, it's all fine. Atleast issi bahane hum bhi to updated rehete hai, haina Aahan bhai?"
(Atleast, this way, all of us are updated. Am I right, Aahan?)
"Yes badi maa. A wise man always keeps his enemies closer. If he doesn't have their movements tracked, he will be doomed."
"Great. Ab saare achchanak se vakil ban gaye hai. Varun, why don't you join too?"
(Suddenly, everyone of you is a lawyer..)
But the poor brother of mine just shook his head. I glanced at Chachi who was sitting to my right in the front row, mouthing- Inhe kya hua? And she mouthed back-Foundation.
(What happened to her?)
Oh, so someone from the Foundation was behind the anger of my mother. Well, I guess we had to endure it. When there was a complaint from Aarambh Foundation, Vasudha Rathore was like fire itself. She hated when someone made a mistake in welfare. But who was it this time, jisse hasi-khushi khate hue Rathores pasand nahi hai?
(who didn't like the Rathores having food in peace?)
"Maa, who is the reason behind the temper this time?"
She glared at me suddenly and I held my breath. Don't even try, Shivaay. She is seriously angry. However, the only force that could calm her was watching her in silence, then, placed his hand on her, squeezing it lightly.
"Jaan, who was it?"
At this, mom softened her eyes slightly, looking at Aarya. "A man who dared to whip his own ten-years old daughter, because she broke a painting."
And to say the room fell silent was an understatement. Dad and Chachu had their fists clenched. The other three brothers were red in fury. Aarya, hearing this, had placed her hand on my arm, my other hand stroking her hair. Aarya was the only daughter of this family. Forgetting about raising hand, no one has ever raised their voice on the princess of the house. I remember, once Aarya broke a frame in anger and the very instant she heard the sound of the glass breaking, she came into her senses, sensing what she had done. My sister broke into tears immediately, apologising for breaking her own birthday gift but no one had dared to say anything to her. All we saw was our princess crying, fearing we would scold her or worse, slap her.
"Bhaii," she glanced at me, her eyes glistening already.
"Shh.. Princess... It's all fine.." I consoled the girl, now completely in my arms.
"Why did he do that bhai? Does he hate his own daughter?" She was in sobs, the man is going to regret for doing that to his daughter and our princess.
"No.. Aarya.. we don't cry like that. Look up bachcha, look at your brother." Aarya shook her head but I pleaded again. This time, she lifted her tear-soaked eyes, and every pair of eyes on the table was in fury. An outsider had dared to make the girl of the house cry.
Aarya took a deep breath, and issued a command. "Bhai, I want her father whipped back. He harmed a little girl bhai. She is ten, just ten years bhai. You guys don't even cut onions near me, fearing I'll have tears and he.."
"Shh... I promise Aarya. That man will be served in the same way you want, but bachcha, don't ever cry, okay? Aarya Rathore holds the power to burn the world with just a single tear of hers. So, don't let the world die this soon."
"Bhai is right Aarya, abhi to you haven't even defeated me in tennis. Kamzoor hi itni ho."
(You haven't even defeated me in tennis yet. The weaknes of yours..)
"Bhaiiii..." She had tears again, whining.
I glared at the one who spoke. "Yuvaan, do you want extra work on your desk?"
"Nahi bhai, sorry. I'm fine." Aarya chuckled.
"Sab isse hi pyaar karte hai, main bhi to ghar ka sabse choota beta hoon. Meri to existence hi yaad nahi hai kisiko. Main to holidays main hi yahan aata hoon, phir bhi koi mujhe poochta hi nahi."
(Everybody just loves her, even I am the youngest boy of the house. Nobody even remembers my existence. I come here in holidays, and yet no one cares for me.)
The table erupted into laughter at the sulking of Varun, a student of NALSAR, the national law university in Hyderabad.
Soon, everyone left for their work, but I went with Mom and Chachi to Aarambh Foundation. The foundation was established by my grandmother in 2000, when she realised how women were being treated back then. My grandma was from Manchester, the eldest daughter of an Industry owner NRI there. Daadu had gone there for his studies and they both fell in love. When Daadi came to India, she was surprised with the state of women in India, that proclaimed that it was developing. To help those helpless forces of nature, Daadi became the founder of AARAMBH, which meant beginning. Then, as she died two months after watching her husband being assassinated, Mom and Chachi took the charge to build new legacy for Aarambh. Now with over 124 franchise across the nation, it is a widely respected organisation, with many new people connecting everyday.
"Shivaay, JIji will be very busy today so you will have to stay with me. I am having a few review operations, help me with them. Also, try not scaring the kids."
I chuckled. "Yes Ma'am."
It took us two hours to completely check the women side, now we had to review the kids' section. Frankly speaking, I am good with kids, who don't cry or show tantrums. Otherwise it's a clear no.
Chachi was checking the quality of the raw grains and other ingredients when a girl, about five years, came towards me, holding a stuff bunny toy. She was wearing a navy blue frock and hair in two cute ponytails with ribbons.
She stares at me for two seconds before exclaiming, with her eyes wide. "Bhaiya, aapki aankhein bohot pyaari hain."
(Your eyes are beautiful.)
I freeze for a millisecond. Getting compliments is not my things, especially from kids. I looked at Chachi, who had a grin and then I looked back at the little girl. Bending to her level, I said, with my left eyebrow raised, "Sachchi?" And she nodded her head cutely.
(Really?)
I smile. It's not the arrogant smirk I am used to wear as Shivaay Singh Rathore, not the cold stare of a strategist — it's warm, rare.
"Par aapki aankhein mujhse zyada pyaari hai."
(But your eyes are more beautiful.)
At this, her cheeks go pink. She giggles, cluthching her bunny. "Dekhna bhaiya, aapko bhi blue eyes wali wife milegi!"
(Just wait bhaiya, you will also get a blue-eyed wife.)
I let out a rare laugh, pinching her nose lightly. "Hmm.. Agar aisa hua, to aapko meri shaadi mein aana padega."
(Hmm, if that happens, you would have to come to my wedding.)
Before she could give an answer, my phone vibrated, Lakshay. He knew I had an off today, which means, important call. I stood up back again, not before gesturing the girl a sorry.
"Boss. Change of plans. Supreme shifted the Assembly. It's no longer Baloch Sector. It's Istanbul. And it's tonight. Jet's refueling. You need to leave in 45."
Why did the Supreme just change it after announcement. Whatever it was, I had to be in Istanbul.
I walked back to Chachi, the kids now gone, and whispered, "I'm leaving Chachi, MGC."
If she had questions, her face didn't reflect it. I touched her feet and then moved towards the administrative chamber, where I found my mother piled up with a lot of paperwork, all alone, not not tired.
"Maa, MGC. Istanbul." Hearing this, she put the file on the table, walked towards me and started chanting something in Sanskrit, probably a protection mantra.
"Maa, jung par thodi jaa raha hoon."
(Mom, I'm not going to a war.)
"We are Rathores Shiv. Every journey is a war for us."
I faintly smiled at this. But she had more to say. "You protect your blood, Shivaay. And protect your name. The world may call us criminals. But remember — we are still kings."
I nodded and left for the airport, my private jet all ready there. Lakshay was already inside when I stepped in, scanning the area like a hawk, looking for someone suspicious.
"Boss, I fear the syndicates have a strong argument against you this time."
"Nothing to fear Lakshay, Supreme always has his hands on my shoulders. Now, connect me to the six."
The call begins. Multiple screens connect. The Sapphire's Core. One by one.
Shivaay – in the jet, quiet yet tensed.
VR. – standing nearby his balcony with a tablet.
Vivaan – on the couch where Dhairya was, ice pack over his shoulder.
Dhairya – loading ammo into a handgun.
Samarth – at a private gym, towel around his neck.
A. – reading documents, serious-faced.
Kritanjay – on a hotel balcony, sunglasses on, sipping black coffee.
"The Assembly's been preponed. Location shifted. Istanbul." My voice was low, tight.
Silence. Tension.
"Preponed and Shifted? Supreme never does that." Samarth said, after a full six seconds, throwing his towel aside.
A. shuts his file and begins, "Supreme's scared of something. Or someone."
Dhairya was the next to speak, checking his gun. "Or he's setting a trap. That too in style."
Vivaan growns. "Does the trouble for us never end? The Assembly preponed and here I have got a scream machine."
Everyone glances at Vivaan, Samarth and VR. had their teasing gaze but that didn't affect the annoyed face of Vivaan.
"Arunima. Ravindra's aide. Jo farmhouse se uthayi thi. Har dus minute mein cheekhti hai. 'Let me go! You'll regret this! I'm a journalist!' I mean, what am I supposed to do? Feed her halwa?"
(The girl from the farmhouse. She is shouting in every ten minutes.)
I reply coldly. "She may have answers. Don't hurt her, not yet."
At this, Dhairya grins, glancing at Vivaan, who was still having his shoulder massaged with an ice pack. "Too late. Vivaan gave her trauma by just existing."
The Strategic Advisor to the Minister of Defense throws a cushion at Dhairya, muttering a curse word.
I looked at the silent Kritanjay from the screen and say, "Krit. Be there in 2 hours. Interrogate her. We need intel on Shekhawat's next move."
"Can't Shivaay. I have my flight back to Mumbai tonight. Two deals lined up."
My voice turns sharp this time, "Deals can wait Jay, not The Assembly. One wrong word from Arunima, and Sapphire burns. And so do all of us."
Kritanjay signs and mutters, "Bankrupt kar diyo mujhe kisi din."
(You'll bankrupt me one day.)
"He's busy for that Kritanjay, but I can." VR speaks, with mock seriousness.
"Fine. One hour. I'll break her silence by sunset."
Before anyone else got a chance to speak, Lakshay interrupts, calmly. "Boss, we need to prepare the entry plan. The Shekhawats may plant someone in Istanbul."
"Already on it. Just keep an eye on Ashra."
"The Supreme may not favour you this time, Shivaay." A. says, cautiously.
But VR. answers him. "Not possible. Supreme knows only Sapphire can handle shipments and trade in the middle east. Once we back off, The Assembly has no replacement for the trade control."
Vivaan suddenly stands from the couch, bringing a small box that had a device. He takes the device in his hand and begins, this is the sealed document Ravindra had kept in his second vault, the one hidden under the wine cellar floor. Marked 'Urgent Dispatch'. The courier never delivered it."
A. leans in. "To whom was it addressed?"
"No Address bro, just a number or code, maybe pincode."
"No name? No label? Just a damn CODE?" From the tone, VR. was all confused.
Dhairya continues, bluntly, "No idiot would post such a sensitive file to an unmarked address. Who might be living there? It's definitely a passkey Shivaay."
I ask the digits and Vivaan answers- 4-6-03.
"June 4, 2003? What happened on the date?" Kritanjay mutters.
"Lakshay look into it, now." The man nods but is suddenly stopped by a voice.
"Shivaay, I know this."
"The date, Sam?"
"No, it's not a date, it's Pincode. 4-6-2-0-0-3. Bhopal, Ward Four."
"Address of someone?" Vivaan was all serious.
"Yes. The retired officers' zone. Clean records. Silenced files. That address belongs to..."
"Shubhash Gautam, former IG." Lakshay answers.
"And who is that Shubhash?" Kritanajy asks, as if knowing the answer.
Samarth smirks a little. "Fake name. The one who truly lives there is... Dev Shekhawat."
I clenched my fists.
Dev Shekhawat wasn't Sapphire's criminal, he was the guilty of Rathores.
It was 1997. A top-secret arms exchange was happening between a Shekhawat front and RAW informants—inside the abandoned south wing of Jaipur General Hospital. Dev had intelligence of a mole who might sabotage the deal. To protect the Shekhawat secrets, he ordered a clean-up plan: evacuate the team if needed. But Arjun, a young, 29 years old police officer tasked unofficially by RAW, interfered. Arjun sent an emergency unit to raid the site, Dev didn't get time to alert his men. Dev's men, assuming betrayal by the mole, activated the fail-safe bomb — meant to destroy only evidence.
But Arjun's team was still inside. Innocents too.
Consequences?
The blast killed 23, including children from the trauma ward.
And also, Arjun Singh Rathore, the eldest son of Miheer Rathore. His badge was found near the pediatric wing.
That day, Miheer Rathore lost his eldest flame. Abhiraj and Devendra Rathore lost their brother, their solace and shield. My father was 25 that time, and I was still wasn't born. Dad was in Bristol when all that happened. Ten hours later, the man was back in India, leaving the conference behind. No one knew how the blast had occurred. That was the first time my father had realised that power is necessary for even basic survival.
And when I was born, that's how my family raised me. People breath air to live but to survive, you must breath power, authority.
And the day Daadu died? Everything changed. We all had an idea that my grandfather was not assassinated by a commoner, but someone from the government itself. That time, when the party was debating for the next CM, my mother backed dad to take the post. She, without telling my father, went to the party president, and threatened him with a few dark secrets she knew about him and the very next day, the council members agreed for my father to be the next Chief Minister.
To this day, dad has no idea about the reason behind his position. He just thinks the party chose him because he was the direct heir of their beloved Miheer Singh Rathore. And how do I know this? It was the day I had turned seventeen. I had accompanied mom to her visit to the CMO. The government was hit with an economy crisis. The party president was having a talk with dad when mom arrived and the man had turned pale. But my mother, the very woman behind all the power game, was smiling at him like she was just a simple woman, who had no role in her husband's professional life.
A few moments later, I found myself listening to her conversation with that man, in my father's office, while he himself was having a talk with the governor.
"Aap samajh nahi rahi hai, Vasudha ji. Isme hum kuch nahi kar sakte. Jo economic mess hai, usmein main kisi party ke aadmi ka haath kaise sabit karun?"
(You are not understanding it, there's nothing I can do. How can I prove someone's hand in the economic mess?)
"Achcha? Jaise hume to kuch pata hi nahi? Sanjeev sahab, aapki party ke MLA ka kiya hua kaam hai ye, aur aapko inti si bhi bhanak nahi?"
(Really? Like I don't know anything. An MLA from your party is behind this and you have absolutely no idea about this, Mr. Sanjeev?)
"Vasudha Jii, halat dusre hain. Agar iss samay kisi par aarop lagaya to satta gir sakti hai. Party mein internal crisis ho sakte hain."
(The situations are different. If I blame someone right now, the government will collapse. The party would face internal crisis?)
Vasudha scoffed. "Itne bade shabd bolte hue zubaan nahi ladkhadayi aapki? Internal Crisis. Meri baat suniye Sanjeev Ji. Kal shaam tak ya to vo MLA apne-aap apni galti manege ya Security Advisor ko aapka naam jayega?"
(Didn't you lapse while speaking such big words? Hear me Mr. Sanjeev. If that MLA of yours doesn't confess by evening tomorrow, the Security Advisor will have your name.)
"Ji? Kya matlab?"
(What do you mean?)
"Arrey, yaad bhi nahi hai aapko to. 2014, remember? Aap London gaye the, for medical check-up? Vahan, you actually met Saqib Bhatti, the separatist financier. Hotel stay aur uss dinner ke proof hain mere pass. Aur haan, main baat to bhool hi gayi. Jo aapki escort thi- Saqib ki bhanji, she works for Aarambh, achchi dost hai meri."
(Oh Look. You don't even remember. It was 2014, you had gone to London, for medical check-up. There, you met Saqib Bhatti. I have the evidences of the hotel stay and the dinner. And yes, I forgot something. Your escort- Saqib's niece, she works for Aarambh, a good friend of mine. )
"Mere saath ye game mat khelo Vasudha. Tumhari gaddi bhi safe nahi hai. Tum bhool gayi ho Vasudha... tumhare pati ko kursi maine di thi. Main chahta toh kab ka kisi aur ko CM bana deta."
(Don't play this game with me, Vasudha. Even your throne is not safe. You are forgetting that I was the one behind your husband's power as the CM. Had I wanted, I would have made someone else the CM long ago.)
"Galat, woh kursi maine aapke signature ke neeche likhwaayi thi. Aap ne sirf haan kaha. CM maine banaya tha."
( Wrong. I made him the Chief Minister. You were just the signature at the bottom of the page.)
There was a beat of silence but then the man growled again, "Unhe pata nahi hai, haina? What happens when your loyal husband finds out his rise came from you blackmailing his party?"
(He doesn't know that, does he?)
But my mother was soft, lethal. "Maybe the same thing that'll happen when your wife finds out you've been sleeping with her oldest friend from college—Suniti Jain."
The Party- president stiffens at this, but then whispers darkly, "You are a dangerous woman, Vasudha."
"No. I'm a devoted one. I protect what's mine. The difference is... I never miss."
Sanjeev stared but then left the room in fury, slamming the door.
The room had gone still. My fingers were trembling on a volume of state finance laws. I was frozen, my 17-year-old heart thudding louder than any party slogan I had ever heard.
But mom's voice had cut the silence.
"You can come out now, Shivaay."
I stepped out, slowly. Like a soldier caught in enemy fire. She didn't look startled. Just... tired. Regal. Human.
"Was it true? That you... made Papa the CM?"
Mom had looked directly into my eyes and said, "I protected him. I protected this family. I gave him the crown... so he wouldn't be destroyed by it."
"Why not tell him?" I had said in a whisper, fearing the walls might hear.
"Because some truths don't strengthen people. They fracture them."
"And me? Why let me hear it?"
At this, mom had smiled at me. "Because you are different. You need to understand power—not wear it blindly. You will build empires, Shivaay. But never forget what it costs to hold them."
My trance of thoughts faded when I heard my car pull the breaks near an abandoned building. The meeting was underground, in an ancient palace-turned-warroom in Istanbul, dimly lit with candle chandeliers. The circular obsidian table reflects the fire from the centre, where a symbolic inferno burns — a tradition of every Assembly.
AUTHOR'S POV.
The Blackstone Citadel, neutral ground of the global underworld in Istanbul. Twelve seats. Twelve factions. One for each empire that holds the world's darkest strings. One flame in the center. One Supreme.
The obsidian doors creaked open with a groan, announcing Shivaay Rathore's arrival, his footsteps echoing like a verdict. The only visible face of Sapphire — the ghost empire no one sees, but everyone fears.
No bodyguards.
No entourage.
No mask.
Just a shadow trailing the man who became a myth too early.
Clad in a steel-grey tailored suit, a black sapphire pin gleaming on his left lapel, Shivaay walked with the calm of a man who'd already calculated the next ten moves. A dozen eyes turned — men who ran continents, women who traded borders, and monarchs of merciless empires. But none had the silent command Shivaay carried.
The Supreme, draped in deep red robes and a panther-bone ring, leaned forward. Seated on the throne carved from meteor rock, gave a slight nod.
"The House of Sapphire arrives."
Murmurs rose as Shivaay took his seat — only one chair reserved, the other six forever left unmarked.
Don Carlos, the South American syndicate head, slammed his glass. "Let's begin with the obvious. Three of my mules burned alive in Aleppo. Syrian capsule crisis. My supply routes torched."
Elena Vireux, from the French-Nigerian axis, leaned forward. "And the Shekhawat retaliation? You butchered their men in your city. There were articles, published publicly. That wasn't a hit, it was a statement."
Shivaay didn't flinch.
"Sapphire doesn't bark. We strike. We warned Shekhawats. Families are meant not to be involved. They crossed the line. They paid."
The Triad envoy from Hong Kong, Yao Jiang, clicked his pen, watching Shivaay with slit-like eyes.
"You've grown bold, Rathore. Eight years ago, you stood there as a trainee under him—" (nods toward the Supreme) "—now you speak like a king."
"I'm still what I was then — his soldier. Just sharper. And less forgiving."
The Supreme smiles faintly. "He was always more fire than the others. That's why I trained him. That's why I trust him."
The Russian Mafia Queen, Irina Volkova, spoke in her thick, husky accent. "But trust in the underworld is paid in blood. Your Sapphire is unseen. Unreachable. You lead, yet no one has ever seen your second tier. Where are they?"
Shivaay smirks slightly. "Maybe that's the point."
The German syndicate head, Kaspar Heiling, shook his head a bit at this. "Your silence unnerves me. And your rise offends the balance. You killed the agents — that affects India's stability."
"India's chaos is not my burden. But had that man lived, your encrypted docks in Rotterdam would've been auctioned off to NATO cyber-forces. You're welcome." Shivaay spoke, flatly.
A few chuckles. Even Elena can't suppress a grin.
The Supreme began again, silencing the table.
"Let me remind this table: I do not defend Shivaay Rathore because he is Sapphire. I defend him because he is mine."
He looks directly at Irina, then Kaspar.
"He trained under me. Bled under me. And unlike many of you, he never once begged for favour. He earned it."
Sufyan al-Razi, the Middle-East syndicate's envoy spoke, quietly, "So he is your heir?"
The Supreme walks around the firepit.
"No. He is my sword. He does not rule for me. He ends for me."
The flames in the centre of the obsidian chamber danced higher — as if they sensed what was coming.
Yao Jiang took a breath, ready to speak again, but was interrupted by the softest movement — a leather-gloved hand tapping the table twice.
All heads turned.
At the far edge of the circle, in the seat of Ashra, sat a man dressed in matte black. Karvak.
A silk scarf covered the lower half of his face.
He hadn't spoken since the Assembly began.
He didn't need to.
Now, he stood.
The air shifted.
Even Elena, who never feared anyone, went still.
Even the Supreme's fingers twitched on his chalice.
"Ashra wishes to place an official declaration on record."
The silence dropped like a guillotine.
"This is not about blood. Nor revenge. It is about balance. About exposure. About stupidity."
He looks directly at Shivaay.
"The Syrian operation came within sixty seconds of blowing a global shadow economy. Our surveillance intercepted six intelligence drones. American, French, Indian, Turkish, and one... Israeli. Do you know what happens when five intelligence agencies realise that the same unregistered cargo route was used across six war zones in 11 months?"
Shivaay remains still. But inside his mind, every alarm screams.
Karvak spoke again. "Ashra has tolerated, silently. Admired Saphhire's precision. Respected their codes. But this — this was reckless. And we don't sit at this table to clean after recklessness."
He places a thin red envelope on the table.
Ellison Quinn, American lord: "Wait— You're pulling out?"
Vera Dobrev, Central European commander: "You're provoking a storm."
Yao Jiang: "This will cause civil war across three zones!"
The Supreme, still seated, finally speaks — voice colder than steel. "Ashra is the spine of the Shadow Treaty. If the spine breaks... we don't walk. We crawl. Into chaos."
Karvak bows slightly. "We do not wish for chaos. But we won't stand in fire to protect someone playing with matches."
He sits. No further words.
Now, it was the turn of Sapphire to speak. Shivaay stood, Calm. Ice contained in human form.
"Sapphire regrets the Syrian breach. But let the table remember — I was in charge of the shipment, not the contractor. The Shekhawats were hired as the transport group, and one of you was the incharge of the contractor, while the other handled the initial security checks. They installed the containers. They chose the route. I supervised a drop, not a device."
"If there was a mole... He wasn't mine."
Karvak, silent now, merely tilted his head — a gesture that could've meant 'Maybe.' Or 'Don't repeat it.'
Irina, not caring about the topic spoke, looking straight at Karvak. "What's in the envelope? If Ashra is issuing a statement, tell us all."
Karvak looked at her, then the Supreme and finally at Shivaay. "Let the record show... Ashra hereby suspends all protection, intelligence firewalling, and exit access across all twelve factions of this Assembly — for a period of seven days."
Gasps.
Even the flame at the center of the obsidian table seemed to flicker at his words.
Don Carlos rose violently.
"You'd damn us all? Because of one error — made by one faction?"
Elena narrowed her eyes. "This isn't correction. This is sabotage."
Karvak, unshaken, responded coolly. " This isn't punishment. This is perspective. You built your kingdoms under the illusion that your chaos was protected. That no matter what fire you lit, Ashra would be the umbrella. But the moment your recklessness lights a fire that can't be contained, we will not burn with you."
"So yes. Seven days. No neutral borders. No safe corridors. No diplomatic cover. No extractions. No dead-drops. You are all naked now."
Kaspar Heilig swore under his breath. "You understand what this means? My Geneva servers are exposed."
Elena snapped. "My labs in Niger are non-operational without Ashra's safe skies!"
Yao Jiang added, "Our encrypted couriers? All tracked. We'll collapse."
Karvak rose again, just as another cartel lord opened his mouth to speak. "No more bickering," he said softly, yet his voice cut through the chaos like a wire.
"You're all barking around the boy. But maybe it's one of you that needs a leash."
Dead silence.
"Yes. Sapphire made a mistake. Maybe even a dangerous one. But one of you — one of the eleven sitting at this sacred table — failed at something worse."
"The contractor vetting.
The tracking override.
The review of personnel tags at the Syrian border."
"Sapphire was brought into that shipment for one reason:
Because they are the only ones who master the East-Med corridor without leaving footprints.
Not because they manage your cheap subcontractors.
Not because they babysit your paranoid sensors."
He turns to Kaspar and Don Carlos, both frozen. "And now... after one misstep, you blame the boy who carried your cargo blindfolded — because you sent it blind?"
He gestures to Shivaay. "You dare call him reckless. But it wasn't his recklessness that got us traced. It was your incompetence."
He pauses — calm, brutal.
"Ashra doesn't punish recklessness. We punish consequences."
Karval looks at Shivaay, turning to every face as he spoke, "The underworld does not run on fear. It runs on discipline. And even kings bleed... when they forget who sharpens the knife."
He turned, eyes now locked on Shivaay. "We're not abandoning the underworld. We're reminding it — that we don't serve it. For seven days, Ashra stands down. You want your safety net back? Prove you're worth saving."
He turns toward the flame in the centre.
"If one bleeds... so do the other eleven.
Remember that before you play blame again."
All heads turned to the Supreme. He remained unmoved, fingers intertwined.
But when he finally spoke, the room stopped breathing.
"So be it. The Assembly will survive seven days. It always does. But Karvak..." he paused.
"Don't mistake silence for submission."
Karvak bowed, once.
"And don't mistake calm for weakness."
The man — calm, contained — begins to step away from his seat.
The silence hangs heavy, crushed under the weight of what he just said.
Then — he turns.
Not to the Assembly.
To Shivaay.
Directly.
Deliberately.
He walks toward him.
The footsteps are not hostile.
They're heavy with something worse — intimate history.
Shivaay straightens, guarded but respectful.
Karvak stops just short of him. Then says, loud enough for all twelve syndicates and the Supreme to hear. "You were chosen for your silence. Your discipline. Your surgical order. I haven't seen that kind of restraint.. since She backed it."
Boom.
The room freezes.
Silence.
Thick. Unbreathable.
Karvak doesn't elaborate.
He doesn't look proud or nostalgic.
He looks like a man issuing a warning in the form of a memory.
"Keep your order intact, Rathore. Or Ashra will restore it—in its original form."
He nods once at the Supreme.
And walks out.
The flame in the centre flickers violently as the heavy doors shut.
He left. The door echoed shut behind him like a verdict
As his jet takes off from Istanbul, He removes the scarf.
The expression is blank.
But the eyes — they know too much.
He whispers to himself:
"Still loyal. Still blind."
"SR, wherever you are... your ghosts are still fighting."
But back in the Assembly, every heartbeat had stopped for a moment
Elena's jaw tightens.
Don Carlos drops his cigar.
Kaspar whispers to Irina, "Did he just say—?"
The Triad Envoy mutters: "He knew... her?"
Shivaay's face was unreadable. But Inside? He knows only one name ever tied to that kind of discipline within Sapphire.
SANHITA.
Now if Karvak was talking about the same lady, it meant only one thing. Karvak was just a representative of Ashra. The real mastermind behind the syndicate was her- Sanhita. But who that woman really was?
Even when she had backed Sapphire, much before he took the charge and was still a trainee, no one talked about her. Her name was a whisper of silence. No one knew how she looks or where she resides. Even her name is known to a few. Him, the Supreme and Karvak. For the other member, she was just S.R.
It was around nine in the evening, when all of us departed separately. Unplanned, I decided to stay in Istanbul for a night. Lakshay hadn't accompanied me to the meet. It was a rule of the Assembly, none of the syndicate carried their men with them, except ofcourse the supreme. He chaired us, led us and it was his responsibility that none o us is in danger. The Supreme sends his own anonymous black vehicles, no branding, all look the same. Two hours before the assembly, a convoy of identical black bulletproof sedans, each with encrypted GPS and biometrically assigned interior access, arrives at each syndicate leader's designated location. These are not operated by known chauffeurs or guards. Instead, they are driven by anonymous drivers, trained and employed directly by The Supreme's personal security command, known only as the Obsidian Line. Each leader is picked up alone, without guards.
The same follows after the Assembly.
These cars don't return them to their original location.
They drive in total silence. The GPS cannot be tracked. Even the leaders themselves don't know the route. After the Assembly ends, the cars drop them at a "neutral pick-up zone" — a private, secure underground facility in the outskirts of an unknown territory.
From there on, it's up to each syndicate leader to arrange their own exit. They must call their own people to pick them up — it's a sign of how much loyalty and precision their network holds.
I sat in the backseat of a pitch-black car. No divider. No driver face visible. Only a digital voice speaks from the stereo, in crisp English. "The Supreme Assembly thanks you for your presence. Please remain seated. Final location will be revealed upon arrival."
However, I don't flinch. I just adjusts my cuff and murmur to myself:
"Prisoners get more freedom than this."
The road outside is deserted. The only light—faint flickers from passing neon Turkish signs.
Then... the stereo clicks, again.
Not the robotic voice.
Not a security feed.
A low, familiar voice.
The Supreme.
His voice, slow yet a hint of softness was audible. "I know you never expected this, Shivaay. But I didn't expect you either... Not the boy who stood in the shadows, learning, watching, never asking for power—only precision. They all talk. You calculate. They all beg. You prepare. You've never snapped in my presence. Not once in six years. But I've always known—you're not built to follow orders. You're built to redesign them. You remind me... of the storm I once was. "
A silence. The car takes a sharp turn. I don't blink.
"What you witnessed today is only the surface. Below it, alliances rot. I've watched you. Eyes that calculate. Hands that never tremble. And a mind—ruthless yet restrained. Sapphire breathes because you built its lungs. It roars because you taught it to hunt silently."
I hear a soft chuckle, from the recording, "They see you as CFO, as heir, as Rathore. I see you... as my reflection in a younger soul."
A pause and this time, his voice turns colder. "But loyalty... is rare, even in a world built on it. And yours?"
"Unshaken. Untouched. Undeniable."
The stereo clicks off. The road is silent again. The engine hums.
I exhale softly, jaw locked, eyes colder now.
Car halts. A lone floodlight glows.
No words.
The door clicks open on its own.
I step out, but before leaving—my steps pause, I look at the car once more, then smirk faintly.
Under my breath, I mutter, "I never needed your voice to know your intentions. But thanks for the reminder."
The bulletproof sedan had rolled to a stop at an abandoned shipyard, rusted containers stacked like graves under the cold Istanbul moon. Not a soul in sight—yet every shadow feels like a scope aimed. I walk into the shadows.
As the car disappears back into the darkness, I call my most trusted one.
"Pick me up."
Within a few minutes, I see a car racing towards my direction, a small smile comes on my face.
Lakshay, jaw clenched, hands gripping the steering, halts at the drop zone in exactly four minutes.
As I get in, my right-handed man doesn't speak—he just hits the accelerator.
Inside, tension.
Eyeing the rearview, he speaks, "The jet's prepped. Takeoff window is fifteen minutes. Istanbul ATC has already cleared it, bribed."
Calmly rubbing my temple, I answer. "I'm not boarding the jet tonight."
Silence.
Lakshay slams the brakes, the car skids slightly. "Here? You want to stay here? After the Assembly?"
But I just look out the window.
My trusted ally raised his voice a bit. "Boss, it's the most vulnerable time! Once the Supreme leaves Istanbul, this whole territory turns into a goddamn warzone again! Every syndicate's second tier wants blood — and headlines."
But my silence hit a nerve in him.
Lakshay, now visibly frustrated, lowers his voice. "This isn't strategy, this is suicide."
I finally speak, voice low and cold, "I smelled betrayal inside the Assembly, Lakshay. The kind that doesn't wait for the plane to take off."
"You mean—"
"Someone sat at the table today, wearing loyalty and hiding a dagger."
Lakshay blinks. "You think one of the syndicates turned?"
"I think someone tried to make me not reach back home."
He freezes. Then his fingers move to his comms.
"Kartik. Alert the Europea command post. Activate the Firewall Protocol. I want the entire Sapphire communication system on deadlock till we confirm all seven safe."
Pause.
Then:
Lakshay, gritting his teeth, glares at me. ""Okay, boss. Tell me. You knew something inside the Assembly?"
"I noticed how Nasser from the Gulf Syndicate didn't touch the water offered." My voice was low.
"He never does that, habit."
"Except his right-hand drank it. And Nasser's too sharp to slip like that."
Pause.
"Then there was Yuan Shi from the Triads. His palms were sweating... but his shirt cuffs were starched. That man doesn't get nervous in public."
"So?"
"Someone inside wanted to strike after the Supreme left. They were coordinating."
Beat. Wind howls.
"And the man across from me... Armand D'Cruz."
"He's irrelevant. Small ports in Spain."
Coldly, I reply. "He made a joke. About crows. About how 'even death has feathers when it comes for you in Istanbul.'"
This made him tense. "You think that was code?"
"I know it was."
(FLASHBACK)
The massive chamber buzzed with false calm, the Supreme's presence like an iron fortress. Yet beneath the golden chandeliers, three syndicate leaders sat like coiled vipers — their glances sharp, their fingers twitching.
Shivaay's eyes narrowed.
It started with a twitch —
The Gulf Syndicate's envoy, Nasser, avoided eye contact with him for a split second longer than usual.
Then, the Korean syndicate's chief, Jin-Ho, adjusted his cuff nervously — but only on his left wrist, the one that hid a concealed weapon.
Lastly, Armand D'Cruz from the European cartel —
His lips twitched in a barely suppressed smirk as his gaze flickered toward a secure door behind Shivaay.
Shivaay's mind sharpened like a blade. "Three syndicates. Three snakes coiling under the Supreme's shadow. They think he's untouchable. They think he's blind."
The conversation in the room was a veneer — polite words, measured nods. But Shivaay caught the silent messages — microexpressions, eye flicks, slight hand signals under the table.
Suddenly, a flash in his peripheral vision —
Jin-Ho's fingers moved in a subtle, almost imperceptible pattern, the syndicate's secret code.
Shivaay's heartbeat quickened — the signal was clear.
"Strike after the Supreme leaves."
His gaze locked on the three men -Their eyes tried to hide the storm behind their masks, but to Shivaay: Every flicker, every blink, every microexpression screamed betrayal.
In his mind, a chilling truth crystallized. "This isn't just politics. It's war — and the first bullet will be fired in the dead of night."
His voice, low and steely, echoes through the chambers of his brain. "The Supreme protects us only as long as he sits here. Once he leaves, the vultures come out."
And Shivaay wasn't about to be the prey.
(FLASHBACK ENDS)
Seven minutes and the two were in a hotel, owned by one of their own member. The hotel room was dimly lit, but Shivaay sat rigid, swirling the drink in his hand. He took a slow sip. Almost immediately, his trained senses caught it — a faint bitterness beneath the amber liquid, an almost imperceptible shift in scent.
His fingers massaged his temple lightly, a silent signal to himself to stay sharp.
In the car earlier, Lakshay had noticed the frequent temple massages but hadn't pressed. Shivaay wasn't one to complain. Not yet.
Minutes later, Shivaay joined a secure group call with the other six. Advait's voice cut through the line, clinical and precise.
"Shivaay, your pupils are dilating. That's not normal."
A pause.
That's when Lakshay's sharp mind connected the dots. "Boss, I noticed you massaging your temple in the car... more than usual."
Shivaay sighed, tension breaking. "There was something in my drink. Something fast-acting."
"And you told me just the half of this?"
Samarth's voice immediately grew stern, "Half? Shivaay, what else are you hiding?"
Before Shivaay could answer, Lakshay took the lead. "It's the same three idiots we suspected — Gulf, Korean, and European syndicates. They conspired to take Sapphire out tonight."
Advait pressed, "Antidote ready?"
Shivaay's voice was calm but serious. "I had CX6 under my tongue... just in case."
The Medicine expert immediately directed Lakshay, "Check his temperature."
Lakshay's quick report came through, "High, sir."
He nodded with urgency. "Prepare injection ZR-9. Administer in ten minutes."
Turning to Shivaay, Advait commanded firmly, "No work now. Your body needs rest for this dose to work. Stay in Istanbul."
Silence fell for a moment — then Shivaay's voice cut through with a dark edge.
"The one who ruled Turkey's underworld... found dead."
Shock rippled through the call.
Vivaan asked sharply, "How do you know that?"
Shivaay's tone was steady but grave.
"At the assembly, the supreme sat alone. No one stood to his left — where the local leader should be."
Everyone's breath caught. The game had just changed.
Later, at 12:03, midnight.
Shivaay lies awake on the king‑size bed. Towards his left, Lakshay is curled up on the second couch, snoring softly.
"Lakshay..."
He doesn't stir.
"Insomniac secretary... a soldier yet sleeps like a baby."
Shivaay doesn't roll off the bed, just turnshimself completely to his left, his hand almost reaching the couch.
"Oye, Lakshay..."
(Hey Lakshay!)
The sleepy one murmurs in his sleep.
Shivaay, now growing more impatient, louder, tries once again. "Oye yaar, uth jaa!"
(Come on dude, wake up)
With groggy, eyes half‑open, Lakshay answers, "So jao yaar?"
(Just go to sleep man)
"Ice cream khayega?"
(Wanna have an Ice-cream?)
Lakshay's eyes snap open fully.
"Raat 12 baje? Ice cream?"
(At midnight?)
"Chocolate or butterscotch?"
Instantly, the sleep-headed Lakshay sits bolt‑upright.
"Choco chip."
"Ab kaise uth gaya? Available nahi hai. Butterscotch hi kha liyo."
(How did you wake up now? Not available, have the butterscotch one.)
Lakshay makes a face.
"Aap hi khao. Main chala sone."
(You have it then, I'm going back to sleep.)
A second later, the phone on the nightstand rings.
"Room 1203? Ice cream delivery?"
Shivaay and Lakshay look at each other.
Shivaay:
"Tu jaa, main bath karne jaa raha hoon."
(You go, I'm going to have a bath)
Lakshay:
"Aap jao."
(No, you go.)
Shivaay (deadpan):
"Main bimaar hoon yaar."
(I am unwell.)
Lakshay (yawning):
"Main bhi neend mein hoon yaar."
(And I am sleepy)
Shivaay:
"Toh phir... rock‑paper‑scissors?"
Lakshay:
"Theek, but just one time."
They face each other, fists closed.
"Rock... paper... scissors... shoot!"
Lakshay throws paper. Shivaay throws scissors.
Shivaay (triumphant):
"Scissors cuts paper. Jaa, ice cream leke aa!"
(Go bring the ice- cream.)
Lakshay:
"Jaaun... butterscotch?"
(Shall I go?)
Shivaay:
"Areey yaar, teri Choco chip bhi hai, ab jaa."
(Oh god. Even your choco chip one is also there.)
"You are the best"
Seconds later, both were in their peace. Shivaay with his butterscotch bucket and Lakshay with his most loved one..
But something shifted in the peaceful atmosphere. A ring on Shivaay's phone. Vivaan.
Before Lakshay could speak something, Vivaan asked him to hand the phone to Shivaay.
"Saale Dhokebaaz Aadmi. Body mein drip chadhi hui hai, aur tu ice cream kha raha hai, mere bina??"
(You betrayer! Your bosy is on drip and you are having an ice cream, without me?)
"Ye log... choco‑chip mein chips to daalte hi nahi. Kanjoos"
(These people, they don''t even put chips in choco-chip.)
"TU BHI LAKSHAY??"
(EVEN YOU LAKSHAY?)
Shivaay, calmly, responds to that. "Vivaan, main under medical supervision hoon. Ice cream is protein—"
(Vivaan, I am under medical supervision.)
"Protein? Tumhe pata bhi hai drip pe glucose chalta hai? Overdose ho jayega!"
(Do you even know the drip has glucose. It would be an overdose.)
"Butterscotch to safe hoti hai, sir."
(Butterscotch is safe sir.)
"TUM DONO INDIA AAO VAPAS."
(YOU BOTH JUST COME BACK TO INDIA!)
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