रक्तोपरि दासत्वं भीरोः कृते मदिरामग्नं गौरवमुद्रारूपं भवति, यत् सौन्दर्यस्य रागेण मन्दं कृते। यथा मृतसैनिकेन आरूढः कवचधारी अश्वः भूमौ पड्के लघुकूपं पारयति, तत्र कवचस्य झणत्कारः अश्वं चलितुं सङ्केतयति। सः अश्वः अमरः अस्ति, स्वस्वामिनः दासत्वाय एव स्वकीयप्रेरणया सञ्चालितः च भवति॥ यशविहीनः मानवः नरकरूपिण्यां स्वर्गभूमौ स्थातुं शक्नोति, यतः युद्धं केवलं तदैव बलीदानं याचते यदा तत् पापात् उत हस्ते मांसं अस्थि वा धारयतः आशीर्वादात् आगच्छति॥
((Slavery over the blood is a seal of honor toward a coward with an immersion of wine in it to dilute it with passion of beauty. Like a horse ridden by a dead soldier armored, as the horse passes through a small pothole on ground in the mud, the armor giggle signaling the horse to walk. The horse is immortal and he is driven by his own motivation to slave his master. A person without glory can stand on land of heaven disguised as hell, because war only calls for sacrifice if it is brought from the sin or by a blessing holding muscle or bone in hand.))
Hold your armor high until the flesh turns into scorching sand.
Veniuse held a cold tip of a slime-thin tip of a pen floating on the paper as the sign from God towards the King to stop his suffering, holding his glory to live because war can only bring loss in a handful of freedom, while the ink bottle stood beside his table, an observer and witness to his judgment. The King of Altra had risen to stand for his friend, which has dissolved in his own thoughts, reading the words as the knuckle on the cold pen ran white, veins popped pumping blood around them to witness his own thoughts and agony to choose. He whispered in a soft voice of tremble with a hesitation on his word:
"We can't give up... this isn't my own will."
Veniuse held his pen until his knuckle didn't turn white as his tears drip towards the paper, as the blaze within them never dissolved in slave, because agony is to come from the Gita where the path is hard, still it is the only way towards greatness. Unable to scream the words as while his throat cried loud in silence:
"We will trust the path... I will not sign," withdrawing the pen from its own position as he held it, looked at it with eyes of tears, closing them, gripping it as his muscle in his face changed his expression, turning it cold white. He whispered:
"Where is this bastard... Indrasur?"
Thoughts throwing his pen towards a cage of a window of metal, smell of paint dipped into the ink, Veniuse as inhaling deep breaths while the bottle of ink stood still on the table, screaming looking at the west cursing, "You son of a... ehhhhhh. Shit me!!" as he held a handful of peanuts in his hand. Inhaling a deep breath, he looked outside the window, not knowing where his anger is leading his body or the love of freedom towards the destiny which must be written by his own hand.
"I will throw damn... ten peanuts out of window, let's see what is the win probability of mine in this war."
Inhaling looking at the cracked sky.
"Swip-swip-swip," the sound didn't come tackling anything in the room as he smiled, throwing another.
"Swip-swip-tunk," as the one bounced back, shattering his own will and hopes.
But.
In the land of living and death human can stand with their glory and the soul free to grow while smell of human emotion flows within the land like a nectar. Aarush stood within the vault not as a symbol of freedom but as a symbol who can hold a weight of burden without burying itself. In that creaking chair of metal and the air of same mortal he breathe kissed his lungs with deep satisfaction whispering, "What is upcoming for me and... why," inhaling deeply, while the question lies with answer of its own words.
In the dark room he looked at bright yellow light falling on a photo holding a dark wooden frame as small thin layer of dust accumulated on it with a love of nature to let things settle cause sun can never settle. His eyes never moved whispering in air, "Standing tall is not what will lead us. Am I right Hugun," while his dead slave answered from his head in a soft voice of respect, "Will is what lead us towards the greatness."
A simple reaction came from the master, a soft chuckle.
"Thud-Thud-Thud," a knock came on door, a soft voice, "Aarush are you there." It was sanvi.
Aarush looked at door replied instantly, "You can come in."
The metal handle of door rotates left as the light of corridor enters the room. But nobody enters the room, a cold silence of death staying. Aarush turned to his left at the lamp of yellow light started to bleed into the colour of white as he sat in darkness of room in the air.
"Close damn door," forwarding his leg as the vibe was set to let mascot rise.
The door slowly closed as only source in the room was that white light without any colour. Then a child's voice came, "Your brilliance can't be drained by any world," as a body of a child with a crown came in front of him sitting on the chair inhaling as the tip of arrow in his voice missed.
Aarush asked the mascot, "Avkashma... Where is your man's voice."
Avkashma laughed with a giggle clashing his teeth, "I will tell you what I saw after death, the knowledge cause I want you to survive that."
Kindle of rashein debt of destruction volume 1 is live see here