The ride back to Indraprastha took a full day.

  Surya barely felt it.

  Dust, wind, the steady rhythm of hooves—his body remembered the road too well to register fatigue properly. It was only when the capital’s outer walls rose into view, pale stone catching the late sun, that he realized how tightly his shoulders had been set the entire journey.

  Something was wrong.

  He felt it before he saw it.

  Indraprastha was awake.

  Not in the usual way of markets opening and bells ringing—but in motion that felt excessive, strained. Patrols crossed intersections in greater numbers. Messengers ran instead of walked. Even from a distance, Surya could see guard banners posted where none had been the week before.

  Virat noticed it too. “That’s… a lot.”

  Surya nodded grimly.

  They did not even dismount properly.

  By the next morning—before sleep could claim more than a few hours—Surya was already moving through the palace corridors toward the planning chamber, still in travel-worn clothes, hair loosely tied back.

  The doors opened.

  And the noise hit him first.

  Maps spread across tables. Voices overlapping. Runners entering and exiting in tight intervals. The room was alive in a way that left no space for rest.

  Surya stepped in fully.

  “What’s happening?” he asked sharply. “I asked for increased guard presence, yes—but this is far beyond that.”

  The room stilled.

  Pratap turned first, armor unfastened at the shoulders, expression taut.

  “It’s what you feared,” he said. “What you warned us about.”

  Surya moved closer to the central table. “Start from the beginning.”

  Pratap nodded once.

  “A few days ago, we started getting reports of fights inside the city,” he said. “At first, we thought they were nothing—drunken brawls, arguments getting out of hand.”

  He gestured to several marked points on the map.

  “But there were too many. Too sudden. And too… clustered.”

  Surya followed the pattern with his eyes.

  Around the stone.

  The sealed district.

  The ground beneath Indraprastha.

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  “We noticed that almost all incidents occurred within a certain radius,” Pratap continued. “Not exactly at the stone—but near it. Close enough to feel it.”

  Surya exhaled slowly. “So you halted the hill investigation.”

  “Yes,” Pratap said. “Dharan agreed immediately. We shifted focus to the fights.”

  Dharan, standing nearby, inclined his head. “Stone doesn’t call only from one direction,” he said. “If people were forcing their way in, they’d feel it too.”

  Surya looked back to Pratap. “Who was involved?”

  “That’s where it got clearer,” Pratap replied. “When city guards apprehended those involved and questioned them… we found a pattern.”

  He pointed again.

  “Some of them were refugees.”

  Virat stiffened slightly. “Inside the city?”

  “Yes,” Pratap said. “They weren’t supposed to be.”

  Surya’s jaw tightened. “How did they get past the checkpoints?”

  “Not directly,” Pratap answered. “They came through the jungle routes. Side paths. Old service roads. Some joined merchant convoys that had already passed inspection. Others used construction zones. A few even came through sewers.”

  Surya closed his eyes briefly.

  So the cracks had been found.

  “And the reasons for the fights?” Surya asked.

  Pratap hesitated. “That’s the thing. There weren’t any.”

  Surya opened his eyes.

  “Most witnesses say the same thing,” Pratap went on. “The people involved were already tense. On edge. The fights started over nothing—someone brushing past, a spilled cup, a look held too long.”

  Meera’s voice echoed faintly in Surya’s memory: confusion doesn’t stay quiet forever.

  “So we increased patrols,” Pratap said. “Not to punish—but to interrupt. To stop things before they escalate.”

  Surya nodded slowly.

  “Good,” he said. “Necessary.”

  Pratap studied him for a moment. “You should rest.”

  Surya shook his head immediately. “They won’t care if I’m tired.”

  Silence fell.

  Then Dharan spoke. “He’s right.”

  Surya turned to him, “Increase guard near the stone” he said.

  Dharan’s mouth twitched—almost a smile.

  “I assume you did.” Surya said.

  “Before you asked.” Dharan replied.

  Surya allowed himself a brief, genuine smile.

  “That’s what I expect from you.”

  He turned back to the table.

  “Here’s what we do next,” Surya said, voice steady, cutting through fatigue.

  “Dharan—double the guard near the stone again. Quietly. No show of force. Anyone lingering too long is redirected. Anyone resisting is contained, not harmed.”

  Dharan nodded once. “Already preparing rotations.”

  Surya continued, turning to Pratap.

  “I want you to collect common traits from everyone involved in these fights,” he said. “Behavioral markers. Not origin.”

  Pratap’s eyes sharpened. “Tension. Restlessness. Short tempers.”

  “Yes,” Surya said. “But more. How they speak. How they move. What they fixate on.”

  He paused.

  “Prepare a profile. A description—not to accuse, but to notice.”

  Pratap understood immediately. “And distribute it to patrols.”

  “Yes,” Surya said. “If someone matches even part of it, they’re questioned. Calmly. Respectfully.”

  Virat frowned. “Won’t that escalate things?”

  “Only if we treat them like criminals,” Surya replied. “We won’t.”

  He leaned forward slightly, voice lowering.

  “This is not fully their fault. Whatever is happening is acting on them. Not through them.”

  Pratap nodded slowly. “Understood.”

  Surya turned at last to Varun.

  “You’re our scout,” he said. “You see what others overlook.”

  Varun straightened.

  “I want you to take Meera,” Surya continued. “Go back to Simhagiri. The hill. The temple. Everything around it.”

  Varun’s eyes flicked up. “You think the answer is there.”

  “I think,” Surya replied carefully, “that the capital is the effect.”

  He tapped the map near the stone.

  “And Simhagiri may be the cause—or the key to restraint.”

  Meera grinned faintly. “Finally. Somewhere quiet.”

  Surya met her gaze. “Be careful.”

  She sobered instantly. “Always.”

  As they began to disperse, the room remained tense—but no longer directionless.

  Orders had shape now.

  Purpose had form.

  Surya stood alone for a moment after they left, hands resting on the edge of the table.

  The city hummed beyond the walls.

  Fights smoldered.

  People slipped through cracks they didn’t know existed.

  And beneath it all, the anchor held.

  Barely.

  Surya straightened, exhaustion pressing against him at last—but not enough to slow him.

  “Hold,” he murmured, unsure whether he spoke to the city, the stone, or the guardian beneath it.

  Because Indraprastha was no longer merely under threat.

  It was being pulled.

  And soon, silence would no longer be enough to keep it whole.