The Lost Dynasty

Chapter 1

{Authors note: The story is fiction based none of it is in used on historical figures or events.}

beep
BEEP
BEEEEEP!

"KYDA WAKE UP!"

The loud, echoing voice pierced into Kyda's eardrums.
She pulled her wrinkled bedsheets over her head in an attempt to block out the soundwaves.

However...

"KYDAAAA!"

She groans in defeat as she sits up, to witness a sore sight of herself in her dressing table mirror from across her room, presenting a nest on her head. "I'M UP!... jeez".
Her body felt heavy—each movement a chore—but there was no choice. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, the cool touch of the floor meeting her feet like a shock. Barely conscious, she forced herself to slip on her socks, their fabric rough against her skin. The weight of another exhausting day already pressed down on her shoulders as she shuffled toward the stairs, dragging her feet like a woman already at the end of her rope.
Another day to survive.

She came down to be greeted by the scent of Dosa accompanied by Tomato Chutney teasing around her nose.
With this delectable aroma floating in the air, it could mean one thing.
Nani (grandma) is cooking breakfast today... better than typical toast and tea.
Her eyes lingered on the oak table, worn smooth by years of use, its rectangle shape a reminder of the empty space it once held. Four chairs, neatly arranged, all in their places—except for one.
Only three would be filled today.
She paused before sitting down, the absence at the table echoing louder than any words could. It was a wound too fresh to ignore, still raw, still bleeding. She had never realised how much that fourth chair had come to mean until now.

Kyda stared at the empty seat where her Nana (grandfather) would have sat with his Kashmir Times newspaper in his hands, which he would've got from his 5 am walk when walking past the local corner shop. His little spectacles would have been slightly hanging from the bridge of his nose. He complained about how everyone was corrupt these days. To her, it sounded like a conspiracy, but it granted answers to the unknown; it gave a sense of closure.
Kyda always had some banter with him as he sipped his chai.

Kyda barely had time to register her mother's entrance before the sharp tone cut through the air. "Kyda, why aren't you dressed? You're going to make us late."
Her mother swept into the kitchen, a whirlwind of authority, swift with her movements as she went by Nani (Grandma) and obstructing objects that would affect her efficiency. She adjusted her hijab with practised precision, threading a decorative gold pin through the folds, the cold gleam of it catching the light. The motion was deliberate, exact—like everything else in her life. Each action was a quiet declaration of control, of the unspoken rule that she was the one who kept this household on its feet.
Her gaze flicked to Kyda, a silent command to move faster. As she fastened the pin securely, her words turned to rant, the familiar, sharp rhythm of her frustrations filling the air.

"Why do I always end up with the most disastrous rulers?" Her mother's voice was dripping with disdain as if the very mention of the emperor was beneath her. She poured herself a fresh pot of chai from the kettle boiling on the stove, the steam rising in delicate curls. The rich, spicy, aromatic scent of the tea filled the room, and she inhaled it slowly, almost absentmindedly, before taking a sip, savouring the warmth.
"Look at him," her mother continued, her tone sharp, as though she were discussing a fool who had failed in the most obvious way. "A man who had everything—a vast empire, resources at his disposal—and yet he drove it all into the ground. His arrogance was staggering. Rather than preparing for the inevitable war with the Marathas, he ignored it. Wrapped up in his own self-importance, unable to see the bigger picture." She took another sip of chai as she scrolled through her phone, reviewing her latest email. the bitterness of the tea seemed to match the bitterness in her voice. "The Mughal fall? That was his doing. He couldn't even recognize his own failures."
The queen of multitaskers, she always engrossed herself deep in her work; Kyda always wondered if she ever had time to mourn for her own father, but Kyda couldn't recall.

Kyda stayed sat at the table, keeping her gaze fixed on the surface, deliberately avoiding her mother's eyes. She rolled her eyes, but only in the privacy of her own thoughts, ensuring that her mother wouldn't catch the movement. For a moment, she considered responding but held herself back. It wasn't worth it. Not today. Not when she knew that any challenge to her mother's words would only escalate the tension. She knew this routine all too well—the silent treatment, the biting remarks, the cold stares that followed any form of defiance.
But after a beat, Kyda, to lighten the mood, muttered, "Could've been worse... you could've gotten Hitler."

The silence that followed was instantaneous. Her mother's gaze snapped toward her, cold and unreadable.
It was clear now. Two things happened when Kyda tried to joke in this house: either no one would laugh—or something worse would happen.

1. An unnecessary lecture begins
2. You become the joke (not in a funny way)
3. They disregard the joke and devalue your words in the future, AKA- you and words will be now and forever meaningless

"This is really important to me, so please just don't", she snapped, her patience thin today.

Kyda leaned back in her chair, not answering as she stared at her mother's PhD, Islamic Studies and History diploma that was framed on the wall across from her. If there was any sun in the UK, its light would shine on the glass frame, blinding her, another reminder that her mother is on an unreachable level that she can never reach.

Her Nani plated her Dosa in front of her, a great distraction.
She looked up to meet her Nani eyes. A smile tugged at her lips, but her eyes, heavy with grief from losing both her husband and best friend,
Kyda missed her Nana (Grandfather), too.
They all did.

"Khao"
(Translation: eat up)

Kyda nodded with a meek smile plastered on her face and ate while Nani poured tea for herself and accidentally another for Nana. Her own actions restyled her to freeze while pouring, realising she had done it again. Kyda stopped eating and faced her Nani noticing her eyes were becoming glossy.
Her mother noticed and came towards the table and took the spare tea. "Shukriya" (translation: thank you) before proceeding to take sips of another cup of tea, not like it was unusual. She was always high on her caffeine. Her mother diverted her attention to Kyda, "Get dressed already".

Kyda looked at her mother during the process of devouring her breakfast, "I'm going, I'm going".
She soon ran back upstairs to change into casual high-waisted baggy jeans with an oversized basic sweater. She sat on her bedroom floor to tie up her black high tops Converse and soon grabbed her university backpack from her desk along with her phone and earbuds.
She then went back to the kitchen to kiss her Nani's cheek "Khuda Hafiz Nani" (translation: goodbye grandma)
"Allah hafiz", her grandmother responded.
(Translation: May God keep you safe).
Her mother did the same before they got into her reliable Toyota.

"Ammi (mum), how long do I have to be there?" Kyda spoke in an unenthusiastic manner. Her mother started to drive and pulled out of the driveway. "You can drop the attitude, Kyda. You postponed Uni twice; you need to do something with your life". Kyda pressed her head against the car window, reluctantly listening. "You need to start pulling your own weight...you're just lucky to have a mother who works and is respected and got you this opportunity ".

After a 20-minute car journey that felt like an eternity the big city traffic blared and reigned with its morning rush chaos.
They were walking up the white stone staircase entrance to the museum.
RING RING... RING RING
Kyda pulled out her phone, hoping it would be hers, but...

"Dr Mahmood speaking"

Kyda turned around to see it was her mother's.
How embarrassing.
"Yes, yes, I'm here... I'll be in the office in two minutes" She hung up and grabbed onto Kyda's wrist, dragging her up the staircase and into the grand entrance hall.
Freshly polished wooden chequered floors produce that fresh chemical scent from its cleaning product.
Limestone walls are carved with arches and pillars, maintaining its beauty from its previous owners from centuries ago.
And in the very centre was an old oak reception circular desk with a computer set up from the early 2000s.
Ruined the whole atmosphere, not very demure of those who planted that there.

"Talk about ancient," Kyda muttered under her breath as she scanned the monitor. Just then, a woman in her late twenties with wild, frizzy hair that cascaded in untamed waves like an artist's messy brushstroke popped up from beneath the desk. She wore a loose, flowing blouse and layered jewellery, her eyes framed by oversized glasses that gave her an air of eccentric wisdom.
"It is pretty old," the woman replied to her voice light but tinged with a knowing smile.
Kyda jolted back. "Woa" her mother was behind her "Priscilla, this is my daughter, Kyda, your assistant"
Priscilla stood as straight as a pencil. "Good Morning, Dr Mahmood". Kyda realised she was most likely to be a kiss-up. "Kyda, you will help our receptionist, Priscilla, with any jobs that need to be done".

An assistant to a receptionist?
When has there ever been an assistant to a receptionist?

"I have to restore the 67th Emperor before the exhibition opens, so don't disturb me unless you are in a life-or-death situation" Dr Mahmood was going through stress as she rummaged through her purse.
"The 67th Emperor? Oh, he was known to be a malignant widow maker. Children were frightened of him coming into their rooms and abducting them to place them into wars and to fight for him. I believe he reigned from 1785" She smiled like what she said was small talk, but she was clearly passionate about what Kyda's mother does.

Definitely a kiss-up.

"Do you have your lunch that Nani packed?" Her mother blatantly asked as she took no interest in what Priscilla had to say.
Kyda's body conveyed sheepishness. "I'm not a child; I can make my own lunch", her mother crossed her arms, knowing well she didn't bring it. "Here are five pounds for you to eat at the canteen. None of the meats is halal" Her mother gave Kyda five pounds in her hands and soon left without a trace, leaving her with the Tesco version of Professor Trelawney.
━━━━━━༻✧༺━━━━━━
Kyda was sitting at the reception desk with Priscilla, eating her tuna sandwich while watching "The Office" on Netflix.
"What are you studying?" Priscilla asked as their eyes were still glued to the monitor. "I'm not", she responded bluntly, masking her shame as she was in her early 20s.
She faced Priscilla as she soon realised, she may have been a bit harsh.
Kyda placed her sandwich on the desk. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be... harsh... I'm just having a hard time" She sipped her can of coke.
Priscilla was drinking her orange juice. "Totally get it, Uni is not for everyone, I mean, look at me with a degree in arcology, and I am a receptionist watching everyone else do what I went into debt for". Kyda faced the monitor again. "Damn... at least you got a degree" Kyda's body tensed up as she sensed this conversation was getting too sentimental and personal between two people who just met. "Is that why you're so nice to my mum? To get a chance to do what she does, because with my advice, I suggest you give up now.
Priscilla just laughed but it didn't seem to be forced. "No, no, it's just how I am, I believe you treat people the way you want to be treated, and it will be delivered".
As Priscilla delivered a detailed speech about krama and saving society with kindness, as it was TedTalk material, Kyda's eyes skimmed past Priscilla's ear and spotted a small group of high schoolers sneaking past their reception desk and towards an off-limits room.

Kyda shot up from her seat, a spark of adrenaline lighting her up. "HEY!" she yelled, but the group of high schoolers didn't even glance back. They kept charging forward, their reckless speed only fuelling her determination.
"Call security—I'm gonna after them!" Kyda snapped to Priscilla, her heart already racing as she dashed toward the off-limits renovated exhibit. It was packed with construction materials for the next exhibition, but none of that mattered now.
This was the kind of thrill she'd been waiting for all week.

The adrenaline running down her veins
Soon enough, she found herself in the middle of a maze filled with artefacts with a dust cloth and large wooden crates.
"COME OUT, YOU NOT ALLOWED HERE!" obviously, there was no answer.

She exhaled heavily as she was apathetic to the whole situation. In enervation, she leans her arm against the wall and close to a glass box containing an extravagant, extortionate royal pattilu (traditional anklet). She glanced at the plaque next to the relic:

The Chamakna-Ghanta Pattilu (The Glowing Bells Anklet)

Crafted by the most esteemed jeweler of the Mughal Empire, this exquisite anklet was designed for the elite women of the high court, where it was worn as a symbol of status and grace. The Chamakna-Ghanta Pattilu is one of the last pieces personally designed by the final Mughal Emperor, intended as a gift for his beloved. Tragically, the Emperor and his intended bride never had the chance to unite in matrimony, as both passed before they could seal their love. This anklet remains a poignant testament to their unfulfilled bond.

"Tackey", Kyda announced her opinion before turning on her heels to leave. She noticed one artefact that wasn't covered with a dust cloth, and it shimmered in the sun from the skylight.
It was an antique trunk.
The golden carving was shimmering as the Jewels, such as emeralds, rubies, and sapphires, projected their colours into the dull room.
Kyda was just awed by its craftsmanship. As she travelled closer and closer to get an in-depth look, she realised there was a gold lion, accompanied by the sun, on the clasp of the lock.
After analysing the gold object, she managed to identify it as the symbol of the Mughal Empire.

I guess being a daughter of a historian does have its perks.

Of course, she would do a more in-depth inspection.
She opens the lid of the trunk and leans in to find more detailed carvings within the chest.
Suddenly, she lost her balance on her feet and fell into the trunk and got locked in from the outside "WHAT THE-" she was interrupted midway through her rage "I TRAPPED HER, LET'S GO!" the young delinquent cheered in victory.
Kyda was banging from the inside with her bare fist. "HEY, LET ME OUT NOW!!!!"

{Authors note: this is a rewritten update version as my grammer and spelling has been improved.

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