Crown of the Cursed King

The winds whispered through the tall grass that grew along the southern reaches of Vaithara Kingdom, a land once known for its might and mysticism, now resting under the reign of King Varyan Vashisth—a wise and seasoned monarch, beloved and feared in equal measure. His younger son, Prince Jay Vashisth, was far from the golden halls of the capital. Not by exile, but by choice.

Jay was posted at the South Border Command Post, deep in the rural expanse, surrounded by villages, forests, and hills. It was a quiet region—on most days. But the young prince wasn't here for peace.

He was training to become Vaithara's next Warlord, the supreme commander of the kingdom's armies—a post not inherited but earned. His elder brother, Prince Yugandhar, was already prepared to take the crown. Jay, however, chose the rough path—to carve his legend in scars and battles, not silken robes and ceremonies.

That evening, the sky burned orange, and the camp bustled with the return of patrol units. Jay stood outside his tent, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword. His gaze was sharp—observing, calculating, but inwardly restless.

> "Still no signs of movement from across the river," a scout reported.

Jay nodded. "Keep the watch tight. Trouble doesn't send invitations."

Suddenly, a group of terrified villagers arrived on foot, breathless and dusty. The village head, an old man with sunken eyes, knelt before Jay.

> "My lord… bandits… they've raided our village twice this week. Grain, cattle, even young girls—taken!"

Jay's jaw clenched. His knights stiffened, awaiting orders.

"Where?" he asked simply.

The headman pointed south. "Two miles. Near the old well road."

Jay turned to his captain. "Gather a patrol unit—fifteen riders. We move now."

---

The Village Raid

Night descended fast as they rode through thick trees, torchlight flickering across grim faces. The village was deathly still. The houses bore signs of forced entry, and the air smelled of ash and blood.

A scream echoed from a nearby barn. Jay raised his hand—signal to strike.

Within moments, steel clashed with steel, as Jay's unit ambushed the bandits in the center of the village. The fight was brutal—dirty and real. There were no choreographed duels here, only quick kills, screams, and the thud of lifeless bodies.

Jay moved like a phantom—silent, efficient. His sword tore through the air, his bow struck like lightning. Two bandits tried to escape on foot—arrows ended them mid-run.

But four of them mounted stolen horses and escaped toward the jungle.

Jay didn't hesitate. He mounted his steed and gave chase alone, galloping into the darkness, guided only by instinct and the flickering shadows ahead.

---

The River Duel

He caught up to them near the riverbank—a wide stretch of water glowing under the moonlight. The bandits dismounted and turned, now forced to fight.

Jay leaped from his horse, sword drawn.

"You made a mistake thinking the jungle would hide you," he said coldly.

They charged.

Jay blocked a wild slash, twisted his attacker's arm, and drove his blade into the man's gut. A second bandit came from the side—Jay ducked, swept his leg, and cut him down.

But the third and fourth were smarter—one engaged Jay directly while the other circled behind, drawing a bow silently from the shadows.

As Jay stabbed the third man, he felt a sudden sting on his left shoulder.

An arrow.

Poisoned.

The world tilted slightly. His breath hitched.

But Jay forced himself forward and killed the last bandit with one final thrust.

Then… silence.

The forest fell quiet again.

Jay staggered toward his horse, but his legs weakened. He dropped to one knee.

He felt it now—the venom crawling under his skin, burning like fire.

His fingers trembled. The sword dropped from his grip.

And then… he saw her.

---

The Girl by the River

She stood quietly across the water, hidden partially by overgrown reeds, holding a small woven basket. Her eyes wide. Her breath caught.

She had seen everything.

A girl… no, a young woman. Around nineteen. Simple white dress. Long, disheveled hair. Earth in her hands. Curiosity in her gaze.

For a fleeting second, Jay wondered if she was real—or just a vision from the poison.

But when he collapsed fully, he heard her footsteps rushing toward him, water splashing as she crossed the shallow river.

---

The Hidden Hut

Jay drifted in and out of consciousness. But he remembered her soft voice, muttering unfamiliar words. Her arms struggling to lift him. The crackle of fire.

He woke later in a small, dimly lit hut—mud walls, herbs hanging from beams, an earthen lamp flickering near his feet. His armor had been removed. A wet cloth rested on his forehead, his wound tightly wrapped with plant-soaked bandages.

She was grinding something beside him—herbs, roots, maybe bark.

Jay shifted slightly.

Her eyes met his. Sharp, but kind.

> "Lie still. The poison's still in you."

Jay tried to speak. His throat burned.

> "You were lucky," she added, applying a paste to his wound. "If it had reached your heart… you'd be with your ancestors now."

He chuckled faintly. "You speak like a healer."

> "I am. A forest healer. My father taught me… before the world forgot him."

Jay noticed a shadow pass over her face when she said that. But he was too weak to ask further.

Her hands moved quickly, skilled and precise. She wrapped a new cloth around his shoulder, pressing a cooling balm to ease the fever.

Jay's vision blurred again.

He looked up at her, this strange girl who had appeared out of nowhere… her eyes calm, her presence grounding, her voice humming an ancient lullaby he vaguely remembered from his childhood.

"Who are you?" he managed to whisper.

She hesitated. "…Madhvi."

And just like that—Jay fell into sleep, the image of her face the last thing he saw.

---

[End of Chapter 1]