The Ultimate Power

[Welcome to the YAKSHA. To proceed, voice confirmation required.]

"Thaya Jaeger," I muttered, my voice raspy from lack of sleep.

[Welcome, Your Highness. How shall I help you today?]

"Scan the targets on the field," I commanded, staring at the holographic display. "Tell me the headcount."

[Scanning... Over 3,000 individuals identified as hostile targets, Your Highness.]

"Are we capable of eliminating them with the drones?"

[Yes, Your Highness. We are. Shall I initiate deployment?]

"Do it."

[300 drones deployed. Engaging targets.]

I leaned back, watching the cold, blue lights of the interface flicker. "Keep me updated,"

A moment of silence passed—a silence where thousands of lives ended in a symphony of silent electricity.

[Targets destroyed, Your Highness.]

"Good," I whispered. It was a victory, yet it tasted like ash. This was the first artificial strike on the Bellugian troops. It gave us the advantage; I didn't want to waste the lives of my people on the battlefield just to satisfy the arrogance of the Bellugian lords.

However, my general didn't share my relief.

"It should have been our men with swords and guns, humiliating those morons. Not these... AI toys, My Lord," Elvis grumbled. As the commander of my personal guard, the 'Jaegerists,' he lived by a code of steel and blood.

"You're right, Elvis. It would be more 'honorable,'" I said, turning to him. "But I refuse to attend a thousand funerals just to play a game with the Bellugians."

Elvis sighed, his armor clinking as he shifted his weight. "I see, My Lord. You’re frustrated. It’s been nothing but war since the day you took the crown."

"I was a war-time Prince, Elvis. Now I am a war-time King. But I refuse to let my children inherit this curse. I have to settle this."

"We could secure that future by wiping Kayodh off the map," Elvis said, a sly, dark smile tugging at his lips. His father had been killed by Bellugians years ago; his heart was a furnace of cold revenge.

"You want blood, Elvis. But the people aren't their politicians. They're innocent."

"You’re kind, My Lord. You aren't like your father."

"I’m not him," I replied, sitting across from him at a small table. "But I’m just as brilliant. Care for a match?"

"I won't go easy on you."

We began to move the chess pieces, but our minds weren't on the wooden board. We were playing with real pawns and bishops on a much larger map.

"What worries me," I said, sliding a knight forward, "is my standing with the Kalyans. If the Bellugians plot against me, the Kalyans might be the tipping point."

"The Kalyans are different," Elvis countered, eyes locked on the board. "They hunger for dominance, and their ideology is the polar opposite of the Bellugians. They won't unite. Besides, your aunt is married to their Emperor. That makes them family. Why worry?"

He moved his queen, trapping my bishop. A clever plot.

"I see what you’re doing, Elvis. I’ll settle for a stalemate tonight."

"It’s not entirely possible, My Lord," he laughed, but the sound didn't reach my ears. My heart felt heavy, rigid. I was worried about my wife, my children—what would happen if I didn't make it out of this war?

"I see a spark in Raya, My Lord," Elvis said suddenly.

I froze. The tutors had always avoided my son because of his... unsettling nature. "A spark? What do you mean?"

"I grew up with you," Elvis said, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of genuine fear in his eyes. "I know your weaknesses. But Raya... he isn't a normal Jaeger."

"Maybe it’s his mother’s side? The Aryans are a mysterious people."

"No," Elvis whispered. "The girl is normal, like you. But the boy... he is something else entirely."

The weight of his words followed me all the way back to my chambers. My wife greeted me with a gentle smile, her sky-pointing ears twitching—a sign of her Aryan heritage..

"You’re late," she teased. "I searched the whole palace for you."

"I was with Elvis," I said, watching her move. "Have you eaten?"

"We ate early. Rayan was starving, and Rishi is already fast asleep."

She served me dinner—a fine dish that smelled of home. She was the best cook I knew, but I couldn't help but tease her. "Aryans certainly have a 'fine' pair of hands for labor."

She flared up instantly. "You and your ego! You never appreciate anything!"

I let out a loud laugh, the first real one all day. "Don't be mad. You’re beautiful when you're angry."

"Shut up!" she snapped, though her eyes softened.

I waited until the mood settled before asking, "Tell me... do Aryans have supernatural powers? 

 "Why ask now? Planning to declare war on my people too, darling?"

"Of course not. I'm just curious."

"There is... a story," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "A prophecy. That a Prophet will come bearing a lost power called 'Arki Khun' He will begin the 'Darma Yatra'—a holy war to reclaim the galaxy."

"Arki Khun? Who is it?"

"The son of God, who will descend from the skies and help us all to salvation." She looked tired, the weight of the legend draining her.

"Let's sleep," I said softly. "We've had enough of wars for one day."

The lights went out, but the darkness brought no peace. My mind stayed awake, spinning around that one word. Arki khun

~ To be continued.