"Pruthvi, wake up! It's the perfect day for the wedding!"

Leena's voice trilled as she pushed the door and barged inside the shared chamber provided for them. She sat on the bunk bed Pruthvi was sleeping in, and shook his hands until he finally rouse from his deep slumber.

"Perfect day to get out of here!" He mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he pulled himself into sitting position. His heightened senses making him feel nauseated smelling the harsh augmented scent of the drink he had been drinking since past one week.

Not until last night before he had drifted off to sleep, he could have actually believed that one whole damn week had gone by since the disaster Tyrell had caused. Only Pruthvi and Leena knew how they have been passing their days-eating, drinking and sleeping becoming their only daily routine. Apart from this, sometimes they were cooped up with the mundane formalities King Aghasthya had been asking them to fulfill, to make his grand daughter's marriage a remarkable occasion of the century. This was one of the reason's Pruthvi had planned to visit the day before the wedding, to escape the possible list of chores.

Pruthvi grabbed his glasses placed beside his pillow and looked up at Leena. In a red and golden bordered grand ethnic wear, her hair tied in an intricate braids and a few strands of curled up wisps surrounding her face, spot on makeup and matching jewelry, Pruthvi was suddenly proud that she was his girl friend.

"You look lovely," he praised, leaning to give a peck on her cheek.

"And you look like a moron!" she whined, pushing him back, "Come on. Freshen up quick. Wedding is exactly at nine and by nine o one, we are leaving this damn place!"

The way Leena commented, it was understood that she'd never forgive her sister for her derogatory comments she had passed that day. Moreover, Leena never spoke with King Aghasthya in a way a grand daughter was supposed to. Pruthvi was actually elated. On closely watching Leena's behavior, he had come to know that her impression on this clan thing was becoming unfavorable, just like Hayden's, and this in turn gave him a surety that Lithika's words might never have an influence on her.

Setting her veil straight, Leena stood giving him space as he pulled his blanket aside and sank his legs down the bed.

"Did you see Doctor today?" He asked, running his hand over his hair.

"Nope," she replied, hastily, "But I heard King Aghasthya mentioning about him and that he might return sometime today from wherever he is gone to."

Pruthvi nodded blankly at her, and then dropped his gaze to the floor. The day they informed about Shourya, Doctor had surprised them by casually disregarded everything. Instead, he urged them to not to pay attention at this meaningless warnings for now and to concentrate on the job that was more important. But Pruthvi had a distinct notion, that Doctor wasn't being himself since then. The number of times they had seen him in this past week, was easily countable on their fingers of one hand. Once or twice, Pruthvi had tried to make a conversation with him to bring out more information about Tyrell, about his or Jyran's whereabouts, anything that could come in handy. Days were passing by, and yet Pruthvi and Leena had no plan about how and where to begin their search for his friend, and he wanted to utilize this week for it. But Doctor was always in a hurry, leaving them with an unsatisfactory answer.

"Look Pruthvi, I don't have time for this," he had said once, "Tyrell is your responsibility now. And I believe you are capable enough to find answers to your own questions."

Since then, neither Pruthvi nor Leena had ever sought for an opportunity again.

Several minutes later, Pruthvi found himself dressed in an only good looking remaining outfit-formal grey trousers and white cotton shirt- that he had kept aside for the wedding. It was about time and he was in his last minute packing with his leftover unburned items he had momentarily dumped into his bag on that black day.

Hayden's bag with King Harsh's scroll, check. Hardik, check. He was now going through his own larger bag.

His only portable gadget that was working in a perfect condition, was his camera. He removed his SLR out of his bag, setting it ready to take a few pictures in the wedding and in the process, he heard something sliding out of his bag. He morosely looked down at it, tilting his head and then his eyebrows automatically got contracted. Shoving the bag and camera aside, he bend down and picked it up, the thing that suddenly piqued his interest. It was a crooked, slightly torn bulgy envelope. At first he didn't quite comprehend from where it had come from, and how did it get pushed deep inside the bag that made him unaware of its presence. He raced his mind, and then quickly remembered that it was Hayden who had given him before their narrow escape from the fire.

Beneath it, that his finger touched was a scrunched glossy paper. Holding the envelope in one of his hand, he went to check on the paper first, unfolding it and making it smooth. Opening it wide and shrinking his eyes, he studied it deeply. There was only a fraction of second hesitation and then he burst out.

"No way!" He gasped, his mouth dropping.

It was a picture containing older Shashi Thribhuvan, knelt down beside much younger King Harsh, both of them looking more than brothers in it. There was no pinch of animosity shown between them. Pruthvi kept staring at it, as everything Hayden had told him came back to him, about the Thribhuvan Portrait in the Rawat's palace. Even though he knew there was a confusion going on about Shashi's identity, he never would have imagined that watching it now all by himself could make him so electrocuted.

Shashi Thribhuvan has a secret behind his identity, he thought, and that is why no one ever has seen him in person, not even Doctor, since many, many years.

He looked down at the painting once again, at King Harsh in particular-the way he was smiling having his hand over Shashi's shoulder. Did King Harsh know about this secret? Was he really a great king as everyone believed? Or had he just been pretending to be?

Pruthvi's impression on Hayden's grandfather has always been neutral, even though he sometimes he wanted to blame him for keeping Nazira's childhood in complete jeopardy. Now looking at him being in a friendly state with their arch enemy, Pruthvi's felt his conscience slowly tending to accept Hayden's hatred towards the King.

He sank down on his bed, as the picture began to instill a few more doubts in his mind. Did this secret identity had anything to do with Shourya's warning?

"He was under the impression that only Hayden as Fire of Vengeance is something in between him and what he craves to attain."Shourya had said. "But no. It's actually you and your double kinetic power."

Before Pruthvi could make up more theories, he pushed himself to move on, to open the envelop hoping if it had anything to do with the picture. But what came out of it turned out to be far from his imagination. A whole pack of Rupals. He arched his eyebrows, annoyed. Why in world would Hayden give him money that he might never end up using. Uninterested, he put them back in the envelop.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when he sensed a sudden shift in the air. Feeling dazed, he looked at the door of the room- a couple of shadows appearing beneath the threshold. Knowing it very well to who one of the shadows belonged to, he dropping the envelope and the paper inside his bag, and walked upfront to open the door.

"Let's go!" Leena said sharply, "It's about time. And look who is here to join us!"

"Leena, we need to discuss something important," Pruthvi said, his insides unable to contain the curiosity to share everything he had been thinking about the picture, Shashi's identity and Shourya's warning. But unfortunately it had to wait.

"Hello there!" said the person extending his hand to greet.

In his baggy jeans and purple colored shirt, Pruthvi was sure he was seeing, the minister's son Dhanunjay, in a decent dress for the very first time.

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"Oh my god!" Leena squealed, "Is that Paramarashtrian Flag?"

"Yup," said Dhanunjay, walking ahead of the couple, "Can't believe you are looking at your own country's flag for the first time. My father told me you arrived here a week ago. What have you been doing all this time?"

Pruthvi and Leena shared an awkward glance, feeling too embarrassed to answer him. What could they have said, that they had just been drinking and dreaming to bring Tyrell back?

Dhanunjay was helping them show the way towards the High Gallery, where they came to know that their seats were reserved. Now walking down the main corridor, Pruthvi and Leena were observing at this extravagant amphitheater, completely filled with cheerful people, .

Pruthvi, holding his camera hung down his neck, gazed upon the high lifted, series of flags placed in all directions of the circular amphitheater. Although he had actually seen it before, now he just wanted to pay an extra attention specifically at those horizontal rectangular five colors -Purple, green, blue and red. Center part was left alone in white, with a design on it, probably shaped like a flower. He focused his camera on it, and began taking a few pictures.

"So, the colors on the flag," asked Pruthvi, checking the snaps, "Do they represent the five provinces of Paramarashtra?"

"Correct," said Dhanunjay, "That is why Dakshinpur's both the palaces have a red flag at the top and the knights are always in red uniform. Red represents Dakshinpur, so does the other colors to their respective provinces."

Pruthvi nodded watching all the knights of Madhyakshetra in white uniforms. He had been hating to attend this marriage, but this knowledge he was gaining sounded pretty interesting.

"Vrindahina tree looks glorious today!" Leena said.

Pruthvi peeked down at the ground level of the theatre. The enormous tree, right at the center of the venue, leaves rhomboidal in shape, hundreds of golden flowers bloomed all over it, was decorate too well with extra glazed ribbons and threads. There was large tub sized golden container placed in front of it filled with water and the flowers of the Holy tree floating in it.

After a few more minutes of walk, they reached the specific area, High Gallery, which was more like a balcony attached to the tier. They blindly followed Dhanunjay, moving inside to grab the front row seats. Staying behind Dhanunjay, Pruthvi involuntarily looked above, catching someone's eye staring at him intently.

It was Doctor, sitting beside King Aghasthya and his wife Queen Urmila. Pruthvi gazed at him for a moment when he found Doctor's forehead tied with a thin bandage, and a few scratches all over his cheeks. He wanted to run to him and ask the reason behind his injuries, but predicting what his answer was going to be, Pruthvi just left him alone giving him a reassuring smile.

"Ooo, it's about to start," Dhanunjay said suddenly, startling Pruthvi and Leena as they sat down, his voice filled with excitement bordering on insanity.

"They are getting married already?" said Pruthvi, "Good relief."

"Not yet," said Dhanunjay, "It's time for some entertainment."

"Like what?"

"Like dance."

"Swing wedding dance?"

"Ganika-Hili dance," he replied.

"I am sorry?"

"Ganika-Hili. It's Paramarashtra's traditional dance, named after the two famous dancers who invented it, also, one of them was a Second Generation Samagraha."

"I see." said Pruthvi, feeling amused that a country that failed to grab a place in the world map has its own traditional customs, none was aware of.

Two maids appeared before them carrying a tray in their hands, passing on the refreshment. Leena grabbed two paper glasses and handed one over to Pruthvi. Liquid in it was brownish in color and it smelled terrific or Pruthvi doubted if it was his alternate kinetic power giving him that essence. He took a sip and immediately grimaced tasting its sweetness that he thought if it was a sugar cane juice.

"Eew, it's horrible," said Leena, slightly gagging and keeping the glass down on the floor.

"What the hell is this?" Pruthvi asked Dhanunjay.

"Mead," Dhanunjay responded, lifting his head up to watch over the members gathering in the ground and exclaimed, "Let the show begin."

A group of about fifty grown men, wearing a special unique attire made of the main five colors of Paramarashtra, walked into the free land, holding a bizarre gigantic sized bongo drums hanging down from their necks. They positioned themselves in a sequential manner and began drumming in a rhythmic pattern creating a fine tune.

Following the tune, another set of men and women joined them. Men in white and maroon bordered robes from their waist down, woman in saree with same pattern as men, draped in a completely different style making them look graceful and elegant. They began dancing coordinating their steps with the tunes made by the bongo drum players. It was a certain dance form that reminded Pruthvi of a one he was familiar with.

"Oh! It's a tribal dance," he said. shrugging.

"It isn't a tribal dance," said Dhanunjay, slightly irritated, "May be you should stop being so American for a while."

Pruthvi glanced at him. "I was talking about Indian tribal dance."

"Whatever and we are neither," he replied proudly, "We are Paramarashtrians."

Pruthvi smirked, raising his single eye-brow, "You look Indian and speak American. You people are so hybrid."

"WHATEVER!" he said again, quite loudly this time, "We love our country."

"Why not, somebody should love your country."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You really don't know what I mean?"

"Shh," said Leena, starling both of that, "Stop your bromance already."

Pruthvi instantly fell silent. The drum beats were quite energetic and he began tapping his feet. Meanwhile he scrutinized all around the theater. All the audience seemed to be so much involved, waving their country's flag and clapping to encourage the dancers. His eyes averted, noticing three more balconies at the other directions of the amphitheater built exactly the one they were sitting in.

He couldn't resist and asked Dhanunjay loudly to dominate the sound of the bongo drums, "So who are sitting in the other Galleries?"

"Higher officials," he replied.

Pruthvi waited for him to explain more, when he didn't he asked himself, "As in?"

"The other kings and ministers of Paramarashtra."

"Oh, there are more of them," said Pruthvi, trying not to be sarcastic, "So where is the Prince sitting?"

"You mean Archit Garg's family? Right opposite to us. Look, all the brides and grooms are making an entrance."

The men with drums changed the tune, now beating it with the theme that attracted the thorough attention of the audience. A wooden doorway opposite to the main gate of the amphitheater, that Pruthvi and Leena hadn't noticed before, was now blared open. Young men and women, about twenty couples made themselves visible from inside, walking hand in hand, straight towards the Vrindahina tree.

"She is coming," whispered Dhanunjay. Following his sight, Pruthvi noticed it was Princess Lithika, having her hand around Archit Garg's arm, dressed in a extremely dazzling, white and maroon saree. There was sparkling tiara over her head, they had never seen on her before.

Soon, Pruthvi thought, as a hope of leading a peaceful, normal life flared in his heart. Acting on his impulse he placed his hands over his girlfriend's warm palm, and squeezed it gently. They glanced at each other and smiled, both of them having the same thoughts. Leena leaned over and placed her head over his shoulder trying to hide her blush.

The drumming sound changed again to intense high pitched pounding sound, probably indicating the grooms to walk over and select a flower each from the tub. Following the Prince, the other men went ahead and placed the flower on their women's hair. The audience stood up, clapping and cheering for the newlyweds.

Liking the colorful and joyous atmosphere Pruthvi began taking few more pictures. He zoomed in, and kept pressing his shutter trying to capture the whole theatre into his camera. Amidst a large group standing at their extreme left, on the same base of the amphitheater, Pruthvi peeked through the lens and captured the profile of one certain person, tall and handsome, wearing black shirt and jeans, slightly grown frizzy hair, he looked so similar to...

For once Pruthvi felt his heart skipping a beat. He looked away from the lens on a whim, at the group which was totally useless. Nothing was clear, distance needed to be blamed. He positioned his camera once again close enough to his eye, zooming in till his camera allowed him to.

It was really him, looking down at the married couples with a straight expressionless face. Pruthvi was still gazing at him in a total shock, mouth agape, when Tyrell Kissler suddenly raised his lashes up, looked directly at Pruthvi's camera, smiled and....winked.

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