23 May 1852,

Mayfair, London.

In an elite society where women wrap themselves in fur and prestige while men cover themselves in power and hold in the rainy mist and smell of their own cigarettes.

Lived a stereotypical aristocratic family deeply rooted in lust towards power. A baby boy was born that day, they labelled him the "golden heir" and naming him something so prestigious that would even make power chase him.

That boy spent his childhood surrounded by emotionless nannies, golden spoons, giltering wallpapers and diplomatic talks he wished he never heard.

He hated this, absolutely hated it.

He, too, wanted to dance under rain in his garden only if he hadn't had to perfect his courtesies and dance under the headmaster's supervision in the ballroom. He, too, wanted to play with dogs, cats and frogs but instead got the lifeless stuffed toys every child wanted back then. To him, it's like a gold cage with no escape.

1857,

When he was 7 years old, he wished to be a poet, he wished to be someone who view things as a perception and write it down in the most ethereal form possible, and he might've been one too if the title "Lord" wasn't going to attach to his name later, his family often taunted his dream, silencing him while taunting "only the pathetic fools who have no control over their own emotions, the ones who need a piece of paper to clash on becomes a poet.

Fortunately, Erwik was not a good listener.

He wrote poems in his own diaries which he kept hidden with more security than his family protecting their prestige, his family suspected him. His parents spend more hard on making him stoic and intelligent enough to be made a political pawn later. Erwik didn't choose this.. B. he had no choice either.

How can someone achieve their dreams..?

If they are already shattered to begin with, and you're not even allowed near your own shattered pieces of your dream..?

Well his family won for the first time making him an unalterable and a damn Stoic man, making him their easy pawn in the game by the age of 22.

By his family's connection and Erwik's diplomatic tongue, he was posted the position of Colonel, directly by entering the British army. Now he loathed his life more than he loathed English breakfast in the morning, but he's stuck in a puddle he can't get out on his own.

When he strucked the age 24, his family sweetly condemned him to marry Duchess of weimester, the first practical move in power gain which Erwik sensed before they could pursue it further. He did not want to get married yet. And never that Duchess. He gained a good position in the army by connections and reputation of being the most calculated and stoic man in the current regiment, charm and charismatics never failed too, he used his diplomatic tongue well.

He delayed it till he got a chance of getting stationed in India. A country he was well versed in, And it was a golden opportunity to leave this mess behind, so he agreed and gave his family the first hit of disappointment, does he care? No. Will he? Also, no.

Will his fate change in the country he's stepping next or will shake hands with his next nightmare possible..?

8 months.. 8 months of hell on a motherfucking shipwreck our man finally took his first step on a foreign land he only heard about in newspapers and the governor's pathetic tongue..

As he took a step on the port of Kolkata, he could sense a freshness like the hit of wind before light rain, he could see colors that fascinated him more than a successful mission.. He saw people busy in their work and more lively than ressianance paintings..

Either way he didn't complain.. An officer in the bright red coat was already waiting for the general in await, he stepped into the carriage reminding him of Victorian monotone again.. As he passed a main busy marketplace, he could hear the language people spoke there too foreign to him.. Oddly sweet, just as he was about to pass, he saw a man sitting on steps of a building in a bright red shawl, analyzing papers in his hand with a cup of tea in his hand, black rectangular specs, and a mole on the left side of his face beneath his lips with oddly, unique shimmer in those golden brown eyes he had never seen before, it has a quick glimpse but enough for a general to turn his head back. He remembered that face.

Eventually he reached the quarters and office of the British regiment of West Bengal. Stepping back into Victorian pastels with Bengal's bittersweet summer.. He didn't interact much with others as all the faces were new, and he's taught to be guarded. He met the head officers there who explained the situation and dynamics of West Bengal..

The officer uttered with a sugary glint "had a long way journey, general. You must be tired, how about a glass of champagne for our English gentleman?"

"No, thanks, it's alright. I would like silence and peace for the moment."

Erwik replied with a forced tired smile completely wrecked from the terrible journey.

"Ah, I see. Tired from the shipwreck hmm? It's alright, general, have some rest, we will continue this conversation this evening" the officer replied with a knowing grin as he gestured the servant to lead the new general to his new quarters. The servant bowed and requested the general to follow him. Erwik followed her quietly, she happened to be a middle-aged woman in blue check saree, general was curious about her, as he asked in curiosity

" Umm excuse me, miss do you speak English..?"

the woman replied with whatsoever no interest, "yes, sahib. I do know how to talk in English, i work in a British building, and you expect me not to know English..? You lack sense sahib."

Erwik was startled, he felt a bit stupid and insulted, "i was just asking.. No need to be feisty, i know I am new here and a Britisher.. But you don't have to be so ru--"

The woman cuts him off, "let it be sahib. You've reached your quarter if you require anything just call any servant nearby"

Erwik entered the room, the same decor same smell of cigar and sandalwood, a hit of nostalgia.. He turned back to thank the woman, but the woman already politely slammed the door on his face before he could utter a word. Erwik sighed as threw his hat on the couch nearby and practically fell onto it, he sighed knowing the maid probably swore him as a stupid Englishman behind the doors.. But he couldn't care less, all he cared that he was finally free from his sorry, traumatic family.. He looked around the room and analyzed it for a moment as his mind drifted back to the same golden brown eyes behind those black rectangular frame, perfectly calm and still in Bengal's summer on shiny coffee skin.

" who was he..?"

Erwik muttered to himself thriving for an answer.

Erwik ignored the thought for the day even though it kept bugging him.

He chooses to ignore the evening because he was tired and was sleeping like a dead man,

The next day as he woke up and experienced Bengal's sweet morning with burning heat he felt an odd feeling he never felt before on his used to humidity skin.

Since he hated wasting time, he got into his work quickly, not sparing any extra words or glance to others, he frankly found the British officers stationed here weird, ahm anyway

He was continuing his work throughout the day, commanding troops and singing papers, he got a news of a protest being held in a familiar chowk, it annoyed him to no end, but he can understand the tension emergency..

In midst of blood, gunpowder, shouts and scorching heat, the fight of dominance continues, until Erwik saw the same bright red shawl, now in a terrible state, the same man, but with fresh cuts and defiance sharper than a Turkish blade, even while bleeding that man held fierce bolder than the trenching heat, Erwik found a fire in that man's eyes, he never had before..

He felt envy.. And odd sense on controlling that fierce.. He wanted it. He wanted fear, he ordered the officer next to him "you see that red shawl? Arrest him, bring that one alive no matter what you do" the officer response with a nod as they charged to that journalist through the crowd, but

Arup ne bhi ye khel, pehle bhi khela hai

Arup didn't have fear to get caught, because he didn't have anything to lose, what can Britishers do to him? Kill him? He least cared about that, he ran in his all might to Dodge bullets and officers, until he tripped in a scheduled alley, he was feeling weak from the loose of blood and numbness of summer heat, he was slowly losing his mind, suddenly he heard the officer's voice, he quickly hid, he thought he won this take too, but not for a long time, as the officer's caught him, he ran again, barely holding onto his consciousness, until he was caught outside the chowk as he felt an officer pulling him back grabbing his hair, he didn't felt pain, he was used to it, he felt worse, defeat.

He hated the fact he got caught by a British officer, but he was too weak to react.. To fight back.. To do anything, he just felt himself being dragged by his hair, but he didn't felt an ounce of desperation or humiliation as he felt sorry and anxious eyes of his fellow mates on himself as got dragged, he's shawl suffocating him, not literally but metaphorically as it weighs his guilt and defeat, he loses his consciousness fully not knowing where he might wake up..

It a cell or directly on a execution sight.. But the future had other plans he never knew would exist..