The air was still, heavy with a silence more terrifying than the previous battle's roar. The Ahankari forces had fled in blind, primal terror, leaving behind only the shattered remnants of their greed and the silent, terrified faces of the remaining Dhananjaya-Kshetra guards. They no longer looked at Karna with the loyalty they had held for their prince, but with the wide-eyed fear reserved for an unknown and monstrous force. The golden light radiating from him slowly receded, leaving behind a figure who was neither the child they knew nor the man they had just witnessed.
Karna stood amidst the wreckage, the body of his father, King Raynar, lying just a few feet away. His mind, once so blissfully empty, was now a maelstrom of memories, a collision of two separate existences. He felt the profound sorrow of losing a father who had loved him unconditionally, a love he had never known as Karna of Kurukshetra. But woven into that grief was the bitter rage of a man who had been called "Sutaputra" his entire life, a man who had been born a king but was denied his throne and his birthright. He was torn between two losses, two worlds, two sets of emotions that were too much for one soul to bear.
His golden eyes, still burning with a faint light, fell upon his father's body. He felt an overwhelming urge to collapse, to weep like the child he once was. But the warrior within him, the part of his soul that had bled on a thousand battlefields, held him in place. It was the same pain, the same helplessness he had felt when his chariot wheel had become stuck in the mud. The same humiliation. He had been a king, a god, a warrior, and yet, in both his lives, he had been powerless to protect the ones he loved.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. This wasn't a fluke. This wasn't an accident. This was a plan. He was a pawn in a game far larger than himself, a game orchestrated by the very gods who had granted him this "second chance." He remembered the cold, distant look in Narada's eyes, the moment his expression had flickered with a strange sadness. He remembered the warning. "It is not possible to erase your memories and powers... We can only seal them." Narada had known this would happen. He had known the cost of peace would be the greatest tragedy of all.
Karna's gaze hardened. The sorrow in his eyes was replaced by a cold, unwavering resolve. The child's grief transformed into the warrior's purpose. He had been mocked twice, humiliated twice, and used twice. He was no longer fighting just for revenge. He was fighting for answers. He needed to know why. He needed to find the one who had set this path in motion.
He looked at the surviving guards, their faces pale with shock. "Clean this up," his voice commanded, a strange, new fusion of a royal prince and a seasoned warrior. "Heal the wounded. Bury the dead. The King... my father... deserves a proper funeral." He gave a final, long look at his father's face, a silent promise in his eyes. He would not fail him a third time.
With a final breath, he turned his back on the palace he had once called home. The golden light around him completely disappeared, leaving him a lone figure in the darkness. He walked towards the gates, a man with the memories of two lives and the burden of a new destiny. He would find Narada. He would find the gods. And he would make them answer for what they had done. This was no longer just a battle. This was a hunt.