(A/N):

Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.

Guys I hope you put more comments and power stones... Which will encourage me...

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As the sun slowly disappeared beyond the distant hills, the flower forest was gradually swallowed by the gentle embrace of night.

The battle that had taken place there only a short while ago left behind almost no evidence for an ordinary person to notice.

The divine lightning had scorched the battlefield, reducing the Rakshasa legion and their commander to nothing more than drifting ashes.

The remaining traces of yellow blood had long since disappeared under the relentless purification of Amba Tejas.

Devara stood silently for a few moments, looking at the unconscious bodies of the cultists.

Only one remained alive after Pushpasura’s possession.

He had intended to take the man back for questioning.

However, before Devara could even take another step toward him, the cultist’s body suddenly convulsed violently.

His eyes rolled backward.

Dark veins spread across his neck for just a brief second before disappearing again.

The man’s breathing stopped.

Completely.

Devara immediately knelt beside him and checked for a pulse.

Nothing.

His heart had simply... stopped.

There wasn’t a single external wound.

No poison. No visible injury.

It was as though life itself had been extinguished.

Devara slowly withdrew his hand.

"So..."

he muttered quietly.

"You silence even your own followers."

His expression became thoughtful.

Pushpasura clearly had no intention of allowing any of his servants to fall into enemy hands alive.

Whether through a curse placed upon them or some connection established through the rituals, the moment they became a liability...

Their lives ended.

Not because of Devara.

But by the very being they worshipped.

A small sigh escaped him.

"Some reward for loyalty."

Without lingering any longer, Devara searched the dead cultist’s belongings one final time to ensure nothing useful remained behind.

Only after confirming there was nothing else of importance did he leave the flower forest.

By the time Devara reached the outskirts of Mallikavana, darkness had fully settled across the land.

Unlike the silent forest behind him, the village was overflowing with life.

The Flower Blossom Festival had only begun that morning, yet it already felt as though the entire kingdom had gathered there.

The festival would continue for fifteen days.

Today marked only the first.

Children ran through the decorated streets laughing while chasing one another beneath strings of colorful flower garlands.

Musicians sat at every corner playing flutes, drums and veenas, filling the evening air with cheerful melodies.

Rows of beautifully decorated oil lamps illuminated every pathway, their gentle flames dancing in the night breeze.

The fragrance of hundreds of different flowers mixed with the aroma of freshly prepared sweets and food sold by countless vendors.

Merchants loudly advertised their finest goods while customers bargained enthusiastically.

Occasionally, laughter erupted from groups watching street performers and traveling storytellers.

No one in the village realized that only a short distance away, an entire legion of monsters had been erased from existence.

Seeing the lively atmosphere, Devara couldn’t help smiling.

For a moment, it reminded him exactly why he had chosen to interfere.

These people deserved to enjoy festivals like this.

Without fear.

Without knowing how close danger had come to reaching their homes.

As he walked through the crowd, his thoughts briefly wandered to the old woman who had welcomed both him and Shakuni without asking for anything in return.

She had fed complete strangers.

Given them shelter.

Never once asking who they truly were.

People like her deserved kindness in return.

Once this journey ended...

Once his identity was no longer a secret...

He had already decided.

He would personally reward her.

Not because she expected anything.

But precisely because she hadn’t.

If genuine kindness went unnoticed, fewer people would choose that path.

Good deeds deserved recognition.

Only then would others be encouraged to help strangers without expecting rewards.

Keeping that thought in mind, Devara finally reached the merchant’s tent he shared with Shakuni.

From the outside, everything appeared perfectly ordinary.

Several clay pots, wooden carvings, decorated lamps and woven baskets remained neatly displayed before the entrance.

Inside the tent, Shakuni was seated on a small wooden stool.

A clean cloth rested in his hands as he carefully polished a beautifully crafted clay pot until its surface reflected the nearby lantern light.

Every now and then he would lift it toward the entrance, examining whether it looked attractive enough to catch the attention of passing customers.

The moment he noticed Devara approaching through the crowd, relief flashed across his face.

He immediately placed the pot back onto the shelf.

"You’ve returned."

Devara gave a small nod.

Without saying anything further, both of them calmly continued acting like ordinary merchants until the last curious customer walked away.

Only then did Shakuni quietly lower the cloth covering the entrance.

He carefully tied both sides shut before lifting one corner just enough to glance outside.

Several merchants were still busy with customers.

Children continued running through the streets.

No one seemed to be paying attention to their tent.

Satisfied, he let the cloth fall back into place.

Only after making absolutely certain they weren’t being watched did he turn toward Devara.

His usually relaxed expression disappeared.

"What happened?"

Devara sat down on one of the wooden crates inside the tent before recounting everything.

From discovering the ritual...

To the summoned legion...

The battle against the Rakshasa commander...

Pushpasura possessing one of the cultists...

And finally the mysterious death of the remaining follower.

Shakuni listened without interrupting.

His expression gradually became more serious with every passing sentence.

By the time Devara finished, the minister remained silent for several moments.

"So Pushpasura has already begun influencing the his followers directly..."

he murmured quietly.

"This is much worse than we expected."

Devara nodded with a sigh.

"The seal is weakening."

Shakuni folded his arms and began pacing slowly inside the tent.

"Then we shouldn’t waste another moment."

He stopped walking.

"I believe we should immediately inform King Padmanabha Varman."

"The royal family needs to know the danger surrounding this festival."

"If Pushpasura’s followers are operating nearby, the king deserves to prepare his soldiers."

Devara remained silent.

"...."

Then slowly shook his head.

"No."

Shakuni looked up in surprise.

"No?"

"I don’t think we should tell them."

The minister frowned.

"Why?"

"If we delay and something happens—"

"I know."

Devara interrupted gently.

"Which is exactly why we must be careful."

He reached inside his robe.

After searching one of the inner pockets for a moment, he withdrew a tightly rolled scroll.

"I found this."

Shakuni accepted it immediately.

"The dead cultist had hidden it inside his clothing."

"I only discovered it while searching his body."

Carefully untying the worn thread around it, Shakuni slowly opened the scroll.

At first glance, it appeared ordinary.

There were no names.

No seals. No signatures.

Only several lines written using coded phrases.

Shakuni’s eyes narrowed as he read them once.

Then again.

His expression slowly changed.

"This..."

He looked toward Devara.

"...there isn’t a single name mentioned."

Devara nodded.

"Exactly."

"The writer was careful."

Shakuni continued reading.

Although the identity of the sender remained hidden, the message itself was deeply unsettling.

It spoke of waiting.

Of remaining unseen.

Of acting only when the proper moment arrived.

One particular sentence immediately caught Shakuni’s attention.

His eyes stopped moving.

He read it again.

Then a third time.

Finally, he looked up.

"...’The royal family will be dealt with when the proper time arrives.’"

His voice had become noticeably lower.

Devara nodded once more.

"Read the last line."

Shakuni’s eyes returned to the scroll.

A few moments later, his breathing became slightly heavier.

"’The princess... is the key.’"

Silence filled the tent.

Only the distant sounds of the festival could be heard outside.

Shakuni slowly rolled the scroll back together.

His expression had become grim.

"You suspect..."

He hesitated before speaking.

"...someone close to the royal family?"

"I do."

Devara answered without hesitation.

"Whether it’s someone inside the palace..."

"One of the ministers..."

"A trusted servant..."

"Or someone moving freely around the royal family..."

"I don’t know."

"But someone is waiting."

"They’re waiting for the right opportunity."

Shakuni looked toward the entrance of the tent.

Beyond the cloth covering, he could still hear Princess Indhumati and the royal family’s escorts laughing somewhere among the festival crowds.

Completely unaware.

The minister slowly tightened his grip around the scroll.

"If this message is genuine..."

he said quietly,

"...then Pushpasura’s followers haven’t failed."

"They’ve merely lost one group."

"The real danger..."

He looked directly at Devara.

"...may already be walking among the people inside this festival."

The following morning arrived with renewed excitement.

Next Day...

If the first day of the festival had been filled with celebration and trade, the second day was dedicated entirely to art.

Long before sunrise, the villagers had begun decorating every street with fresh flowers gathered from the surrounding forests and fields.

The fragrance of jasmine, lotus, marigold, roses, lilies and countless other blossoms drifted through the air, making the entire village feel like a garden created by the gods themselves.

Colorful banners fluttered gently in the morning breeze while musicians walked through the streets playing cheerful tunes to announce the beginning of the second day of the Flower Blossom Festival.

Unlike the previous day, merchants had opened their stalls much later.

Today, almost everyone’s attention was focused on the grand exhibition.

Artists, gardeners, sculptors and craftsmen from different villages and even neighboring kingdoms had spent months preparing for this single occasion.

Every participant had created magnificent works of art using nothing but flowers, vines, leaves and naturally growing plants.

Some sculptures depicted mighty elephants raising their trunks proudly toward the heavens.

Others recreated peacocks with tails so detailed that from a distance they almost appeared alive.

There were flower chariots, blooming temples, majestic lions, graceful deer drinking from artificial ponds, celestial swans, and even miniature forests crafted entirely from flowers of different colors.

Every few steps, another masterpiece greeted the eyes.

Children ran from one sculpture to another in amazement while elderly visitors admired the patience and dedication required to create such intricate works.

Many artists stood proudly beside their creations, happily explaining the meaning behind each design to curious visitors.

At the center of the exhibition grounds stood a large decorated platform draped in silk and fresh flower garlands.

By sunset, King Padmanabha Varman himself would arrive there to judge every display.

The creator of the finest floral masterpiece would receive a reward of several hundred gold coins.

For nobles, it might not have seemed extraordinary.

But for an ordinary villager...

It was nothing short of life-changing.

With such wealth, a family could purchase fertile farmland, build a proper house, establish a successful business, or ensure that their children would never have to worry about hunger again.

It was the kind of reward capable of changing the course of an entire family’s future if used wisely.

Naturally, every participant hoped that this year their creation would be chosen.

Amidst the lively crowd, two ordinary-looking merchants wandered from one display to another.

One carried himself with quiet confidence.

The other constantly examined every artwork with an experienced merchant’s eye.

They were none other than Devara and Shakuni, still maintaining their disguises.

Neither of them appeared to be in any hurry.

Instead, they moved at an unhurried pace, blending naturally with the sea of visitors.

"This craftsmanship is remarkable,"

Shakuni remarked as he stopped before a life-sized elephant sculpted entirely from white jasmine flowers.

"The artist must have spent weeks arranging these petals."

Devara nodded in agreement.

"It isn’t just the time."

He stepped closer, carefully observing the sculpture without touching it.

"The balance is impressive."

"Even after using fresh flowers, the structure hasn’t collapsed under its own weight."

"The inner framework must have been planned long before the flowers were added."

Shakuni smiled.

"You notice the hidden work before the visible beauty."

Devara chuckled softly.

"That’s usually where the real effort lies."

They continued walking.

A little farther ahead stood a magnificent sculpture of Lord Vishnu reclining upon Adishesha, crafted entirely from blue lotuses, white lilies and golden marigolds.

Visitors stood silently before it, admiring the extraordinary attention to detail.

Even the tiny ornaments had been recreated using carefully arranged flower petals.

Nearby, another artist had recreated the churning of the ocean, complete with devas, asuras, Mount Mandara and Vasuki, all formed using flowers of different colors.

Children stood around it with wide eyes while their parents patiently narrated the ancient tale.

Shakuni couldn’t help smiling.

"The competition this year is much fiercer than I expected."

"It’ll be difficult for the king to choose a winner."

Devara nodded.

"Each piece reflects months of dedication."

"They aren’t merely competing for gold."

"They’re competing to have their work remembered."

As they continued through the exhibition, Devara quietly observed not only the sculptures but also the people gathered around them.

His expression remained relaxed.

To anyone watching, he appeared to be nothing more than a curious merchant enjoying the festival.

Only Shakuni noticed the subtle movements of his eyes.

Every entrance.

Every exit.

Every guard stationed around the exhibition grounds.

Every unfamiliar face lingering a little longer than necessary.

Nothing escaped his attention.

Shakuni lowered his voice.

"You still think they’ll make a move during the festival?"

Without looking at him, Devara answered calmly.

"I don’t know."

"But if I were planning something..."

He glanced toward the crowded exhibition.

"...I’d choose a day like this."

Shakuni followed his gaze.

Thousands of people filled the festival grounds.

The royal family would soon arrive.

The guards, despite their numbers, would have their attention divided between protecting the king and controlling the massive crowd.

It would be the perfect opportunity for someone wishing to remain unnoticed.

Just then, loud drumbeats echoed across the village.

The crowd instinctively turned toward the main road.

"The king is coming!"

someone shouted excitedly.

Within moments, people hurriedly moved aside, creating a wide pathway decorated with flower petals.

Devara and Shakuni exchanged a brief glance before quietly stepping to one side along with everyone else.

The festival’s second day...

Had only just begun.

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(Author note:)

I hope you guys give me your opinion and idea’s.

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