The battlefield lay quiet.
Haider Ali's lifeless body remained upright — still kneeling, unmoving. His sword shattered. His armor cracked. Blood painted the stone beneath him in deep reds and browns. And yet, his posture… unbroken.
The wind whispered across the charred fields, rustling torn flags and broken spears. Even the crows did not dare approach.
The soldiers of Aryavrata stood frozen, their weapons slack in their hands. A silence fell so thick, it crushed every war cry that had echoed before. One by one, warriors lowered their blades, bowing their heads.
Some dropped to their knees, weeping openly. Others saluted silently — not as an order, but as instinct.
A general had died.
But a legend had risen.
A young soldier, barely out of his teens, dropped his spear and fell to his knees. His lips quivered.
"He saved us all..." he whispered. "He stood alone... and he saved us all."
