I woke up to the sound of voices, muffled and distant at first, but growing clearer as I forced my eyes open. My body screamed in pain, every nerve alight with agony from the whip marks that now marred my skin. The dungeon was dimly lit, the air damp and cold, and the metallic tang of blood filled my nostrils. My clothes clung to me, soaked in sweat and blood, and every breath felt like a struggle. My head was heavy, my vision blurry from the tears I had shed before exhaustion claimed me.

Through the haze, I heard the voices more distinctly.

“She’s still alive, isn’t she?” one of the soldiers said, his tone laced with annoyance.

“Barely,” another replied. “But we need to think fast. The chief general will be inspecting every dungeon today. If he finds her here, we’re finished.”

“Why is the general even coming to this abandoned place? No one uses this dungeon anymore,” the first soldier muttered.

“Doesn’t matter. If they find her here, they’ll know we’ve been hiding something. We need a scapegoat,” the second soldier suggested, his voice cold and calculating.

“Scapegoat?” The first man sounded hesitant.

“Yes. We’ll frame her for treason. Say she was caught plotting against the king. Look at her—no one will believe she’s innocent. And if we rough her up a bit more, it’ll be convincing.”

My heart sank as their words registered. My body was too weak to move, but my mind screamed in protest. They were planning to frame me for something I didn’t even understand. My breaths quickened, but the pain in my chest forced me to slow down.

“Fine,” the first soldier agreed reluctantly. “But we need to make it look real.”

Before I could prepare myself, they entered the cell. I tried to push myself up, but my arms gave out, and I collapsed back onto the cold, hard floor. One of them grabbed me by the arm and yanked me upright. My body screamed in protest, but I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

“Let’s see how much more she can take,” one of them sneered, raising the whip.

The first lash tore through the air, and I clenched my jaw, refusing to scream. The pain was unbearable, searing through my back and shoulders. Another lash came, then another, each one leaving a burning trail of agony. My vision blurred, and black spots danced before my eyes.

“Still not screaming, huh?” one of them taunted. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

I didn’t know where I found the strength, but I kept silent, even as tears streamed down my face. My body was trembling, and my breaths were shallow, but I refused to give them the satisfaction of hearing me scream.

“Enough,” the other soldier finally said. “She’s barely conscious. Let’s take her to the royal court.”

They dragged me out of the cell, my legs unable to support me. The rough stone floor scraped against my knees, reopening wounds and making me bleed even more. My head lolled forward, and I fought to stay conscious, to understand what was happening.

After what felt like an eternity, they threw me onto the floor. The impact sent a fresh wave of pain through my body, and I groaned softly. My surroundings slowly came into focus, and I realized where I was—the royal court.

The room was grand, with high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings and chandeliers that cast a golden glow. Ministers sat in rows, their expressions stern and unyielding. Soldiers lined the walls, their armor gleaming under the torchlight. Behind them, commoners gathered, whispering among themselves as they watched the spectacle unfold.

And there, at the center of it all, was the king’s throne.

I forced my head up, my vision swimming. The man on the throne was reading a scroll, his posture regal and commanding. His long hair was tied back, and his broad shoulders filled the throne with an air of authority. His face was calm, almost emotionless, but there was an intensity about him that made it impossible to look away.

Maharaja Rudraksha Veeraditya.

Even in my pain-addled state, I couldn’t help but notice how different he looked. He was stronger, more imposing, his presence almost suffocating. Yet, despite the coldness in his demeanor, I saw the man I had met for the first time in the loop—the one who had been arrogant but also kind and respectful.

The soldiers began speaking, accusing me of treason. Their voices were loud, echoing in the vast chamber, but I couldn’t focus on their words. My body was too weak, my mind too clouded. I stayed silent, my head hanging low, my hair falling over my face.

And then, I whispered, “Maharaja...”

My voice was barely audible, but it was enough. He looked up from the scroll, his sharp eyes scanning the room until they landed on me. His expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of shock crossing his face though he masked it well .

“Aranya,” he whispered, so softly that I almost thought I imagined it.

But I didn’t. I saw the recognition in his eyes, the way his grip on the scroll tightened. For a brief moment, the ruthless king everyone feared was gone, replaced by the man who had cared for me in the loop.

I smiled faintly, the corners of my lips barely lifting. It was all I could manage before the darkness finally claimed me, and I fell unconscious.



I couldn’t forget her voice. It had been two long years since she returned to her era, leaving me with nothing but memories of her voice, her scolding, and her courage. For two years, I had lived with the ache of her absence, convincing myself that she would never return, that perhaps I had imagined her existence. But today , that voice shattered every doubt.

“Maharaja...”

It was faint, but it was hers. My gaze snapped to the figure on the floor, her body battered and broken, barely alive. My heart stopped. Aranya.

I froze in place, unsure if this was real or a cruel trick of my mind. But as I stepped closer, her name left my lips in a whisper. She was here. She had come back.

For two years, I had waited. I prayed. I had rebuilt my kingdom, made it the strongest realm in all lands. In the process, I had become ruthless, feared by all, a king who showed no mercy. Yet, through it all, one thought had kept me grounded—Her.

The mirror that I had once despised for my past, for being the reason for the loop but that had also brought her into my life, now sat in my chamber. I had brought it back, hoping against hope that it might bring her to me again. I hated myself for pushing her away that day, for being so afraid of my own emotions that I had forced her to leave. She had become my weakness, and I had let her go.

But now, here she was, lying unconscious in a pool of her own blood. Her clothes were torn, her body covered in whip marks. Rage boiled within me, a fury so consuming that I could barely see straight.

I stood abruptly, and the court fell silent. Ministers and soldiers alike flinched at my movement, their faces pale with fear. I descended the steps of my throne, my eyes locked on her fragile form.

“Who did this?” I demanded, my voice low and dangerous.

No one answered immediately, and the silence only fueled my anger.

“I asked a question!” I roared, my voice echoing through the hall. “Who dared to harm her?”

The soldiers who had brought her in fell to their knees, trembling. “M-maharaja, forgive us! We... we didn’t know who she was—”

“Silence!” I snapped, cutting him off. “You whipped her, dragged her here, and now you dare to ask for forgiveness? You will beg for mercy, but you will find none.”

I knelt beside her, my hands shaking as I carefully lifted her into my arms. She was so light, so fragile, and her skin was cold to the touch. Her blood stained my robes, but I didn’t care.

“Call the royal physician,” I ordered, my voice sharp and commanding. “Now.”

The court scrambled into action, terrified of my wrath. I turned to the soldiers who had hurt her.

“Take them to the dungeon,” I said coldly. “I will deal with them Myself.”

They were dragged away, pleading for mercy, but I paid them no mind. My only concern was her.

In my chamber, I laid her gently on my bed. The sight of her pale face, her body covered in marks , filled me with a sorrow I hadn’t felt in years. The physician arrived quickly, along with her assistants.

“She has lost a lot of blood, Maharaja,” the physician said after examining her. “Her body is covered in whip marks, and she is severely exhausted. She will need rest and proper care. I will leave a prescription for her treatment, but she must not be disturbed.”

I nodded curtly, though every fiber of my being wanted to stay by her side. The physician and her assistants worked quickly, cleaning her wounds and changing her into fresh clothes while I waited outside . They bowed and left, leaving me alone with her.

I sat at the edge of the bed, watching her. She looked so peaceful, yet so fragile. My heart ached at the thought of what she had endured.

“Aranya,” I whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You shouldn’t have had to suffer this.”

I ordered the maids to stay by her side and inform me the moment she woke up. Then, reluctantly, I left the room.

In the dungeon, the soldiers who had hurt her were tied up, their faces bruised and bloody. They flinched when they saw me, their fear palpable.

“Who gave you the right to harm her?” I asked, my voice calm but deadly.

They stammered, trying to come up with excuses, but I wasn’t interested in their lies.

“Speak the truth,” I demanded. “Or I will make you wish you had never been born.”

One of them broke down, confessing everything. “We found her in the garden area yesterday while we .. we were talking with the elder woman , Maharaja. We didn’t know who she was, so we... we tortured her. We thought she might be a spy or a traitor. We were trying to show our strength.” spy or traitor! Huhh!!

“Show your strength?” I repeated, my voice dangerously soft. “By harming an innocent woman?”

They confessed everything and begged for forgiveness, but I had none to give.

“Burn them,” I ordered coldly. “Let their screams serve as a warning to anyone who dares to misuse their power.”

The chief general nodded, and the soldiers were dragged away. I turned to him.

“Investigate this matter thoroughly,” I said. “And ensure that the elder woman and her children they mentioned are taken care of.”

“Yes, Maharaja,” he replied, bowing deeply.

I returned to my chamber, my heart heavy with guilt and anger. She had endured so much pain, and I hadn’t been there to protect her. I sat beside her, watching her sleep.

Would she hate me for this? For the pain she had suffered in my kingdom? Would she regret coming back?

I reached out, gently taking her hand in mine.

“I’m sorry, Aranya,” I whispered. “I’ll make this right. I promise.”