Chapter 9: The Rise of the Tiger
The halls of Chozhapuram Palace had never felt this quiet.
Arinjaya stood in the great chamber where the Chola kings of old had once held court. The towering pillars, carved with the stories of Rajendra Chola’s naval conquests, seemed to watch him with silent expectation. The walls, inlaid with gold and lapis lazuli, shimmered under the warm glow of oil lamps, their flickering light casting elongated shadows.
For the first time in his life, he stood here not as a reluctant prince, but as the ruler of Mayilnadu.
The weight of it settled on his shoulders. Not as a burden, but as a responsibility.
A small brass urn sat on the dais before him. Within it were the ashes of Rudrajit—his cousin, his enemy, and once, his brother in all but name.
He had debated whether to honor Rudrajit with the rites of the ancestors. Many had argued against it. But in the end, Arinjaya had chosen to honor the boy he had once known, not the man he had become.
He knelt before the urn, bowing his head.
“You could have been a great king,” Arinjaya murmured. “You could have been so much more. I only wish you had seen it.”
The air in the chamber was still. A faint breeze stirred the oil lamps, though the great doors remained closed.
A whisper of an old voice in his mind:
“A leader carries the past, but does not let it define his future.”
His father’s words.
Arinjaya exhaled, rising to his feet.
He had honored the past. Now, it was time to build the future.
He turned toward the council chamber, where his advisors awaited.
As he walked through the corridors, servants bowed in quiet reverence, their expressions filled with newfound respect. Warriors clad in gold-etched armor saluted him as he passed.
The White Tiger of Mayilnadu was no longer a myth.
But even as the city celebrated, the work had only just begun.
Inside the council chamber, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the silence of the palace halls. Maps and scrolls covered the long granite table, and discussions were already underway. Muthurai stood at the head, guiding the council through the immediate tasks ahead.
Rebuilding the outer settlements. Strengthening trade routes. Managing diplomatic inquiries from foreign nations that had suddenly turned their attention to Mayilnadu.
At the sight of Arinjaya, the voices hushed. The councilors rose, bowing their heads.
“My prince,” Muthurai greeted, his voice steady. “We have much to discuss.”
Arinjaya nodded, taking his seat. “Then let’s begin.”
The meeting lasted for hours.
Decisions had to be made swiftly. The hidden kingdom had been revealed to the world, and with it came dangers Mayilnadu had never faced before.
Some nations had sent envoys, eager to understand the true nature of Mayilnadu’s technology and resources. Others had sent spies, hoping to uncover its secrets.
And in the shadows, there were whispers of mercenary groups and private militias—those who had fought under Rudrajit, still unwilling to accept his defeat.
“They won’t challenge us openly,” Devika pointed out, leaning against the table, her sharp eyes scanning a list of intercepted messages. “But they’re watching. Waiting to see if you’ll make a mistake.”
Arinjaya exhaled. “Then let’s not give them one.”
Muthurai nodded approvingly. “Our people are looking to you for guidance, my prince. We must act decisively, but wisely.”
Arinjaya met the elder’s gaze, his resolve firm. “Then we rebuild—not just our defenses, but our alliances. Mayilnadu will not stand alone.”
As the meeting concluded, Arinjaya stepped out onto the palace balcony, overlooking the city.
Below, the streets of Chozhapuram were alive with activity. Merchants called out from their stalls, warriors trained in the temple courtyards, and scholars debated in the public halls.
For centuries, Mayilnadu had thrived in secrecy.
Now, it would thrive in the light.
Behind him, Devika approached, standing beside him at the balcony’s edge.
“You did well in there,” she said, nodding toward the council chamber.
Arinjaya smiled faintly. “I suppose I did.”
She studied him for a moment, then smirked. “So, when do I get an official title? ‘Commander of Chaos’? ‘Master of Sneaky Attacks’?”
He chuckled. “How about ‘Protector of the White Tiger’?”
Devika rolled her eyes. “Sounds like a fancy way of saying ‘the one who keeps you from getting killed.’”
Arinjaya’s smile widened. “Exactly.”
She huffed, but there was warmth in her expression. “Just don’t forget that when the real challenges begin.”
Arinjaya’s gaze turned back to the horizon, where the Bay of Bengal stretched beyond the city walls.
“They already have.”
The White Tiger had risen.
And the world was watching.
The Kallazhagar Temple Library was a sanctuary of knowledge, tucked away in a quiet corner of Chozhapuram. Shelves made of sandalwood stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with ancient palm-leaf manuscripts, scrolls, and tomes that chronicled centuries of Tamil wisdom. The air carried the faint scent of turmeric and rosewater, used to preserve the delicate manuscripts.
Devika stood in the center of the library, her arms crossed as she stared at a large stone inscription mounted on the wall. The inscription, etched in ancient Tamil script, depicted the founding of Mayilnadu, its walls raised by the Chola dynasty as a refuge of knowledge and strength.
Behind her, Arinjaya entered, his steps quiet on the polished stone floor.
“I figured I’d find you here,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Devika turned, her face alight with a mix of excitement and determination. “You’re just in time. I have something to show you.”
She led him to a nearby table, where a stack of freshly written scrolls and sketches lay scattered.
“What is all this?” Arinjaya asked, glancing over the intricate diagrams and carefully worded texts.
“It’s Mayilnadu,” Devika replied, her voice brimming with energy. “Its history. Its culture. Its people. Everything that makes this place what it is.”
She picked up a sketch of Chozha-Nagari, the underwater city, its bioluminescent domes glowing softly in the inked depiction.
“For centuries, we’ve lived in the shadows, hiding what we are from the world,” she continued. “But now that Mayilnadu has been revealed, we can’t afford to let our story be forgotten—or worse, twisted by those who don’t understand it.”
Arinjaya studied the sketch, his brow furrowing slightly. “You want to document it all?”
“Not just document,” Devika said, her voice firm. “Preserve. Share. The world deserves to know who we are—our real story, not just the myths and rumors.”
She held up another scroll, this one detailing the art of Varma Kalai. The diagram showed a human figure with key pressure points marked, alongside notes on the philosophy behind the martial art.
“This is more than just a fighting technique,” she said. “It’s a philosophy—a way of life. It’s part of what makes us unique. If we don’t pass it on, it’ll be lost.”
Arinjaya nodded slowly, the weight of her words sinking in. “It’s a bold idea,” he said. “But it’s also risky. If this knowledge falls into the wrong hands…”
“It won’t,” Devika interrupted, her gaze steady. “That’s why I’m doing this carefully. Everything will be preserved in encrypted archives, with copies stored in multiple locations. Only those who truly seek to learn—not exploit—will have access.”
She leaned forward, her expression softening. “You’ve spent so much time fighting to protect Mayilnadu, Arinjaya. But part of protecting something is making sure it’s remembered. This isn’t just our home—it’s our identity. And we need to share that identity with the world, on our terms.”
Arinjaya reached for one of the scrolls, his fingers brushing against the crisp parchment. It detailed the creation of the Simhamukha suit, its origins rooted in the cosmic energy of Thandavam Ore and the divine craftsmanship of Vishwakarma.
“Our ancestors believed in balance,” he said quietly, his gaze lingering on the text. “In preserving the past while embracing the future. I think they’d be proud of this.”
Devika grinned, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Does that mean you’re on board?”
Arinjaya smiled faintly. “You’ve already started, haven’t you?”
“Obviously,” she said, her tone playful. “But it helps to have the White Tiger’s blessing.”
“You have it,” he said, placing the scroll back on the table. “But be careful, Devika. This is sacred work. It has to be done right.”
The two of them stood in the quiet library, the weight of their conversation hanging in the air.
After a moment, Devika spoke again, her tone softer. “You know, Arinjaya… this isn’t just for the world. It’s for us, too. For the kids who’ll grow up in Mayilnadu, wondering what came before them. For the ones who’ll look to you and ask, ‘What does it mean to be a White Tiger?’”
Arinjaya’s expression softened, and he nodded. “Then let’s make sure they have an answer.”
As they left the library, the evening sun cast long shadows across the temple grounds, its golden light filtering through the intricate stone latticework.
For the first time in centuries, Mayilnadu’s story was no longer a secret. It was a legacy—a bridge between the past and the future.
And it was in good hands.
The moon hung high above Chozhapuram, its silvery light spilling across the palace courtyard. The city below was alive with celebrations that seemed to echo the joy of a kingdom reborn, but within the palace walls, a sense of quiet anticipation lingered.
Arinjaya sat alone in the Hall of Ancestors, a sprawling chamber filled with artifacts, weapons, and relics from the Chola dynasty. Stone carvings depicting the exploits of Rajendra Chola lined the walls, their intricate detail illuminated by the flickering flames of brass oil lamps.
Before him stood a sealed wooden chest, its surface etched with Tamil inscriptions. It had arrived earlier that evening, delivered by a young monk from the Kallazhagar Temple, who had claimed it was a gift left by Agni.
Arinjaya ran his fingers over the carvings, his mind swirling with curiosity. The chest bore Rajendra Chola’s personal emblem—a tiger flanked by two leaping fish.
“Agni never mentioned this,” Arinjaya murmured, his brow furrowing. “Why now?”
As if in answer, a faint breeze stirred the lamps in the chamber, their flames flickering briefly. Taking a deep breath, Arinjaya slid his fingers under the chest’s ornate clasp and lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled within a layer of silk, was a small bronze cylinder, no larger than his palm. The object was unassuming, save for the glowing Thandavam Ore runes etched along its surface.
Arinjaya lifted the cylinder carefully, his heart quickening. At the base of the artifact was a faint indentation—clearly designed for a specific purpose. He examined it closely and recognized the mark.
It matched the keyhole on the Simhamukha suit’s core, just above his chest.
Without hesitation, Arinjaya stepped into the center of the hall and activated the Simhamukha suit. The armor unfolded around him, its familiar hum resonating with the energy in the chamber. He placed the cylinder into the slot, and the runes began to glow more brightly.
A sudden pulse of energy shot through the hall, and the carvings on the walls shimmered as if brought to life. A voice echoed through the chamber—deep, resonant, and unmistakably regal.
“If you are hearing this, it means the trials of our people have reached a moment of crisis. But take heart—for our legacy has always been one of survival and renewal.”
Arinjaya froze, his breath catching in his throat. The voice was that of Rajendra Chola, recorded centuries ago and preserved through ancient methods lost to time.
“Mayilnadu was built as a sanctuary—not just of knowledge and culture, but of potential. The treasures of our ancestors were never meant to be hoarded. They are tools, meant to guide future generations toward balance and progress. But with great power comes great peril.
“If this message finds you, then it is likely that our sanctuary is no longer hidden. The world beyond our borders will seek to challenge us, to tempt us, to bend us to their will. But you must stand firm. Remember that the strength of Mayilnadu is not in its weapons or its walls—it is in its people.”
The carvings along the walls shifted, revealing a glowing map of Mayilnadu and its surrounding regions. Beneath it, a series of coordinates appeared, etched in light.
“These coordinates mark the location of what we called the Anai Thoothu—the Elephant’s Whisper. It is a final repository of our greatest wisdom and our most dangerous secrets. This knowledge can shape the future of Mayilnadu—or destroy it. Only one who walks the path of balance, guided by dharma, may claim it.”
The voice paused, and for a moment, the chamber was silent. Then, with a final, solemn tone, Rajendra Chola spoke again:
“Trust in yourself, my heir. The world will test you, but the White Tiger must endure. Mayilnadu’s destiny is in your hands.”
The light dimmed, and the carvings returned to their original state. The cylinder ejected itself from the Simhamukha suit, its runes now faint and still.
Arinjaya stood motionless, his mind reeling from what he had heard.
“The Elephant’s Whisper,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the glowing coordinates still etched into his memory.
The repository Rajendra spoke of—what could it contain? Ancient technologies? Lost martial arts techniques? Or something far more dangerous?
Before he could linger too long on the question, Devika entered the chamber, her expression a mixture of curiosity and concern. “You’re still here?” she asked, noticing the activated suit and the chest at his feet. “What’s going on?”
Arinjaya turned to her, his face serious. “Agni left me a message. Or rather… Rajendra Chola did.”
Devika blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Wait, what? Rajendra Chola? As in the Rajendra Chola? How?”
He gestured to the cylinder. “A recording. He left instructions—coordinates to something called the Anai Thoothu. A final repository of knowledge.”
Devika crossed her arms, her sharp mind already piecing things together. “And you’re going to find it.”
Arinjaya nodded. “If it’s as important as Rajendra claimed, we can’t leave it untouched. But this won’t be like anything we’ve faced before. He called it dangerous—for good reason.”
Devika tilted her head, a faint smirk on her lips. “Danger? Mystery? Ancient Chola secrets? Sounds like my kind of adventure.”
Arinjaya chuckled softly, though the weight of the revelation still lingered. “You’re always ready, aren’t you?”
“Someone has to keep you alive,” she teased. “So, when do we leave?”
Arinjaya turned back to the map etched into the wall, his expression thoughtful.
“At dawn. Mayilnadu’s future is waiting.”
As the two exited the chamber, the faint hum of the Simhamukha suit echoed behind them, a reminder of the legacy they carried. Above, the stars glittered in the vast Tamil sky, as if watching over their journey.
The past had spoken.
Now, it was up to Arinjaya to decide the future.
The sky was still ink-black when Arinjaya and Devika departed from Chozhapuram, their destination set on the mysterious coordinates etched into the Simhamukha suit’s memory. The light of the moon glinted off the dense jungle foliage as they moved through the winding paths that would lead them south, toward the Western Ghats, where the Elephant’s Whisper was said to lie.
The air was cool but heavy, the sounds of crickets and distant animal calls filling the night. They had chosen a discreet route, bypassing the main roads to avoid unnecessary attention. Arinjaya, clad in the Simhamukha suit, moved with the silent precision of a shadow, while Devika walked beside him, her twin blades strapped to her back.
“I still can’t believe it,” Devika said, breaking the quiet. “Rajendra Chola leaving behind a hidden repository of knowledge? And calling it the ‘Elephant’s Whisper’? I mean, who even comes up with names like that?”
Arinjaya smirked faintly, his eyes scanning their surroundings. “It’s symbolic. The elephant represents strength and wisdom in Tamil culture. Rajendra must have seen this place as the ultimate treasure—something that required both to unlock.”
“Yeah, well,” Devika muttered, ducking under a low-hanging branch, “I hope it’s more wisdom than trouble. Because I don’t like the sound of ‘dangerous.’”
Arinjaya glanced at her, his tone light. “You say that, but you thrive on trouble.”
Devika grinned. “Touché.”
The path grew steeper as they entered the foothills of the Western Ghats, the jungle thickening around them. The faint glow of dawn began to illuminate the terrain, revealing towering trees and jagged rocks that seemed to rise out of the earth like ancient sentinels.
They paused at a small clearing to rest, the golden light of morning filtering through the canopy above. Devika unslung her pack, pulling out a map and a water flask.
“We’re getting close,” she said, tracing the coordinates Arinjaya had memorized. “The location’s just beyond that ridge. But…”
Arinjaya frowned, catching the hesitation in her voice. “But what?”
She tapped the map. “The area’s marked as forbidden land. No one’s lived there in centuries. Locals claim it’s cursed—something about an ancient guardian who protects the place.”
Arinjaya raised an eyebrow. “A guardian?”
Devika shrugged. “Could be a legend. Or it could be Rudrajit’s leftover mercenaries. Either way, we should be ready for anything.”
Arinjaya nodded, tightening his grip on his sword. “Let’s move.”
As they crested the ridge, the landscape shifted dramatically. The dense jungle gave way to a vast expanse of rocky terrain, broken only by the occasional cluster of trees. In the center of the valley below stood an enormous stone structure, partially hidden by the overgrowth of time.
The structure was unlike anything Arinjaya had ever seen. It resembled an ancient temple, but its architecture was far older than even the Chola dynasty’s works. The walls were covered in carvings of elephants, lotus flowers, and geometric patterns, all radiating a faint golden glow. At the center of the temple’s façade was a massive stone relief of an elephant’s head, its trunk extended downward toward the entrance as if inviting them in.
“The Anai Thoothu,” Arinjaya murmured, awe in his voice.
Devika stared at the structure, her usual sarcasm replaced by a rare moment of reverence. “It’s… beautiful,” she said softly.
As they descended toward the temple, the sense of unease grew. The air seemed heavier, charged with an energy that made the hair on the back of Arinjaya’s neck stand on end.
They stopped at the base of the temple steps, where ancient Tamil inscriptions had been carved into the stone. Arinjaya knelt, running his fingers over the text, his eyes narrowing as he translated it.
“‘To enter, one must honor the balance of strength and wisdom. To take without understanding is to awaken ruin.’”
Devika tilted her head. “Awaken ruin? That’s… vague. What kind of ruin are we talking about?”
Arinjaya rose, his expression cautious. “The kind we’re not going to test if we can help it. Let’s proceed carefully.”
As they stepped into the temple, the light from the entrance faded, replaced by the soft glow of Thandavam Ore veins running through the walls. The corridors were vast and echoing, their surfaces etched with more carvings and symbols.
But it wasn’t just the architecture that caught their attention—it was the silence.
No animal calls. No wind. Just an all-encompassing stillness that made their footsteps seem unnaturally loud.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” Devika whispered, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade.
Arinjaya nodded. “Stay alert.”
They reached a large circular chamber at the heart of the temple, its floor engraved with intricate yantras and constellations. At the center of the room stood a pedestal, atop which rested a golden orb, its surface pulsating faintly with light.
“The repository,” Arinjaya said, approaching the pedestal cautiously.
But as he reached out toward the orb, the ground beneath them trembled. The carvings along the walls lit up in sequence, and a deep rumbling sound filled the chamber.
“Arinjaya,” Devika said sharply, drawing her blades.
From the shadows, a massive form emerged—a colossal stone elephant, its body inlaid with glowing veins of Thandavam Ore. Its eyes blazed with golden light as it raised its trunk, releasing a deafening trumpeting sound that echoed through the temple.
“Well, that’s the guardian,” Devika muttered, stepping into a defensive stance. “I guess it wasn’t just a legend.”
The elephant guardian charged, its movements surprisingly fluid for something made of stone. Arinjaya leapt to the side, the Simhamukha suit activating instinctively to enhance his speed. The guardian’s trunk slammed into the floor where he had stood, shattering the stone in a burst of energy.
“Devika, stay back!” Arinjaya shouted, drawing his sword.
“Not a chance!” she called back, darting forward to strike at the guardian’s leg. Her blades glanced off its stony surface, barely leaving a scratch.
“This thing’s tougher than it looks!” she shouted, dodging another swing of its trunk.
Arinjaya focused, his mind racing as he studied the guardian’s movements. Its glowing veins pulsed in rhythm, and he realized they converged at a central core embedded in its chest.
“The core!” he called to Devika. “It’s drawing power from the ore veins—hit it there!”
Devika nodded, rolling under the guardian’s legs to avoid a crushing stomp. “Easier said than done!”
The battle raged in the chamber, the guardian’s trumpeting cries reverberating through the temple. Arinjaya darted in and out of its range, using the Simhamukha suit’s agility to avoid its devastating strikes. With each pass, he aimed for the glowing core, his sword sparking against its protective surface.
Finally, as the guardian reared back for another attack, Arinjaya saw his opening. He leapt high, the suit propelling him upward, and drove his sword into the core with all his strength.
The guardian froze, its movements halting as cracks spread across its surface. A final, echoing rumble filled the chamber before the massive stone form collapsed into rubble, the golden light in its eyes fading.
Arinjaya landed beside the remains, breathing heavily. Devika approached, shaking her head. “You and your ancient puzzles,” she said, though there was a hint of admiration in her voice.
He grinned faintly, turning back toward the pedestal. The golden orb remained untouched, its light steady.
“This better be worth it,” Devika muttered as Arinjaya reached for the orb once more.
As his fingers closed around it, the room filled with light.
The golden orb pulsed in Arinjaya’s hand, its surface warm and alive, as though it recognized his presence. The soft glow emanating from it filled the chamber, casting moving shadows across the intricate carvings on the walls.
Devika stood by his side, her twin blades still drawn, her expression a mix of awe and unease. “Whatever’s in there,” she said quietly, nodding toward the orb, “it’s something big. Be ready.”
Arinjaya tightened his grip, his mind calm despite the weight of the moment. Slowly, he pressed the orb into the recessed groove on the pedestal, aligning its markings with the carved yantras on the stone surface.
The room trembled. The light from the orb expanded, flooding the chamber with a brilliance so intense that both Arinjaya and Devika instinctively shielded their eyes. When the glow finally subsided, the pedestal had receded into the ground, revealing a hidden passage spiraling downward into the earth.
“Of course it’s underground,” Devika muttered, exhaling. “Nothing good ever comes from things buried this deep.”
Arinjaya smiled faintly, stepping toward the passage. “You don’t have to follow me.”
“Don’t insult me, prince,” she shot back, already moving beside him. “If you’re going, I’m going.”
The passage led them into a vast subterranean chamber, its size almost incomprehensible. The ceiling stretched high above them, supported by massive pillars carved with symbols of Tamil deities, celestial diagrams, and ancient scripts. In the center of the room stood a monolithic structure, its surface shimmering with the distinct blue glow of Thandavam Ore veins.
The structure resembled a vault, its edges sharp and geometric, radiating an aura of both beauty and menace. Inscribed above the entrance were the words:
“The Anai Thoothu: Strength and Wisdom Balanced.”
Arinjaya stepped closer, his footsteps echoing across the chamber. As he neared the vault, the Simhamukha suit began to hum, its energy synchronizing with the vibrations in the air.
“This is it,” he said softly.
Devika glanced at the carvings, her brow furrowing. “Strength and wisdom balanced… What do you think’s inside? Weapons? Ancient texts? A guide to winning every argument?”
Arinjaya chuckled, but the gravity of the moment quickly returned. “We’re about to find out.”
At the center of the vault’s surface was a handprint indentation, glowing faintly. Without hesitation, Arinjaya placed his palm over it. The Simhamukha suit flared to life, its energy coursing through the veins of the vault.
The room trembled once more, and the massive doors of the vault slowly slid open, revealing what lay within.
The interior of the vault was unlike anything they had expected.
Rows upon rows of scrolls, artifacts, and crystalline data archives filled the space, illuminated by the soft glow of Thandavam Ore conduits running along the walls. But at the center of the vault was something far more striking:
A massive golden sphere, suspended in midair by unseen forces. Its surface was covered in intricate carvings, yantras, and constellations, all pulsating with light. Surrounding the sphere were holographic projections, showing visions of ancient battles, celestial movements, and technological blueprints far beyond anything Arinjaya had ever seen.
“This…” Devika whispered, her voice trailing off as she stepped closer. “This is… everything.”
Arinjaya stared at the sphere, his mind racing. “Not just everything we were… Everything we could be.”
The projections shifted as they approached, and a familiar voice filled the chamber.
“You have reached the heart of the Anai Thoothu. Welcome, my heir.”
It was Rajendra Chola’s voice, calm and steady, though it carried a weight that seemed to pierce through the centuries.
“What you see before you is the culmination of our ancestors’ greatest works. Here lies the knowledge of metallurgy, warfare, philosophy, and the sciences—everything we safeguarded to preserve balance in a world driven by chaos.”
The projections flickered, showing images of Thandavam Ore-powered ships, Varma Kalai warriors, and technological marvels that seemed almost mythical.
“But this knowledge comes with a choice.”
Arinjaya stiffened, his gaze locked on the golden sphere.
“To wield it is to walk a path of great responsibility. In the wrong hands, this power can bring ruin not just to Mayilnadu, but to the entire world. Only one who understands the balance of dharma may decide its future.”
The sphere glowed brighter, and the voice continued:
“If you choose to seal this vault, the knowledge within will remain hidden, as it has for centuries. Mayilnadu will endure in its simplicity, untouched by the temptations of ambition.
“If you choose to embrace it, the vault’s secrets will be yours to use. But know this: the world will come for you. For power always draws the eyes of those who seek to control it.”
The voice fell silent, leaving only the faint hum of the vault and the soft glow of the golden sphere.
Devika turned to Arinjaya, her expression conflicted. “This is… huge. If we take this knowledge, it could change everything. Mayilnadu could become the guiding light for the entire world.”
“But it could also make us a target,” Arinjaya said, his voice quiet but firm. “There are too many who would try to use this for their own gain. Rudrajit was proof of that.”
Devika hesitated. “So what do we do? Lock it away? Pretend we never found it?”
Arinjaya looked at the sphere, his thoughts swirling. The weight of his decision pressed heavily on him. The power of the Anai Thoothu could elevate Mayilnadu to unimaginable heights—or plunge it into conflict.
After a long silence, he spoke.
“We take only what we need,” he said finally. “The knowledge to protect Mayilnadu. To rebuild. To ensure balance.”
Devika nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of his words. “And the rest?”
Arinjaya stepped forward, placing his hand on the sphere. The Simhamukha suit glowed brightly, its energy resonating with the vault’s core.
“We seal it,” he said firmly. “Until the world is ready.”
As his hand rested on the sphere, the projections dimmed, and the golden light of the vault began to fade. The chamber trembled gently, as if acknowledging his choice. The massive doors of the vault began to close, locking away the secrets of the past for another time.
Arinjaya and Devika stepped back, the chamber growing quiet once more.
Outside, as they emerged into the light of day, the jungle seemed brighter, the air fresher. Arinjaya looked out over the horizon, the weight of his choice still lingering but accompanied by a sense of clarity.
“You did the right thing,” Devika said, breaking the silence.
Arinjaya nodded. “The past guides us, but it doesn’t define us. Mayilnadu’s strength isn’t in its secrets—it’s in its people.”
He turned, his gaze steady. “And now, we move forward.”
As they began their journey back to Chozhapuram, the light of the morning sun bathed the land in gold—a new day for Mayilnadu, and a new era for the White Tiger.
End of “The White Tiger: Legacy of Varma Kalai”