Karna's POV:
He hadn't planned to wake up with a little peace in his chest. But it was there, resting like sunlight caught in a cracked windowpane.
Vrushali.
He hadn't seen her in years.
But when she arrived that morning—storm-eyed and sharp-tongued—it was like time folded in on itself.
"You could've married the most beautiful woman in Aryavarta," she muttered, arms crossed. "But of course, you had to be rejected by her first."
Karna raised an eyebrow. "So you're keeping score now?"
"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes. "I always knew you'd aim too high."
"You mean Draupadi?"
"I mean everything."
Her voice cracked a little.
Karna didn't reply at once. There was always something between them—like a string pulled too tight, always on the edge of snapping or singing.
"You're angry with me," he finally said.
"No," she replied, "I'm just… tired of watching you break your own heart."
Just then, Radha-ma passed by, chuckling, "You two haven't changed a bit. Arguing like married parrots."
Karna blinked. Vrushali turned bright red.
It was the first time in weeks he laughed—freely, without weight.
For a little while, the world didn't feel so cruel.
---
Arjun's POV:
Far from Anga, in the halls of Hastinapur, I couldn't sleep again.
There was a dull ache in my chest—not of pain, but of purpose unmet.
I kept thinking about Karna.
I need him.
Not just as a warrior.
As a brother.
As a bridge between hearts that were rapidly hardening.
If Hastinapur and Indraprastha remained one kingdom, war would be inevitable. Egos would clash, ambitions would spill blood, and Dharma would drown in politics.
But if… just if... the kingdom could be divided, with peace in mind...
We might still have time.
And Karna was the only one who could talk to Duryodhana—truly.
But Karna was still absent. As distant as the moon.
---
In Kunti's Chamber,
Draupadi sat by Kunti's side, combing through flower petals with quiet hands.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Then Kunti whispered, "I never asked you, my child… how do you feel? After all this?"
Draupadi looked at her fingers. "Like a thread caught in the wind, but still woven into the cloth."
Kunti smiled. "That's a very you-like answer."
Draupadi chuckled softly. "And you, Mata? Do you still think of… the one you lost?"
Kunti's breath hitched.
"I think of him every moment I breathe," she said. "But I also think of the son I kept. All of you. And what I must do now… to keep peace among my children."
There was an unspoken name between them.
Karna.
Draupadi didn't speak it.
But she thought of the man she had rejected in front of the world.
And wondered if regret was the right word—or simply fate's cruel symmetry.
---
Court of Hastinapur – Heated Debates
The echoes in the royal court were sharper than blades that day.
Courtiers gathered—some to bow, some to bare teeth.
The news of the Pandavas' return and Draupadi's marriage had reached every ear, but not every heart welcomed it.
Bhishma stood like a pillar carved from Dharma itself.
"I see only one heir worthy of this throne," he declared, voice steady. "Dharma Raj Yudhishthir."
A storm rolled through the sabha.
Shakuni snorted. "He who hid in the forest for years? Who returned with a woman as wife to five men?"
"Silence," Bhishma warned.
Even Kripacharya raised his voice, albeit calmer. "The customs… they have been broken. What the people say—what they whisper—cannot be ignored, Devavrata."
And then there was Ashwatthama.
"If this is your idea of Dharma," he said, eyes flashing, "then perhaps Dharma itself needs redefining."
Vidura, ever the voice of reason, attempted peace. "If we must argue, let it be by law, not emotion."
But no one listened.
Each voice climbed over the other, every faction louder than the last. Some backed Bhishma. Others whispered Duryodhana's name with increasing boldness.
And still… the one voice that could've broken the deadlock—
Was missing.
Karna.
Yudhishthir sat quietly, dignity never faltering. But Arjun could feel it.
The cracks were growing.
'Karna, where are you?
If you don't come soon… this kingdom will break apart.'