THE YODHA -7, THE VARMAS, THE SERPENT

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.