His celestial chariot descended slowly, returning to his side with the seven horses that Karna left in his father's care when he departed from Kanipura, more than a year ago.
The chariot settled gently onto the ghat steps.
Now, as it returned, it was the time for Karna to become the Sangyaputra, the King of Dakshina Kalinga once again.
He climbed onto the chariot, his movements calm, practiced, as if his body remembered something his mind had forgotten.
The moment his feet touched the platform, Vijayadhanush appeared in his hand.
His eyes then lifted toward the northern horizon.
Mathura lay somewhere beyond it, hidden behind distance, but he could already feel it like a dark knot waiting to be cut.
The chariot lifted.
No command was needed.
The seven horses surged forward, and the world dropped away beneath Karna as the vehicle rose into the sky. It rushed in the direction of the royal palace is located.
Meanwhile, at the palace;
The thirteenth day rites were completed in solemn silence.
Prince Indraverma had not been crowned yet, as the court still needed to complete the formal rites before the coronation could take place.
But officially, everyone already called him Maharaj.
Not because of the ceremony, but because the throne had no one else.
Meanwhile, Mrinalini remained in seclusion during the past 13 days of mourning without meeting anyone.
Servants brought food to her chambers and left quietly. The plates returned untouched. Water was poured into cups that remained full.
Her maids whispered among themselves that the princess did not sleep. That she sat by the window for hours, staring at the river, unmoving. That she prayed before her shrine until the oil lamp burned out and her lips still kept moving in the dark.
The grief had hollowed her face, carved shadows beneath her eyes, but she did not weep in front of anyone anymore. It was as if the tears had been burned out of her during that night of blood and fire.
But on the fourteenth day, present day, the word reached Indraverma that his sister had gone to the royal armory.
And he went there immediately.
The armory was a long stone hall lined with racks of swords, spears, shields, bows, and armor.
Mrinalini stood alone in the center.
She moved methodically, like someone who had already decided what her body would become. A chainmail tunic rested beneath her saree, the links clinking softly with every shift of her shoulders. She tested a breastplate, set it aside, then checked the weight of a sword with a careful grip. A short blade already hung at her hip.
She was fastening leather greaves when King Indraverma entered.
"Sister," he said, his voice low, strained with concern. "What are you doing?"
Mrinalini tightened the strap and stood up slowly. "I am preparing," she replied, her tone calm.
Indraverma stepped closer, his eyes widening as he took in the armor. "Preparing for what?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
Mrinalini met his gaze without blinking. "For the war," she said simply.
Indraverma's jaw clenched. "You cannot go, Sister," he said. "You are a woman. You are the princess of Kashi. You cannot step into a battlefield."
Mrinalini's lips tightened slightly, not in anger, but in something colder. "This war is not being fought at Kashi," she replied. "It is being fought at Mathura. And this war isn't a war between two kingdoms that we have to think about the kshatriya. This is a war for justice. A war against evil."
Indraverma frowned, confusion and alarm twisting together on his face. "What are you saying?" he demanded.
Before Mrinalini could explain, a soldier burst into the armory, breathless, eyes wide with fear and awe.
"Maharaj!" the man gasped, bowing quickly. "A flying chariot has appeared above the palace. It is descending into the courtyard!"
Mrinalini's eyes flicked toward the high windows as soon as she heard those words.
She looked back at Indraverma. "Brother, be careful until I return," she said, her voice steady.
Indraverma stepped forward and grabbed her arm. "Sister, wait," he pleaded. "You cannot just leave, Kashi!"
Mrinalini turned sharply, and her gaze made him loosen his grip.
"Brother," she began, then paused, correcting herself at last. "Maharaj."
The title sounded strange in her mouth, but she forced it out anyway.
"Consider this a warning," she said, her voice quiet but sharp enough to cut stone. "If you do not allow me to go, then I will cut my ties to the kingdom and to the royal family before I leave. No matter what, today I will get justice for our parents."
Indraverma stared at her as if he didn't recognize her anymore.
His fists clenched at his sides.
"I lost them too," he said, his voice low and trembling. "I want to come with you."
For a brief moment, Mrinalini's expression softened, and something like sisterly love flickered in her eyes.
But it vanished quickly, swallowed by reality.
"If you were only my brother, I would ask him to take you," she replied. "But you are the King of Kashi now. If you go to Mathura, it becomes Kashi, declaring war. And I promised Maharaj Karna that I will not punish innocents."
Her voice lowered, quieter, but it carried more weight.
"Today I go as a daughter," she said. "Not as the princess of Kashi."
Indraverma's shoulders sagged.
He looked away, jaw tight, fighting something inside himself. Then the sound of hooves echoed faintly from above, and the light outside the armory brightened like a second sunrise.
Indraverma turned and followed Mrinalini out into the courtyard.
The palace corridors fell silent as they passed. Nobles stepped aside. Servants froze with trays in their hands. Guards straightened, unsure whether to bow or to block the way. Whispers spread like wildfire, but no one dared speak loudly.
Mrinalini walked through them all without slowing.
When she reached the courtyard, she stopped.
Above them, the chariot descended.
Seven white horses gleamed in the sunlight, their manes flowing like flame. The chariot body shone gold, and its presence made the entire palace feel small, like a child's toy set beneath the sky.
It landed without a sound.
Karna stood at the front of the chariot, Vijayadhanush resting across his shoulders. His hair and beard were tied back simply, and a surya tilak glowed on his forehead. His gaze swept over the gathered crowd, then settled on Indraverma.
He stepped down smoothly, his feet touching the stone with quiet authority.
"Rajkumar Indraverma," Karna began, then corrected himself with calm respect. "I apologize. Maharaj Indraverma."
Indraverma straightened instinctively.
Karna continued, his voice clear enough for everyone to hear.
"Fourteen days ago, I promised your sister that I would take her to Mathura, so she could witness Kamsa answer for his crimes. Today I am here to fulfill that promise."
He paused, his gaze steady.
"But since you are the acting king of Kashi, even before your coronation, I will ask you directly. Do I have your permission to take her with me?"
The courtyard went completely silent.
Even the horses seemed to be still.
Mrinalini stepped forward, her chainmail clinking softly beneath her saree.
"Why are you asking permission now?" she demanded, her voice tight. "I already agreed. What difference does it make?"
Karna looked at her steadily.
"If I take you with permission," he said, "you travel as a companion. If I take you without your guardian's consent, it becomes elopement. And if I take you without your consent, it becomes abduction."
His eyes did not waver.
"There is a difference with every action, Princess, even if all three of them had the same action."
Mrinalini stared at him for a long moment, then said nothing.
Indraverma swallowed, his throat working hard. He looked at his sister, at the armor she wore, at the sword at her waist, at the calm fury in her eyes. Indraverma's jaw clenched.
For a moment, he looked like a boy again, standing at the edge of a storm too big for him.
Then he exhaled slowly, as if surrendering to fate.
"Go," he said at last, voice thick. "And return safely, sister."
Mrinalini's eyes flickered. She did not smile. She did not cry.
She only nodded once.
Then she walked toward the chariot.
Karna shifted Vijayadhanush into his right hand and extended his left. His palm was open, steady. Mrinalini took it without hesitation, her fingers closing firmly around his. With one smooth pull, Karna drew her onto the chariot platform.
She stepped beside him and gripped the railing.
The horses stamped and tossed their heads, eager. Their breath came out like warm mist. The chariot seemed to hum faintly, as if it too was impatient.
Karna looked down at Indraverma one last time.
"I will bring her back safely," he said.
Indraverma nodded, unable to speak anymore.
Karna took the reins.
The seven horses then surged forward, and the chariot lifted from the courtyard stones, rising higher and higher. Wind rushed past them, tugging at Mrinalini's hair, snapping her saree against her legs. The palace walls shrank beneath them. The temples became tiny spires. The Ganga turned into a thin ribbon of silver.
And both of them disappeared behind clouds.