Chapter 16

The Meeting of Fire and Blocks

Morning in Vienna carried the streamed through the wide hotel, the tables in the lounge are glinting . For most, it was a day to admire the architecture, sip coffee, and stroll the boulevards. But for Alexei, the morning weighed like iron shackles around his ankle.

His uncle was coming.

Alexei had hardly slept. Each hour of the night had passed with him staring at the painted walls hearing Lucien’s voice through: “Your uncle’s life rests on your loyalty.” And Arjun’s warnings, too: “Men like him save only what they mean to own.”

Now both men were about to meet — and Alexei, trapped between them, could already feel the storm building.

Arjun Singh arrived with no fanfare. The old man stepped into the hotel lounge in a simple coat, a scarf wound around his neck. His gait was steady, his eyes looking smart. There was no entourage, no gesture to announce importance — only the weight of a man who had lived long, seen much, and learned to wear humility as an armor.

Alexei rose immediately, his body tense, his face pale. His smile was forced, stretched tight in his features. He bowed his head.

“Uncle,” he prostrated.

Arjun embraced him, holding him tight for a moment, and in that touch Alexei felt both comfort and reproach.

“You look thinner,” Arjun observed. “Your soul is restless.” His eyes flicked up to Lucien, who stood just behind, watching them with a predator’s patience. “And now I see why.”

Lucien stepped forward. His presence seemed to bend the whole space around. He extended a gloved hand, smiling with practiced civility.

“Lucien Devereux,” he introduced himself. “It is an honor to finally meet the man who raised Alexei from afar.”

Arjun took the hand. His own grip was stand still. Their eyes met — Lucien’s calculating, burning with ambition; Arjun’s calm, carrying the weight of wisdom old man.

To any onlooker, it was a simple handshake. But to Alexei, standing between them, it felt like two blades testing their edge.

They sat down, a waiter brought coffee, pastries, fruits. None of it mattered. The table was only a stage for the play of power.

Arjun sipped his coffee, as though in no hurry to speak. His silence was deliberate, drawing Lucien into impatience.

Finally, Lucien moved back in his chair. “Alexei has spoken highly of you. He claims your knowledge surpasses even the whispers of Europe.”

Arjun smiled. “Knowledge is a river, monsieur. Some drink deeply, others only wet their lips. It is not who holds the river that matters, but who can endure its current.”

Lucien’s smile tightened. He was used to men bowing to his compliments, not answering with riddles.

Alexei sat straight, his hands twisting in his lap. He had rehearsed an easier introduction, words to make his uncle accept Lucien. But in this moment, none came. His throat was dry, his heart a drumbeat of fear.

Arjun glanced at him, and in that glance saw everything: the boy’s discomfort, the weight pressing him, the strings pulled tight by Lucien’s unseen hand.

The old man’s sighed, though he kept his face composed. So it is true, he thought. The boy walks with chains.

Lucien, sensing the undercurrent, stood up from his seat. His voice taking on the cadence of persuasion.

“I care for Alexei deeply. He is not only my protégé, but my… shadow. I have given him purpose, protection, power. And now, with this Cham you speak of, I intend to give him more. Together, we can change the very balance of Europe.”

His eyes glinted. “Surely, as his uncle, you would want nothing less than his security.”

Arjun’s lips smiled. But his mind cut deep as a blade. Security! That is the word men of greed always hide behind.

“Security,” Arjun repeated, setting down his cup. “Yes. A noble desire. But tell me, Lucien Devereux, do you mean Alexei’s security? Or your own?”

Lucien’s smile faded for a fraction of a second before he recovered. “The two are intertwined. His rise is my rise. His safety is my safety. I would not separate them.”

Arjun nodded, as though agreeing — but his eyes never left Lucien’s. Behind the mask of politeness, he saw it clearly: the hunger, the thirst, the unquenchable greed. This was a man who did not love the boy for himself, but for what he could wield through him.

Alexei’s stomach twisted. He could feel the battle under the surface, but he had no voice to stop it.

Arjun chose his next words carefully. He would not confront Lucien directly, not yet. Wisdom taught him that snakes were not slain by stomping, but by drawing them into their own coils.

“You speak of changing Europe, but tell me, do you know what the Cham truly is?”

Lucien’s face panic. “A relic, a ring and a weapon of influence.”

Arjun shook his head. “It is no weapon. It is a mirror. It does not grant power to those who hold it. It reveals the truth of their hunger, and it magnifies it until it consumes them.”

He slowly moved back, folding his hands. “The Cham has destroyed more kings than wars ever could. And you, monsieur, speak of it as if it were a coin to be pocketed?"

For the first time, Alexei saw Lucien fear, deep fear in his eyes. It was just brief, but hesitation nonetheless.

“I am not a king,” Lucien answered. “I am a builder, with the Cham, I will not fall. I will only rise.”

Arjun smiled, though sadness lined his voice. “All men who fall speak that way, just before the ground swallows them whole.”

The throwing of facades left Alexei trembling inside. He wanted to cry out, to beg them both to stop, but fear clamped his voice. He was a boy between two giants — one with the strength of youth and ambition, the other with the weight of age and wisdom.

Both loved him in their own way, both claimed to want his safety. But to Alexei, their love felt like chains pulling in opposite directions.

When he looked at Lucien, he saw the man who had pulled him from starvation, who had trained him, made him more than a thief. A man who claimed him as shadow. A man he could not deny.

When he looked at Arjun, he saw the uncle who had whispered prayers over him, who spoke of memory, of blood, of belonging. A man who saw through every lie, who offered love without condition.

And Alexei — Alexei only wanted freedom, nothing more.

The meeting ended in civility. Strong words exchanged, promises of continued discussions, gestures of respect.

Lucien left the table with the confidence of a man who believed he had not been challenged. Alexei followed, silent, avoiding his uncle’s eyes.

Only when they were gone did Arjun sat back in his chair, staring into his untouched plate of fruit. His face was calm, but his mind raced.

He had seen enough.

Lucien Devereux was dangerous — not merely because of his mafia empire, not merely because of his reach into politicians’ pockets. No, it was deeper. He was the kind of man who believed the Cham was a key to empire. That made him the most dangerous of all.

But Arjun would not confront him head-on. No sword, no gun, no open fight. He would use patience, wisdom, and the Cham itself.

Arjun’s next move had already begun forming in his mind.

Men like Lucien burn quickly, he thought. All I must do is give the flame — and it will devour him from within.

He whispered the same words he had spoken to Alexei long ago: “Love mixed with power turns dangerous.”

And as the Vienna morning sun rise higher, Arjun knew — the true battle had just begun.

Vienna was awake now, its streets alive with carriages, cars, and voices. But for Alexei, the city was no longer a place of beauty. It was an arena.

His uncle had seen through Lucien. Lucien had tightened his grip. And Alexei, trembling in the middle, knew he could not keep them apart for long.

Soon, masks would fall. And when they did, Vienna itself might tremble.