---
The gates of Hastinapur opened like the mouth of something ancient.
Agasthya stepped through first, robed in deep blue, a long blade sheathed at his back. Beside him walked Karna—taller, heavier, golden-skinned, his armor glinting beneath his vest like a secret he no longer cared to hide.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
Their presence spoke louder than any horn.
In the courtyards, the royal guards stiffened—not with hostility, but with instinct.
They remembered that day—ten years ago—when the boy who had no name left in silence.
Now, the name had spread beyond the city.
And it walked beside a man forged in rejection.
---
Inside the hall, Bhishma sat at the high dais.
He did not rise. He did not smile.
But his eyes sparkled.
"You returned," he said.
Agasthya bowed his head. "You summoned."
"And he?" Bhishma asked, glancing at Karna.
"He rides with me now," Agasthya replied.
Bhishma nodded once, almost proudly.
"You'll see the princes soon," he said. "They've grown… spirited."
Karna smiled faintly. "Is that your word for undisciplined?"
Bhishma chuckled under his breath.
"You'll judge that soon enough."
---
The meeting was arranged in the courtyard garden, under the excuse of shared food before the exhibition began.
Agasthya and Karna arrived first.
The Pandavas arrived second.
Yudhishthira approached with ceremonial grace. "You honor us," he said politely, offering his hand.
Agasthya took it without bowing. "The honor belongs to the throne. Not its heirs."
Yudhishthira blinked—uncertain whether it was humility or warning.
Bhima offered a brief nod. He sized up Karna, then Agasthya, then grunted. "You don't look like myth."
Karna smiled. "That's how we survive."
Then came Arjuna.
He said nothing at first.
Just looked at Karna.
And Karna… looked back.
Longer than necessary.
Their hands didn't move. Their feet didn't shift.
But something passed between them.
A flicker of confusion.
A ripple of breath caught in the chest.
> Why do I know you?
But neither said it.
They moved on.
---
The Kauravas entered next, with Duryodhana at the front.
He walked like he owned the palace.
Until he saw Agasthya.
And stopped.
His grin faltered—just slightly.
But Duryodhana was no coward.
He extended his hand with a mocking bow. "The forgotten prince of Mathura. The blade of the storm. Welcome to Hastinapur."
Agasthya took the hand. "You remember more titles than names."
Duryodhana chuckled. "And you remember how to cut with words."
"Only when silence is too kind."
Duryodhana laughed.
But didn't meet his eyes again.
---
From the shadows near the wall, Drona watched.
So did Kripacharya.
Their whispers were soft.
"He's not just a warrior," Kripa said. "He's something else."
"I trained princes," Drona said. "But he walks like he remembers war the way others remember lullabies."
Kripa looked toward Karna.
"And that one… he burns too quietly."
Drona nodded. "They don't belong to this generation."
"Then why are they here?"
"To watch," Drona said.
"To measure."
"To wait."
---