solace || a salaar fanfic

ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ

The children's footsteps echoed throughout the courtyard as the gentle chirping of birds ushered in the dawn. The first one, Varadha, had a blood-red tilak adorning the center of his forehead, and his eyes were lined with dark charcoal. His wrists were decorated with silver, and a nathooni emblazoned his tribe's symbol. The second one, Deva, had a cool fire glowing in his eyes and radiated power. Yet he always had a smile on his face and harbored a strong need to protect his friends . The third one, Manmohini. A girl whose hands bore the mark of silver as well. Her serene demeanor in front of the storm was veiled by the innocence that was bound in her irises.

Manmohini Raja Mannar was the younger sister of Varadha Raja Mannar, the King of Khansar's second son. Their mother, the second queen, had died during childbirth, and a empty void was present in their lives. Yet the clouds of gloom had begun to diminish after the arrival of Deva, and they found a mother presence in Amma. What had started out as the soft flake of acquaintance turned into a lifebound friendship. The darkness plagued in the palace of Khansar was softened in the hearts of the children for the light outside sheltered them.

Varadha and Manmohini had only been walking through the palace when they were abruptly stopped by Rudra and his henchmen. Rudra, who had always harbored a hatred towards these siblings, glared at them. "What right does a dog have among a pack of lions?" he scoffed.

They had grown accustomed to Rudra's taunts, so they chose to ignore them rather than risk upsetting the oldest queen. Looking at their silence, Rudra simply laughed. "What will these disappointments say when their tongue is bound by shame. But how can we blame them? After all, the children always go on their mother."

Manmohini couldn't hold it in anymore. "The children go on their mother you say? Is it why your coward self hides behind those around you. Is it the reason you are currently as useless as you are? Varadha pulled her back just as she was ready to move forward. He was aware that if a dispute got out of hand, they would be the ones to bear the consequences, no matter who was in the right. One could not defy the eldest queen, after all, because her words carried great authority.

Rudra laughed at the foolishness of the younger sibling. His voice echoed, "Don't you dare speak shit about my mother," as his fingers clamped down around her throat. "Compared to her, do you even know where you stand?"

He grabbed Varadha's nathooni and left. Varadha tentatively touched the blood which was dripping from his noise. Manmohini's gaze dropped to the floor. "Sorry Anna, but how could I remain silent when they were insulting us? But now they have gone too far. We will get the nathooni back whether it be true calm or fire."

Tears of frustration brimmed in Varadha's eyes. "We can't Mohini. Who will believe us? Who is even on our side? As much as we may hate Rudra, we can't deny that he's right. No one here cares about us. It's difficult to trust anyone. The palace life may look lavish from afar, but only corrupt politics lies in it."

Manmohini left the conversation there, but the thought that anyhow they must reclaim Varadha's pride remained etched in her head. When they went to Deva, Deva's eyes were filled with rage. "Who did this?" His eyes traveled to Varadha's nose, where the blood marks were still present but there was no nathooni. "Who made this your condition!"

Varadha's gaze fell to the ground, wrestling with the weight of unspoken words. He hesitated, a silent plea in his eyes, not wanting to entangle his friend in the conflict as well. "Please just let it go, Deva," he begged.

Yet, anger swirled in the depths of Deva's eyes, an unyielding fire refusing to be extinguished. "No, Varadha. How can I remain silent when my best friend's honor has been unjustly stripped away? Tell me who it is, and I'll face them with my bare hands." Deva's hand landed on Varadha's shoulder, a pledge of unwavering loyalty. "Just tell me their name."

"That's the problem, Deva. It's Rudra. We can't utter a word against him," Varadha said gravely, the weight of the truth evident in his voice.

Manmohini, the voice of reason, stepped in. "Exactly, Deva. He's the eldest prince. We can't defy him."

"Whether it's a beggar on the street or a prince on a throne, I'll confront either one of them," Deva declared, his resolve echoing through the courtyard like a challenge to the very fabric of fate. He walked to the palace with his two friends trailing behind him. Approaching Rudra, he said, "Give Varadha his nathooni back!"

Rudra, with an air of arrogance, glanced at Deva and let out a mocking laugh. "This is who you brought to support you? Pathetic." He sneered as he looked at what he perceived as Varadha's foolishness, unaware of the massive cost his arrogance would cause.

"You want the nathooni back right? I'll make it simple for you. All you have to do is agree with my terms and I'll give it back. What do you say?" Rudra, ever certain that he would succeed in humiliating Varadha, planned to create a scenario where Deva was guaranteed to lose. "All you have to do is beat my best wrestler."

"No, Deva, you don't know what Rudra will do. Please, Deva," pleaded Manmohini, her voice laced with worry and desperation. Varadha, too, added his voice to the chorus, his words a desperate plea echoing in the courtyard.

But the cries of Manmohini and Varadha went unheard by Deva as he stood resolute, his gaze fixed on Rudra. The fire in his eyes mirrored the unwavering determination that fueled his decision to accept the challenge and confront the injustice head-on.

Deva's response was a calm yet firm nod, a silent assurance that he had made up his mind. Manmohini and Varadha exchanged glances, their concern deepening as they realized the magnitude of the impending clash. The atmosphere in the courtyard became charged with a mixture of tension and anticipation, as the trio braced themselves for what would happen.

Rudra's wrestler entered with his muscular build, and looked at the kid who he was supposed to fight. "Go away kid, this arena is for fighters only. Someone like you has no place here." He began to turn back and walk away.

Deva kicked the makeshift stand behind him and a glass bottle fell from it, shattering on the floor. This angered the wrestler, thus initating the fight. He countered each blow with precision, gradually wearing down the wrestler. Varadha and Manmohini, watching from the sidelines, held their breaths, hoping for a favorable outcome.

As the struggle ensued, a hanging cord caught Deva's attention, and with a swift grasp, he found himself entangled in a shocking surge of electricity. Undeterred, he unleashed a powerful punch that sent both combatants crashing to the ground.

Rushing to Deva's side, Varadha and Manmohini shook him awake, their urgent pleas cutting through the lingering echoes of battle. "Deva! Deva!" Varadha called, a desperate attempt to bring his friend back to consciousness.

Deva, his head bearing the evidence of a bloody encounter, lifted his gaze. "Did he fall?" he inquired, a mixture of confusion and concern etched on his face. Varadha and Manmohini turned their gaze to the fallen wrestler, now defeated, battered, and bruised.

Deva turned to Rudra and this time repeated what he had said initially. "Give me the nathooni." Rudra, shocked and fearful of what he had just witnessed, quickly gave it to him and walked away from there. Muttering under his breath, he said, "what a maniac."

And that was true. Devaratha was the maniac of khansar.

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!ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴠᴏᴛᴇ!

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