Shadow of redemption

Rakshit's morning

Rakshit woke up before dawn, as always. The penthouse was silent, dark, and cold—just like the life he led. Reaching for  Nightfang  under his pillow, he set it aside and got out of bed. His body was still aching from the fight the night before, but he ignored the pain. This was his routine.

He moved to the large windows, staring out at the city still blanketed in the early morning blue. Slowly, the first rays of sunlight began to break through the darkness, casting a soft glow over the skyline. For a brief moment, Rakshit watched the sunrise, feeling an odd sense of peace, but it quickly faded. Turning away, he began his morning as usual.

Rakshit’s gym was his personal sanctuary. Here, he pushed himself to the limit every morning. He started with weights—deadlifts, bench presses, squats—moving with intense focus and precision. His muscles strained and sweat poured off him, but he embraced the burn. It was the only pain he could control. After lifting, he shifted to combat drills, throwing punches into the air, each strike carrying his frustrations and anger.

By the time he finished, his body was exhausted, but his mind was clear. After a quick shower, he headed to the kitchen. Despite the luxury around him, Rakshit always made his own breakfast. He prepared something simple: egg whites, toast, and black coffee. The silence in the penthouse was heavy as he sat down to eat, alone as always.

The food didn’t interest him much. He took a sip of his coffee, staring out at the now fully lit city. He had everything—power, wealth, control over an empire—but none of it eased the emptiness that came with it. The penthouse, despite its extravagance, felt more like a prison than a home.

Finishing his breakfast, Rakshit stood and looked out the window once more. The day had begun, and so had his duties. But no matter how much power he held over the world, he couldn’t escape the loneliness that came with it

After finishing his breakfast, Rakshit walked into his sleek, minimalist living room. The penthouse, with its cold steel and glass design, reflected the isolation he carried within. As he settled into the black leather armchair, his mind was already shifting from personal thoughts to business.

Moments later, Raj walked in, his face calm but serious as always. "Boss, we’ve got a meeting today," Raj said, standing straight. "It’s with Virendra Agarwal."

Rakshit raised an eyebrow. Virendra Agarwal had once been a big name in the underworld, but over the past few years, he’d made a public shift to becoming a respected businessman with a legal empire in real estate and logistics. But Rakshit, and most of the criminal world, knew the truth—Virendra hadn’t entirely left his old ways behind.

"What does Agarwal want?" Rakshit asked, taking a slow sip from his coffee mug.

Raj stepped closer. "He’s under some heat. He’s still involved in illegal arms deals and laundering money through his legal businesses. The authorities are starting to notice, but they don’t have enough evidence yet. He needs our help to clean up before things get out of control."

Rakshit leaned back, his cold eyes narrowing. "Set up the meeting in the office. Let’s hear what he has to say."