Chapter 5: Part 2 : War of the Three Lions
> "When brothers claim thrones, blood is thicker—but only when spilled."
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The Death of a King, The Birth of a Storm
The pyres still smoldered when the whispers began.
King Paras Vajramitra's death left a silence so deep, it echoed across the marble halls of the Grand Citadel. The High King of Unified Svarlokh—warrior, reformer, father—was no more. But even as priests chanted funeral hymns and nobles wept ceremonial tears, the heart of the realm beat with unease.
Three sons, three lions, stood around one crown.
Crown Prince Adityan Vajramitra, firstborn and tactician, stood tall in black ceremonial armor, his eyes not wet with grief but blazing with resolve. His younger brother, Revansh, a warrior of the northern clans, watched in silence, hands clenched behind his back. Vivaraj, the poet-prince of the western frontiers, wore his grief openly, his face a storm of sorrow and restrained fury.
At their father's funeral, no words were exchanged between the brothers. Only glances—sharp, wary, and unreadable.
As the final sandalwood stick was placed atop the burning pyre, and the royal banner was dipped in mourning, one truth loomed larger than smoke in the sky:
The kingdom would not survive three kings.
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The Counsel and the Crown
It was on the seventh day after the cremation that Adityan summoned the Royal Counsel. The torches in the Grand Hall burned brighter than usual, their flickers dancing along the golden murals depicting Svarlokh's victories. A hundred voices echoed in the corridors—courtiers, generals, ministers, scribes—all called to witness history.
Adityan entered clad in full royal regalia, the Crown of Unity placed upon his brow before the council even convened. The silver lion emblazoned on his cloak fluttered behind him like a banner of war.
At his side stood Salagar, the foreign-born strategist and scholar, once an advisor to the eastern empires, now Adityan's most trusted voice.
"Let none doubt," Adityan said, stepping onto the dais, "I take this crown not merely by birthright, but by divine inheritance. The gods have called for unity—and I shall answer."
Murmurs filled the chamber.
Salagar stepped forward, eyes gleaming beneath his hood. "The longer the throne remains contested, the more vultures will circle. You have enemies outside your gates, my king—do not invite enemies from within your blood."
Adityan nodded. "Exactly. This is not a time for diplomacy—it is a time for decision."
But one chair in the chamber remained empty.
Revansh had not come.
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Fractures of the Heart
That evening, a soldier burst into the palace chambers.
"My prince—Prince Revansh has withdrawn his legions from the central garrisons. His standard no longer flies over the eastern towers."
Adityan clenched his jaw. "So, it begins."
The very next morning, a scroll arrived from Vivaraj, sealed with a lion claw insignia, smeared with ink and fury.
> "A lion cannot bow to another lion. Let the jungle decide who roars last."
Adityan read the message aloud before the council and tore it in half. "Then let the jungle burn," he said coldly.
But within his heart, the wound cut deeper than words. He had fought beside his brothers. He had bled for this realm. And now they would tear it apart in the name of pride?
That night, he stood alone in the Hall of Ancestors. He stared at his father's statue, his voice a whisper.
"Did I make a mistake, father? Or is it they who betray your dream?"
Salagar stepped in quietly. "Sometimes, to fulfill a legacy, you must first break it."
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The Departure – Brothers Torn
The corridors of the central palace echoed with the footsteps of departure.
Revansh was the first to leave.
He stood at the gate, his battle-scarred armor catching the morning sun, his warhorse waiting. His eyes met Adityan's one last time across the courtyard.
"I do not seek war, brother," he said.
"But you prepare for one," Adityan replied.
"I prepare for peace—peace on my own terms. You claim to lead in the name of father, but your crown is heavier with ambition than duty."
"And you? You walk away from duty because you fear being second?"
Revansh mounted his horse. "I fear no man. But I do fear a crown that forgets compassion."
With that, he turned and rode toward the northern mountains.
Vivaraj's departure was even colder.
He arrived at the stables with a few loyal guards and a scroll tied to his saddle. He did not speak a word to Adityan. But as he passed the throne room, he paused and looked back.
"I loved you once, Adityan," he said. "As a brother. As blood. But now you stand taller than us not because of worth—but because of hunger."
Adityan stepped forward. "And you speak like a bard, hiding cowardice behind riddles."
Vivaraj laughed bitterly. "Then let the rhyme end in war."
He left without another word.
That day, the palace seemed emptier. And colder.
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The Rise of the High King
Weeks passed. The roads no longer echoed with chants of peace—but with boots of marching men.
Adityan issued proclamations across Svarlokh:
> "Svarlokh must not be divided. It was unified by fire and steel, and I shall not let it dissolve into a fratricide of fiefdoms. I, Adityan Vajramitra, declare myself High King of All Clans. Let those who oppose this unity stand and face the sword of destiny."
His words were etched into banners, shouted from towers, and whispered in taverns. Some hailed him as a savior. Others cursed him as a tyrant.
Salagar stood by him always, guiding his war councils.
"You must strike first, my king," he urged. "Do not wait for the brothers to gather strength. Vivaraj holds the west—his alliances are many. Revansh holds the north, where warriors are bred in snow and steel. Divide their trust. Send emissaries to border lords. Buy their loyalty."
Adityan nodded. "We move before they breathe."
Yet in his chambers, the walls echoed with memories. Of three boys sparring in the courtyard. Of laughter around the fire. Of their father's hand upon their shoulders, saying, "You three are my legacy. Stay together, and the world will bow to you."
Now, that legacy was in ruins.