A sudden jolt rattled the cabin. Wheels screamed against the runway, a familiar sound after five years away. Ishita Verma unbuckled her seatbelt, a practiced motion, her gaze already fixed on the grey-blue Delhi sky peeking through the window. The air felt thick, heavy with the promise of home, yet an underlying current of anticipation hummed beneath her calm exterior. She had returned. Delhi Airport buzzed with a chaotic energy she had almost forgotten. Faces blurred past, a kaleidoscope of reunions. Ishita moved through the arrivals hall, her carry-on bag light in her hand, her mind already cataloging the efficiency (or lack thereof) of the baggage claim. She spotted Simran almost immediately. Simran stood near the exit, a flash of bright pink in the muted crowd. Her eyes, usually quick to dart around, were fixed on Ishita. A faint, almost imperceptible flicker of something akin to resentment crossed Simran’s face before it smoothed into a wide, practiced smile. Ishita registered it. Knew it. Simran’s friendships were always transactional, a means to an end. Ishita, however, had never been a willing asset. Approaching her, Ishita offered a small, polite smile. Simran lunged forward, enveloping Ishita in a hug that felt more like a performance than genuine affection. The scent of an expensive, cloying perfume filled Ishita’s nostrils. Simran pulled back, her smile still plastered on. “Wow, Ishita.” Simran’s voice was sugary, too sweet. “We’re meeting after a full five years. I honestly thought that after living in England for so long, you wouldn’t even look Indian anymore. But you still look exactly the same as before… very decent.” A subtle emphasis on ‘decent’, a thinly veiled jab, was not lost on Ishita. Ishita’s expression remained unreadable. Her jaw did not tighten, her eyes held no spark of offense. “Thank you, Simran,” she replied smoothly. “But you’ve changed your look quite a bit too. You look like a Korean idol girl.” Simran blinked, caught off guard. Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “Oh… thank you, Ishita.” “But very sorry too.” Confusion creased Simran’s brow. “Why are you suddenly saying sorry?” “I heard you failed your last attempt again. That’s why.” Ishita’s tone was gentle, almost sympathetic, yet it landed like a precise, surgical strike. Simran’s cheeks flushed, a vein pulsed at her temple, but she forced her lips into a brittle smile. “I was a student myself not long ago,” Ishita continued, her voice soft, “so I genuinely feel bad for you.” Simran swallowed hard, the anger evident in the tightness of her shoulders. She managed a light, forced laugh, a sound devoid of humor. “Anyways… we can talk about all that later. For now, show me your luggage. I’ll drop you at your house.” Simran turned, snapping her fingers at a waiting driver. “Put Ishita’s luggage in the trunk and drive to her mansion.” The driver, a stocky man in a crisp uniform, moved quickly, retrieving Ishita’s bags from the carousel. Soon, they were cutting through the familiar, sprawling chaos of Delhi traffic, heading towards the affluent, tree-lined streets of Vasant Vihar. The city felt different, yet intrinsically the same. Five years had flown by, but the heartbeat of India remained steady. --- Graceful gates of wrought iron swung open as the car approached Rahasangam, Ishita’s ancestral mansion. Simran’s mother, Ishita’s aunt, stood by the entrance, an aarti plate in her hands, its small flame flickering in the afternoon breeze. Her face, usually stern, was softened by a welcoming smile. Stepping out of the car, Ishita felt a wave of unexpected nostalgia. Her aunt walked towards her, performed the traditional welcoming ritual, then embraced her tightly. The hug was genuine, unlike Simran’s. Her aunt’s grip on Ishita’s hand was firm as she led her inside, through the grand entrance, and into the main hall. They settled onto the plush sofas, the air heavy with an unspoken familiarity. Her aunt called for the caretaker, a kindly, silver-haired woman named Shanti, who had been with the family for decades. “Please bring coffee for the three of us.” “Of course, ma’am.” Shanti’s voice was warm, comforting. “And tea for me,” Ishita added quietly. “Certainly, Ishita.” Shanti nodded, then disappeared towards the kitchen. A beat of silence followed, then Simran and her aunt exchanged surprised glances. “Ishita,” her aunt began, a note of gentle chiding in her voice, “you lived in England for five years. You completed your BSc and a Master’s degree in Global Business Management there. Yet you still haven’t changed your habits? Now you’ll be working in big companies and living in high society. You should start changing yourself according to time.” Ishita’s shoulders remained relaxed. She sipped the glass of water Shanti had placed before her. “You’re right about one thing, Bua — people should change with time. But that saying never says we should change things that don’t need changing. I’ve loved tea since childhood.” Her gaze was steady, unwavering. The subtle challenge in her aunt’s words hung unspoken, but Ishita had already dismantled it. Simran leaned forward, a feigned curiosity in her eyes. “So did you always eat Indian food in front of your English friends too?” A smirk played on her lips, hinting at a desire to catch Ishita in a contradiction. Ishita offered a small, knowing smile. “Oh come on, Simran. Don’t act like you don’t know how popular Indian food is in England. Though unfortunately, most of my friends only knew about butter chicken with naan. I was the one who introduced them to other Indian dishes.” She paused, letting the implication hang. Her friends, not Simran’s. Her influence, not Simran’s. Simran’s smirk vanished, replaced by a sullen silence. Her aunt quickly nudged Simran’s knee, a silent command to desist, and smoothly changed the topic. “Anyway, Ishita… what have you planned next? I mean, did you receive any job offers?” The question was casual, yet the underlying tension in her aunt’s posture betrayed a deeper interest. Ishita looked from her aunt to Simran, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Yes,” she stated simply. “From twenty countries.” Both Simran and her aunt gaped, their mouths slightly ajar. Their carefully constructed facade of casual interest crumbled. Before either could fully recover, Shanti reappeared, carrying a tray with steaming cups of tea and coffee. The aroma filled the hall, momentarily disrupting the strained atmosphere. Soon, the small talk resumed, albeit with a new, deferential tone from Simran and her mother. After some time, they presented Ishita with a few elaborately wrapped gifts, exchanged pleasantries, and then departed from the mansion, their smiles a little too wide, a little too eager. --- Inside their car, Simran stewed. “Mom, I thought you were going to talk to her more about the job. But you barely mentioned it.” Her voice was laced with frustration. Her mother, however, seemed unperturbed, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “This is exactly why you failed your last attempt. Sometimes I feel it would have been better if Ishita had been my daughter instead of you.” Simran’s eyes narrowed. “Oh come on, Mom. What did I say that made you compare me with her?” Her face contorted with pique. “You don’t even have one percent of her intelligence.” Her aunt’s voice was sharp, cutting. “If you did, you would have realized that this was not the right moment. Business always follows one rule — never act until the right opportunity appears. If you act in haste, you’ll destroy everything.” She adjusted her sari, a thoughtful look on her face. Her aunt continued calmly, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery. “Business is a game of patience and self-control. If you don’t understand that yet, then watch me and learn.” A subtle threat, a firm reminder of her own perceived superiority. She then softened, a predatory glint entering her eyes. “And don’t think too much. The moment Ishita joins our company, it won’t take long to raise you higher.” Their intentions were a coiled snake, hidden beneath a veneer of familial concern. They wanted Ishita to join their company, not for her brilliance, but for their own gain. Ishita’s deceased father had once taken a substantial loan from her aunt, a debt they believed could be leveraged, a leash to control Ishita. They underestimated her, however, failing to grasp the depth of her strategic mind. Ishita was not naïve. She had seen through their thinly veiled attempts at manipulation even before her plane touched down. After her aunt and Simran left, Shanti, the caretaker, approached Ishita. “Ishita, you’ve come from such a long journey. Why don’t you freshen up and take some rest? I’ll wake you when it’s time for dinner.” Her voice was laced with genuine concern, a stark contrast to the earlier visitors. “Alright. I’ll do that. Thank you.” Ishita appreciated the quiet thoughtfulness. She felt the fatigue of travel deep in her bones, but her mind remained sharp, alert. --- That night, inside Rahasangam, Ishita sat down for dinner. The dining room, usually bustling, felt expansive and quiet around her. Shanti looked slightly concerned, hovering near the table. “You’re having dinner quite early tonight. Are you very tired? Did you not get anything good to eat on the flight?” Shanti’s brow furrowed. Ishita shook her head. “No… I just want you to finish your work early and go home.” She valued her solitude, especially when her mind needed to process. Control over her environment was paramount. “And what if you need something during the night?” Shanti asked, a hint of worry in her tone. “I’ll manage somehow. Simple.” Ishita’s reply was firm, leaving no room for argument. She trusted herself to handle anything. “Hmm… alright then.” Shanti’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “If you want to give me a night off, I won’t complain.” She smiled, a small, fond expression. Then another thought crossed the caretaker’s mind. “To be honest,” Shanti continued, her voice softer, “I thought you might never return. I don’t know what happened between you and your father, but it seemed like you didn’t want to go abroad. Yet you still went because he insisted. Is that why you didn’t even come to his funeral?” A gentle question, but it touched a raw nerve. Ishita’s fork paused mid-air. Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “Yes… we had an argument. But I didn’t stay away because I was angry. I stayed away because of a promise he made me.” “A promise? What promise?” Shanti’s eyes widened slightly, intrigued. “We’ll talk about that another time.” Ishita took a deliberate bite, a silent signal to drop the subject. “Alright. As you wish.” Shanti nodded, respecting the boundary. After a moment, the caretaker remembered something else. “Your father left something for you. He told me to mail it to you after your graduation. But now that you’re here, I can give it to you directly. Also… two days ago a letter arrived in your name.” Ishita’s interest piqued. “Is that so? Then keep both of them in my bedroom. I’ll look at them when I go to rest.” Shanti nodded, pleased to be helpful. After finishing her work, ensuring everything was in order, she left for home, leaving Ishita alone in the silent, grand house. Ishita finished dinner, her thoughts already turning to the items Shanti mentioned. She made her way to her bedroom, a spacious room overlooking a moonlit garden. On the polished antique bed, two things lay waiting: a thick, aged envelope that could only be her father’s last letter, and another, pristine mail addressed to her. Ishita reached for the sleek, unfamiliar envelope first. Her fingers traced the heavy paper. She opened it with a swift, decisive tear. The moment she looked inside, her breath hitched. Her muscles locked. She froze. There was a cheque for ₹12,00,00,000. The shock was so great, so utterly unexpected, that the cheque slipped from her numb fingers and fluttered silently to the ornate rug below. Inside the envelope was also a letter, neatly folded. Ishita slowly, carefully, retrieved it, her heart thudding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She unfolded the crisp paper. At the top of the page were the bold, imposing words: FROM CRIMSON DOMINION Office of the Grand Monarch — Asian Dominion Date: [Insert Date] To, Ms. Ishita Verma Years ago, an agreement was concluded between the Crimson Dominion and your father. That agreement placed your future under the protection and authority of the Dominion. Since that time, every provision promised within that agreement has been honored. Your education, including the completion of your Master’s degree in Global Business Management, was supported through arrangements established by the Dominion. These arrangements were made with a single purpose: to prepare you for the responsibilities that now await you. With your return to India and the completion of your studies, the time has come for you to assume your position within the Dominion. By order of the Grand Monarch of Asia, you are hereby appointed to serve as Grand Assistant to the Grand Monarch within the Asian Dominion. Your duties will require you to assist in matters concerning the administration of the Dominion across Asia. This includes coordination with regional assistants serving under their respective Kings, the management of confidential records, and the handling of affairs that must remain beyond the awareness of the ordinary world. Your responsibilities will often require travel beyond your place of residence, and in certain matters you may exercise authority over regional assistants when circumstances demand it. To support your position and ensure your independence in fulfilling these duties, the Dominion provides the following: Monthly Compensation: ₹10,00,000 Advance Provision: ₹12,00,00,000 The advance cheque enclosed with this letter has been issued in accordance with the original agreement and is provided as the beginning of your service. Additional arrangements necessary for your work—including security, assistance, travel, and operational properties—will be made available to you under the authority of the Dominion. Further instructions regarding your responsibilities will be delivered once you present yourself at the designated office of the Dominion. You are expected to report within thirty days of receiving this letter. The Dominion has long fulfilled its obligations. It is now time for you to fulfill yours. By Order of the Grand Monarch of Asia Crimson Dominion of Asia After reading everything, Ishita fell into deep thought. What exactly had her father promised? And what, precisely, was the Crimson Dominion?

Chapter 1: The Crimson Summons