...❤️🇵‌🇴‌🇻‌- 🇦‌🇺‌🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌🇷‌❤️...

The air smelled of rain and rusted metal.

Vardhanapuram’s streets, slick with the remnants of an evening downpour, glowed under flickering streetlights. The monsoon had come early this year, bringing with it the scent of damp earth and the quiet whispers of secrets lurking in the shadows. Somewhere in the distance, the haunting melody of a flute drifted through the air, blending seamlessly with the hum of the restless city.

Sathya tightened her jacket as she stepped out of her bookstore, The Lost Verse, onto the empty pavement. It wasn’t just a bookstore—it was her sanctuary, her carefully built facade of normalcy. During the day, she sold forgotten poetry and rare manuscripts to university students and old souls seeking solace in words. But by night, she was something else.

A seeker. A hunter.

Tonight was no different.

She glanced at the crumpled paper in her hand. A name. A location. A whisper passed through the city's underground network. Govind Raj, a government contractor with a taste for dirty money, was about to die.

And Sathya needed to know why.

The alley behind Kaveri Sweets was dark, the only illumination coming from the faint glow of a neon sign above the shop’s entrance. The scent of deep-fried jalebis mixed strangely with the putrid stench of garbage.

Sathya pressed herself against the cold brick wall, steadying her breath. The tip she had received wasn’t specific—only that Govind Raj would meet someone here tonight. Someone important. Someone dangerous.

A sleek black car pulled into the alley, its headlights cutting through the gloom. Two men stepped out first—bodyguards, judging by the way their hands hovered near their concealed weapons. Then came Govind Raj himself, a stout man in his fifties, his balding head glistening with sweat despite the night’s chill.

And then, another figure emerged from the shadows.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in black. His presence was commanding, effortless. Sathya couldn’t see his face clearly, but she felt the shift in the air around him. A man accustomed to power.

The conversation was brief.

A suitcase exchanged hands. A muttered warning.

And then—

The sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the night.

Govind Raj’s body jerked violently before crumpling onto the wet ground, blood pooling beneath him.

Sathya’s breath caught in her throat. This wasn’t just an exchange. It was an execution.

The shooter turned slightly, stepping into the dim light. And that was when Sathya saw him.

Her stomach twisted.

Aryan Varma.

The golden prince of Vardhanapuram. The heir to the Varma political dynasty.

A man who shouldn’t have been here. A man who shouldn’t have just killed someone in cold blood.

And he saw her.

Their eyes locked for a fraction of a second—enough for realization to dawn on both of them.

Then, he moved.

Sathya turned on her heel and ran.

She knew these streets better than anyone. The narrow gullies, the sudden drop-offs near the riverbanks, the hidden doors leading to forgotten tunnels. But Aryan was fast, too fast. His footsteps echoed behind her, steady, unrelenting.

Her pulse pounded in her ears as she turned sharply into another alley—only to find a dead end.

Damn it.

She whirled around, ready to fight, but Aryan was already there, his hand gripping her wrist before she could strike.

“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice low, dangerous.

Sathya met his gaze, her breath still unsteady. “Let me go.”

He didn’t. Instead, his fingers tightened, not in aggression, but in calculation. He was studying her, searching for recognition.

And that’s when she saw it—the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

He didn’t know who she was.

Good.

Sathya twisted sharply, breaking free from his grip, and with a quick movement, she drove her knee into his side. He grunted but didn’t fall. Instead, he smirked.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” he murmured, stepping closer.

Neither was I, she thought.

Before he could grab her again, she turned and sprinted down the alley, vanishing into the maze of Vardhanapuram.

Back at The Lost Verse, Sathya locked the door behind her, pressing her back against the wooden frame. Her hands were shaking, but her mind was already working.

Aryan Varma just murdered someone in cold blood. But why? Was he following orders? Was he covering up a deeper conspiracy? Or was he something worse?

She moved to her desk, opening the old wooden drawer where she kept her secrets. Pulling out a faded photograph, she traced her fingers over the edges.

A child. A woman. A man standing behind them, his face blurred with time.

The only fragment of a past she couldn’t remember.

And beneath the photograph, engraved into the paper like a ghost—

The mark of "The Serpent."

Sathya exhaled slowly.

This was no coincidence.

Vardhanapuram was a city of tangled fates. And now, hers was caught in its crimson threads.

...❤️‍🔥To be continued......

The next morning, Sathya woke up to the soft rays of sunlight sneaking through a crack in her curtain. Her head felt heavy, and as she sat up, she noticed she was still wearing the same clothes from the day before. The disheveled state of her outfit reflected the tension and confusion that had clouded her mind since last night.

With a sigh and an unsettled heart, she rose from her small, creaky bed. Her room was simple, yet cozy, filled with stacks of books and faded photographs that lined the shelves and walls. A modest closet stood by the corner, next to a tiny but functional kitchen. From her room, she could also see the narrow hallway leading to a neat little bathroom, the tiles slightly worn but well-kept.

She was staying on the first floor of The Lost Verse, a bookstore that meant everything to her. It wasn't just a place of work; it was her sanctuary.

Opening her bedroom window, a cool breeze swept in from the nearby Kaveri River, carrying with it the earthy scent of water and morning dew. Her feather-cut hair fluttered wildly in the wind, stray strands playfully covering her deep brown eyes. She brushed them aside, revealing the small but striking mole just above her soft, rosy lips—the feature that often stood out the most.

"Good morning, Sachu didi!" a chorus of cheerful voices called out from below.

She looked down to see a group of school kids in their uniforms, their faces lit up with excitement as they waved at her.

“Good morning, little ones! Have a great day!” she replied, flashing a bright, heartfelt smile.

This street, the river, the neighborhood—it was all stitched into the fabric of her life, filling a void in her heart left long ago.

“Alright, time to work,” Sathya whispered to herself, trying to shake off the lingering heaviness from her restless sleep. She quickly freshened up and moved on with her morning chores, tidying her small space before heading downstairs.

With practiced ease, she unlocked the door of The Lost Verse, flipping the sign to ‘OPEN’ and setting out a small display of handpicked books at the entrance. The scent of old pages and fresh coffee filled the air, a comforting blend that always welcomed visitors.

"I hope today will be a good day," she murmured softly, tapping the brass ‘Open’ plaque on the door as if for luck.

Just as she stepped behind the counter, a warm and familiar voice greeted her.

“Good morning, sweety.”

She turned to see Karan uncle, a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a gentle smile, walking in with his usual energy.

“Karan uncle… you’re early again,” she teased playfully.

“Yes, yes… I know,” he chuckled, waving her off as he made his way to his usual seat behind the old, polished counter. Despite being the owner, he let Sathya handle most of the front work.

After all, The Lost Verse was more than just a shop—it was a hub for the people of Vardhanapuram’s 3rd Street. College students, book lovers, teachers, and even retired civil servants found their way to this haven. For Sathya, it was home in every sense of the word.

After losing her parents at a young age, it was Karan uncle, once a government clerk, who stepped in to raise her. When Sathya left for college, Karan retired from service and poured his savings into opening this bookstore. Together, they built it into what it was today.

“How are your studies going?” Karan uncle asked with sincere interest, adjusting his glasses as he sipped on his morning tea.

“They’re going well,” Sathya replied with a soft smile. She was currently focusing on completing her degree through an open university, balancing her studies with her job here.

As the clock struck 10:00 AM, the familiar ding of the entrance bell signaled the start of her shift. The day flowed as usual—pleasant greetings, light chatter, and the soothing shuffle of pages being flipped.

“Sachu! How are you today?” another regular customer greeted her with a wide grin.

“I’m doing fine!” Sathya replied, engaging in another warm conversation. Everything seemed normal, calm, and filled with the usual sense of community and routine.

But no one knew the truth.

No one knew about the shadows that lingered behind the welcoming walls of The Lost Verse. A secret, sinister thread wove quietly behind the scenes, hidden from the eyes of the customers who found comfort here.

Far from the bookstore, in a dimly lit office, a chilling scene unfolded.

--------------------------------------------

“I need to find her,” a low, dangerous voice snarled as a delicate flower vase shattered on the floor.

“Young master, please… calm down. We are doing everything we can,” a man in a formal suit pleaded, his voice trembling with fear.

“You call this everything?” the young master roared, grabbing the man by the collar and yanking him forward.

“You have no idea who I am or what I’ve sacrificed. Everything was in place, everything was perfect… until that girl interfered!” His voice was venomous, burning with rage.

He shoved the man aside with ease, sending him stumbling.

“Yes, master… we’ll double the efforts,” the shaken subordinate stammered.

“Get out!” the young master growled.

Without another word, the room emptied, leaving the furious man alone. His chest heaved as he clenched his fists. The flickering light above him cast sharp shadows across his face.

He walked over to a large mirror, staring at his reflection as though searching for control.

Then his mind drifted back to that alley—the night of the chase. The chaos, the adrenaline. And her.

He could still picture her clearly—the burning intensity in her brown eyes, the way her hair framed her face, and that unmistakable mole above her lips. The memory of his hand brushing against her waist, the feel of her warmth, made his pulse quicken.

“I’ll find you,” Aryan muttered darkly, a twisted smirk curling on his lips.

Soon.

❤️‍🔥To be continued...

THE MYSTERIOUS MURDER OF GOVIND RAJ

POLICE LAUNCH AN INTENSE INVESTIGATION

The bold headline stared back at Sathya like a challenge, daring her to stay passive. She took a slow sip of her steaming coffee, fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic cup, as if grounding herself in its warmth. The bitter edge of the brew matched the bitterness rising in her chest.

Her sanctuary—The Lost Verse, Vardhanapuram’s most loved secondhand bookstore and café—hummed with life. The mingling scents of espresso and aged parchment, the gentle rustle of pages, and the subdued hum of quiet conversations usually calmed her.

Not today.

Today, every sound felt amplified. Every face, a blur. Her smile, an empty reflex.

She folded the newspaper slowly, eyes lingering on the final line of the article:

> “Govind Raj, government contractor   found murdered in his own home. Suspected foul play. No arrests made yet.”

The same city, the same rot. The wolves had returned.

Her gaze wandered, landing on a grainy photograph accompanying the article—Govind’s lifeless body, eyes wide open in a final scream. Rage churned in her belly.

Vardhanapuram, a city of dual faces. Glimmering with promise on the outside, festering with secrets inside. And two names ruled its dark heart:

THE VARMA DYNASTY

A political empire wrapped in wealth, worshipped by the public, feared by the press. For generations, the Varmas had been kings disguised as elected officials. Schools bore their names. Roads, too. But behind the smiling posters and ribbon-cutting ceremonies were files of silenced voices, crushed protests, and hidden graves.

THE SERPENT

An underworld so vast and sophisticated it blurred the lines between government and crime. From drug trafficking and weapon smuggling to human trade and political assassinations—they were the shadows beneath every deal. No one knew the Serpent’s true leader. Only the mark they left behind—an ouroboros, etched into bodies like a signature.

And now both powers were converging again.

On the streets. In the alleys. In her life.

Sathya’s thoughts were broken by a warm voice, heavy with concern.

“Is everything okay, sweety?”

Karan uncle.

He always addressed her that way—sweety—but his eyes had the weight of a war general. Gruff, wise, and unreadable.

She gave him the smile she’d practiced all her life. “Just tired, uncle.”

But he didn’t move. He knew her too well. “You saw the headline. Didn’t you?”

She nodded, slowly.

“I had a feeling.” He lowered his voice, leaning in. “There’s movement in the city. People are being watched again. Like the old days.”

The old days.

Back when justice didn’t come from courtrooms. Back when their kind moved through shadows to balance the scales.

Because The Lost Verse was no ordinary bookstore.

It was the outer shell of a powerful secret—the headquarters of Nyaya Yodha.

An ancient order formed centuries ago by kings and warriors who saw corruption eating away at justice. Over generations, it evolved. Now it operated as an underground syndicate of retired police officers, rogue intelligence agents, whistleblowers, and select civilians trained in combat, espionage, and investigation.

Sathya was one of its youngest prodigies.

Sharp, strategic, fearless.

Chosen.

She was raised in justice. Baptized in fire. And now, sent to clean the mess the law dared not touch.

She didn’t need confirmation. She already knew what came next. She felt it—

The shift in the air. The electric tension of an incoming storm.

Karan uncle reached into his coat, subtly sliding a small, encrypted pager across the counter.

It blinked twice. Mission activated.

As she took it, her eyes drifted back to the paper—and then froze.

ARYAN VARMA.

The last name on Earth she wanted to see again.

Her mind flared back to the night before. The rooftop. The chase. The momentary struggle that ended in a standoff, only inches between them.

The fire in his eyes. The grip of his hand around her waist. The shock when their eyes met.

So it was him.

The crown prince of the Varma empire. The heir to Vardhanapuram’s throne of power.

And now, he was on her trail?

Sathya’s lips curled into a dangerous smirk.

“Good. Let him come.”

Let the hunter stalk the huntress.

But she would not run. She never did.

She would do what Nyaya Yodha had trained her to do.

She would dismantle corruption. Piece by piece. Blood for blood.

By nightfall, the shop was dark. The last book returned to its shelf. The bell over the door echoed one final time before she locked it, flipping the sign to CLOSED.

Her phone buzzed. Secure message.

Location: West Fort.

Target: Aravind Roy.

Status: Eliminate.

She knew that name.

Aravind Roy—a bureaucrat with blood money in his veins. Minister Rana’s right hand. The fixer behind every forged contract, every displaced family, every bribe and murder that couldn’t be traced.

Tonight, justice would reach him.

She climbed the narrow staircase to her apartment above the store. Moonlight cut through the blinds, casting shadows on the floor. From a concealed panel beneath the wooden floorboard, she retrieved a lockbox.

Inside:

A black custom pistol, silenced.

Compact knives.

Night vision contact lenses.

A dossier marked in red: TOP SECRET.

She pulled on her black leather jacket. Tightened her boots. Slid her weapons into place with cold precision.

In the mirror, she wasn’t Sathya the bookstore owner anymore.

She was YODHA 7.

Nyaya’s silent sword.

She clicked the safety off and whispered into the night:

“Mr. Aravind Roy... your countdown starts now.”

And with that, she disappeared into the neon-slick streets of Vardhanapuram.

The game was on.

And this time, she wasn’t playing by the rules.

...❤️‍🔥To be continued......