Irrfan Khan Chandrakanta -

She hugged him tighter. “And the magic?”

“You already know,” she said, not looking up. Her voice was calm, like his. “The tilism calls to me, Father. I can feel it beneath the fort. It’s not a labyrinth. It’s a cage. For something they put inside our bloodline.” irrfan khan chandrakanta

Veerendra descended into the tilism alone. Not as a king. Not as a warrior. But as a father. He walked through corridors of shifting mirrors, each one reflecting not his face, but his regrets: the sorcerer he had executed begging for mercy, his wife screaming as the curse took her mind, a young Chandrakanta asking, “Why don’t you ever laugh, Papa?” She hugged him tighter

The labyrinth screamed. Mirrors shattered. The magic feeding on his fear dissolved. On the surface, Tej Singh’s aaina army flickered and vanished. The tilism crumbled into harmless dust. “The tilism calls to me, Father

For twenty years, it worked. His people were fed. His borders were quiet.