Chapter 15: chapter 15

S A N M A Y I The moon hung high over Amaravati, casting long shadows across the palace gardens. I sat by the window of my prison cell, looking out at the night, though my thoughts were far from the quiet, starlit scene before me. The weight of my captivity pressed upon me like a thick fog, suffocating and inescapable. But that evening, something had changed.Ranajay had come to see me again. I’d expected the usual exchange—sharp words, a tense silence, perhaps a threat or two—but instead, he had sat down before me, his expression less certain, more weary than I had ever seen. His gaze lingered for a moment, as if he were trying to read me, or perhaps trying to make sense of himself.“I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice rough, as though the words were harder to speak than he had expected. “I owe you an explanation.”The audacity of his statement nearly knocked the breath from my lungs. Here he was, the man who had shattered my world, the man who stood as the embodiment of my hatred, offering me an explanation? I had no words at first—no sharp retort, no insult to throw in his face.“I’m listening,” I said, my voice cold and distant, a reflex born from years of guarding my emotions.He let out a heavy sigh, his eyes dropping to the floor for a moment before he spoke again. "I didn’t ask for this. None of it. Being born a prince, being trained to be a warrior... none of it was my choice."His words, so simple and unadorned, struck me in a way I hadn’t expected. I had always seen him as a tyrant, as a conqueror who reveled in the destruction of Kosala, in the suffering he had wrought. But in that moment, I saw something else—a man burdened, trapped by his own destiny."I was just a boy," he continued, looking up at me now, his eyes dark with an emotion I couldn’t place. "All I ever wanted was peace. But my father… he had other plans. He saw me as a weapon. His weapon. I was trained from the age of ten to fight. To kill. To never show weakness. To never be… human."He paused, as if the weight of his words hung heavier than he had intended. "I had no childhood. No time to play, to laugh, to be a child. My whole life was forged in the fires of duty and expectation. My father, the king—he raised me to believe that duty was everything. That everything I did, every decision, was to serve the empire. To strengthen Amaravati."The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. It was not the tone of a conqueror or a man who sought to impose his will upon others. It was the voice of someone who had long been trapped in a cage of his own making, a cage built by his father’s ambition, by the unforgiving role he had been forced into.For the first time, I saw him not as a ruthless invader, but as a man. A man whose life had been controlled by forces greater than himself, a man whose humanity had been smothered by duty and expectation.I could feel the tension in my chest, the anger that had simmered within me for so long, beginning to waver. It was a strange sensation—this… empathy. But I fought against it, unwilling to let go of the hatred that had defined my every waking thought since the fall of Kosala."Do you expect me to feel sorry for you?" I spat, my voice betraying the inner turmoil that churned within me. "Do you think you can undo the pain you’ve caused, just by telling me your sob story?"Ranajay didn’t flinch. He only looked at me with a steady gaze, his eyes dark but not accusing. "No," he said softly, almost too softly. "I don’t expect your sympathy. I don’t deserve it. But I owe you the truth."He stood and walked slowly toward the window, his back to me. "The wars… the battles, the bloodshed… none of it made me feel powerful. It only made me feel… empty. Like I was walking a path I couldn’t escape. Like I was just another soldier on a battlefield, fighting for a cause I didn’t even understand."He turned then, and for the first time, I saw the rawness of his emotions, the vulnerability he had buried deep beneath his hardened exterior."I thought I was doing what I had to do. What I was supposed to do. But then Kosala… then you…"His voice faltered for a moment, and I saw it—the crack in the armor, the pain in his eyes. The man who had destroyed my family, the man who had taken everything from me, was not the monster I had believed him to be. He was a man shaped by his upbringing, by the weight of expectations that had never allowed him to choose his own path.I stood slowly, my heart a heavy lump in my chest. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in, suffocating me with the realization that I, too, had been living a life shaped by forces beyond my control. My hatred, my anger, my thirst for revenge—had they been the only things that defined me? Or was I, too, just a puppet in a game I didn’t fully understand?"You think I don’t know what it’s like to lose everything?" I asked, my voice quieter now, the bitterness giving way to something softer, something I couldn’t name. "You think I don’t know what it’s like to have my family torn from me, to watch everything I’ve ever known burn to the ground?"Ranajay didn’t answer at first. He only watched me, his expression unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes—a recognition. A recognition of the pain that mirrored his own."I never wanted to destroy Kosala," he said, his voice thick with the weight of guilt. "I never wanted to tear apart a life you loved. But I was a tool. I did what I had to do. What I thought I had to do."I looked away, my throat tight, as memories of my family flashed before me—their laughter, their warmth, their faces as they were slaughtered before my eyes. It had been years, but the pain was fresh, as if it had only happened yesterday."We’ve both lost," I said quietly, more to myself than to him. "We’ve both been used. You by your father, me by my own grief."There was a long silence between us, filled only by the distant sound of the wind rustling the leaves outside. And in that silence, something fragile and tentative passed between us—a thread of understanding, of recognition. It was not forgiveness, not yet. But it was something close."Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice low, almost tentative.I met his gaze, the question hanging heavy in the air. The answer was not simple, not something I could give lightly. But for the first time, I realized that I did not need to answer immediately. Not yet."No," I said at last, the word bitter on my tongue, but not as venomous as before. "Not yet."But the truth lingered in the air between us: that trust, like everything else, could be earned. And perhaps, in time, it would be.And as I turned away, the shadows of the night pressing in on me once more, I knew one thing for certain: the veil of the past was beginning to lift, revealing not just the man I had hated, but the man he had always been.And in that revelation, a door opened—just a crack—allowing the possibility of something new, something neither of us had ever expected.