The rains passed by morning, leaving behind a silence as thick as fog across Hastinapura. The arena, so full of voices the day before, now stood empty. But the words spoken — and unspoken — still echoed through the stone corridors of power.
In the upper palace halls, the council gathered. Bhishma, Dronacharya, Kripacharya, and Vidura sat in a chamber lined with carved pillars and burning oil lamps. The air smelled of sandalwood and smoke — a fitting scent for a room where judgment was passed and futures were decided.
---
Bhishma sat at the head of the chamber, arms crossed. Though his face showed no emotion, his thoughts churned.
"The boy," he said finally, "is dangerous."
Vidura raised a brow. "Because he stood toe-to-toe with Arjuna?"
"No," Bhishma replied. "Because he is fearless. And because he is not of royal blood, yet carries himself as though kingship is his birthright."
Kripa snorted. "The Suta's son. Crowned by a prince. That in itself is an insult to tradition."
Dronacharya, who had remained quiet until now, finally spoke. "He is skilled. That much is undeniable. But I will not train him. My vow was to the princes of Hastinapura — to royalty."
Vidura's voice was soft, thoughtful. "He did not ask to be trained. He came ready. And that is what troubles us."
The silence that followed was sharp-edged.
---
Far below, in the palace gardens, Karna walked alone.
Not in shame — but in contemplation.
The events of the previous day had revealed something he had long known, but not yet fully accepted: merit did not matter unless the world was ready to see it. And Hastinapura was not ready.
Not yet.
He heard soft footsteps behind him and turned.
Duryodhana approached, a folded scroll in hand. "A message from Gandhara," he said. "My uncle Shakuni is arriving soon."
Karna's brow furrowed. "Why now?"
Duryodhana smiled, though there was little warmth in it. "Because the old wolves smell blood in the air. The game is beginning."
---
Elsewhere in the palace, the Pandavas gathered around their mother Kunti, their faces troubled. Arjuna's jaw was still tight with quiet fury.
"He dares to stand beside me," Arjuna muttered, "without a name, without a place."
Yudhishthira, ever calm, said nothing. But he had watched Karna's composure, his restraint, and his quiet confidence. It unsettled him.
"He was not disrespectful," Yudhishthira finally said. "Only determined."
Bhima scoffed. "Determined doesn't mean deserving."
But Nakula and Sahadeva exchanged glances. They had trained with the Kauravas. They had heard of Duryodhana's companion — the one who trained in the forests, who moved like fire and silence combined.
Sahadeva asked quietly, "Why did Duryodhana give him a kingdom? What did he see?"
Kunti looked out toward the horizon. What did I see? she thought, remembering that long-ago river, the crying infant, the guilt she buried.
But she said nothing.
---
Back in Duryodhana's chambers, Shakuni's letter lay open on the table.
"He will come," Duryodhana said. "And with him, allies. Wisdom. Plans. The Pandavas are rising — too favored, too protected. If we don't act now, we will always be their shadows."
Karna leaned against the window frame, arms crossed. "Then we don't just act. We lead."
Duryodhana looked at him. "Do you believe we can change this kingdom?"
"I believe we already have," Karna said.
He turned, eyes fixed on the golden dome of the palace temple in the distance. "They tried to keep me out of the field. You brought me back in. Together, we'll fight for a world that does not ask where you came from before it listens to what you stand for."
---
Later that evening, Karna visited the training grounds alone.
He loosed arrow after arrow into the night, each shot a question fired at the stars: Who am I? Why was I born twice? Why this battle, again?
He did not need the gods to answer. He knew.
In this life, he was not the outsider waiting for a place.
He would make one.