(Vidura's POV)

Vidura moved through the echoing corridors of Hastinapura with purpose, each footfall feeling as though it were weighed down by more than just his body. The news of Bhimasena's safety that he had just delivered to the Pandavas should have comforted him, yet there was a nagging sensation that something had been... wrong. He couldn't shake it.



When he had been in Yudhishthira's chambers earlier, their reaction had been what one would expect. Nakula and Sahadeva had grasped his hands in silent gratitude, their faces mirroring the relief that had washed over them.



In her overflowing joy, Kunti had attempted to touch his feet, but Vidura had gently stopped her. Usually calm and composed, Yudhishthira hugged him so tightly that Vidura could feel the prince's heart pounding in his chest.



And if there had been a wet patch where Yudhishthira's face had rested against him, Vidura did not draw attention to it. The room had been filled with a sense of peace, the quiet relief of knowing that the second Pandava was alive and safe. A storm had passed, or so it seemed.



But one person did not seem to share their happiness in that moment of peace: Arjuna.



Vidura had noticed the son of Indra, standing apart from the others. His face had been calm, almost serene on the surface, but Vidura hadn't failed to notice the shadows in his eyes. There had been no joy, no release of tension. While everyone else had visibly relaxed, Arjuna's thoughts had been elsewhere, his eyes distant and troubled.



He hadn't celebrated, hadn't smiled. Instead, there had been a heaviness, a weight pressing down on his shoulders that no one else seemed to notice. 'Why?' Vidura had asked himself. 'Why would Arjuna, of all people, appear so troubled by such joyous news?'



The image of Arjuna's face continued to haunt him as he moved through the palace. It lingered in his mind like the distant rumble of thunder before a storm, a warning of something deeper. Something more ominous.



But there was no time to dwell on Arjuna's reaction, not now. Not when a servant had approached him moments earlier, breathless and pale, barely able to form words. "It is Mahaamahim Bhishma.........he has collapsed".



Vidura's heart had lurched in his chest at those words, a sudden rush of fear spreading through him. Bhishma— who had always been the pillar of strength, the immovable force of the Kuru dynasty—had collapsed? The very thought of it seemed impossible, a violation of some cosmic order. And yet, the look in the servant's eyes told him it was true. Bhishma, the unbreakable, had fallen. And, reportedly, the last person to speak with him was Vasusena.



Vidura's pace quickened, his mind a flurry of questions and mounting dread. What had happened? What could Vasusena have said to bring Bhishma to such a state? Vasusena, who had been bold enough to challenge the great patriarch, had stirred unease within the entire court. But to bring Bhishma to his knees? It had been less than an hour since Vidura had left them to their conversation. 'What could that boy have done in such a short time?' Vidura wondered, his heart racing.



When Vidura reached the room where Bhishma sat, the sight that greeted him nearly stopped him in his tracks. Bhishma—the grand figure who had always seemed larger than life—sat slumped and motionless, his armour discarded in a heap beside him like the remnants of a forgotten past. His gaze was fixed on some distant point, staring at nothing, lost in thoughts that seemed.



Vidura's breath caught in his throat. He had never seen his uncle like this—so small, so vulnerable. The sight felt wrong, deeply unsettling. The Protector of Hastinapur was meant to be the unyielding force that held the kingdom together. Yet here he was—broken, his very spirit crushed.



Without hesitation, Vidura knelt beside him, his voice soft but laced with concern. "Pitrivya..." he whispered, reaching out to touch Bhishma's shoulder. His touch was meant to be comforting but Bhishma flinched, recoiling from the contact as if it burned. Vidura reeled back, startled.



And then, something Vidura could never have imagined happened. Bhishma turned—his eyes filled with a desperation that Vidura had never seen before—and pulled him into a tight embrace. It wasn't the strong embrace one would expect from a warrior, but the clutch of a man who had reached his breaking point.



Bhishma, the man who had carried the weight of the Kuru dynasty for centuries, clung to Vidura like a child seeking refuge from a storm. His body trembled violently and Vidura could feel the deep, shuddering breaths that wracked his uncle's frame.



Vidura's heart clenched painfully at the sight but he said nothing. He simply wrapped his arms around the son of Ganga—offering silent comfort to the man who had been their rock for so long. For so many years, Bhishma had been the one to support them all. And now, it was Vidura's turn to offer support.



After what felt like an eternity, Bhishma released him, pulling back with a haunted look still etched on his face. His composure had shattered and his hands trembled as they rested in his lap. When he finally spoke, his voice was hollow, a mere shadow of the man Vidura had always known. "Vasusena..." Bhishma whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. "He told me the first half of the conversation between him and Suyodhana."



The words hung in the air like a death sentence, heavy and suffocating. Vidura could only listen, his mind reeling. Bhishma slumped further, his eyes dull and unfocused as he continued. "He revealed what transpired between Suyodhana, Gandhari, and Dhritarashtra. The conversation that..." Bhishma paused, as if the weight of what he was about to say was too much to bear, "...the conversation that destroyed every last hope I had that my family would remain united."



Vidura's thoughts raced, his mind grasping for answers. This was the conversation—the one they had all heard about, the one Keshava had hinted at. For months, they had tried to piece together what had transpired, what had set Suyodhana on his path of defiance. None of them had dared to pry Gandhari deeply about the conversation, fearing the reopening of old wounds that had yet to heal.



And now, Vasusena has revealed one part of it willingly.



If Vasusena had revealed that conversation without fear, it could only mean one thing: the words spoken were irrefutable and they could not use it against him in the court. Because it was absolute and something they could not fight against.



They had already discussed the possibility of charging Vasusena with treason for driving a wedge between the royal family when they finally managed to learn the contents of the conversation.



But if he had willingly revealed the truth, if he had exposed the words that had torn the family apart, then to charge him with treason would be a dangerous move. For they all knew one thing—crossing Vasusena now, when he was confident, could spell doom for them all. Unless he was leashed it was better to tread carefully.



"What... What did Vasusena say?" Vidura asked tentatively, his voice barely more than a breath, as if he feared the answer would shatter whatever fragile hope lingered between them.



Bhishma's gaze fell, his eyes tracing the ground as though it held the weight of his burden. His face tightened, every word like a bitter poison he was forced to swallow. "He showed me... how Suyodhana twisted the truth—how he used what had been left unsaid as a weapon against us. He filled Dhritarashtra's heart with doubt, poisoned his love for this family with words dipped in venom."



A chill rippled through Vidura's spine. "Twisted the truth?"



Bhishma nodded, the pain etched deep in his expression. "Suyodhana spoke in half-truths—just enough to make it impossible to refute, yet venomous enough to shatter everything we hold dear. There was no malice in his voice, no anger... only the cold, unflinching certainty of someone who knows the devastation they are about to unleash."



Vidura's breath hitched. "And Jyestha...?"



"He believed him," Bhishma whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of the admission. "How could he not? The truth, when wielded as a weapon, is a fire that destroys and consumes everything it touches."



Vidura wanted to speak, to offer comfort, but what words could heal a heart torn apart by the blade of truth? Instead, he rested a hand on Bhishma's shoulder—gentle, but firm, grounding them both in the present, amidst the crumbling remains of their once-strong family.



"We will find a way, Pitrivya," Vidura murmured, though the certainty he tried to project felt hollow even to him. "This is not the end."



Bhishma did not respond. His eyes remained fixed on the ground, his body trembling with the weight of all that had transpired. Vidura stayed by his side, silent but resolute, as the sky darkened, casting long shadows over the broken man before him.



The oppressive silence stretched between them, so thick that Vidura found it hard to breathe. Bhishma's stillness was a suffocating presence, one that had never before existed in the man Vidura had known all his life. The unshakable Bhishma was gone, replaced by this distant, hollow shell.



"We already lost, Vidura. Vasusena..." Bhishma's voice cracked, barely above a whisper, like the low rumble of a distant storm. "He is not a child we can hope to fight. He is not merely a warrior, Vidura. He is something far more... a force of nature, uncontrollable, untamable. It's impossible. Impossible to stand against him."



Vidura flinched, disbelief surging through him. Bhishma—the mighty Bhishma, admitting defeat? His uncle had never yielded before, not even in the face of the most insurmountable of odds. And now he was admitting defeat before the battle had even begun ?



"What do you mean?" Vidura's voice trembled, weak against the torrent of Bhishma's despair. "Surely you don't believe—"



"I know it, Vidura," Bhishma cut in, his tone as heavy and certain as the fall of a hammer. "You did not hear his words. You weren't there. Vasusena has already won."



Vidura took a step closer, desperate to pull his uncle back from the brink of despair that threatened to consume him. "We've faced impossible odds before, Pitrivya," he said, grasping for even a glimmer of hope. "You are Bhishma, the unshakable. What is one warrior, even Vasusena, compared to the might of—"



"A storm, Vidura. Vasusena is a storm." Bhishma's words cut through Vidura's attempt at reassurance, his voice distant and hollow. His gaze shifted, though Vidura couldn't see where it landed. It didn't matter. The emptiness radiating from his uncle was all too palpable. "We cannot fight a storm, Vidura. We cannot fight the inevitable. Vasusena... he is not just a man. He is a wrath incarnate. A tsunami in human form. His words..." Bhishma's voice broke, his composure unravelling. "His words tore at me. They ripped apart everything I thought I knew. I should have listened to Kripacharya... I should have swallowed my pride. But now..."



Vidura stared, his heart sinking. Is Bhishma admitting pride? Devavrata, the paragon of duty, acknowledging a mistake?



His uncle's voice fell to a raw whisper, each word dragging him deeper into despair. "Now, it's too late."



"No!" Vidura's voice broke free, loud and fervent, reverberating in the suffocating air. "It's not too late, Pitrivya! We still have time. You are—"



"Vidura." Bhishma's tone softened, but it carried the weight of finality, the crushing force of inevitability. "You do not understand. I have already lost. Vasusena's words were not threats. They were truths—poisonous truths that had already torn this family apart. Dhritarashtra's faith, the Gandharinandhanas' love, and the very threads that held our family together are unravelling. Even now."



Bhishma exhaled—a slow, measured breath that seemed to draw all the light from the world around them. "There is nothing left."



Vidura felt the cold settle into his bones, into his soul. The despair radiating from his uncle was unlike anything he had ever felt before. The storm had already taken root in Bhishma's heart, and its winds were pulling them all into its vortex.



Yet before Vidura could summon a reply, Bhishma straightened, though only slightly, as if even that effort required more than he had left to give.



"Kripacharya will return tomorrow," Bhishma said, his voice quiet, deliberate. "Then I will tell you everything. I will recount the entire conversation between myself and Vasusena. But for now..." He paused, his voice dropping to a ghost of a whisper. "For now, know this: Vasusena cannot be stopped. Not by me. Not by you. Not by anyone."



With that, Bhishma turned away, his heavy steps fading into the thick, stifling silence that wrapped itself around Vidura. The weight of his uncle's words settled over him like a storm cloud, the pressure building, unrelenting, and it threatened to crush him entirely.



Vidura's thoughts raced in a wild swirl, each one slipping through his grasp as he tried to make sense of Bhishma's devastating words. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, every beat louder than the last when the faintest rustle from behind broke through his haze. He spun around, body tensed, his pulse quickening with a sense of unease.



There, standing in the shadows, was Arjuna—silent as a shadow, his gaze fixed on him with an intensity that cut through the darkness. The almost imperceptible noise had been the child's deliberately heavy footfalls towards Vidura—meant to stop him in his tracks.



"Arjuna?" Vidura's whisper was laced with shock, his voice almost failing him. "What are you doing here?"



Arjuna stepped forward, the faint light illuminating his young, sharp features. But there was something off—something in the way his brows knit together, the confusion etched deeply in his eyes. "I came here because I have some doubts," he said softly, the uncertainty in his voice only making the tension in Vidura's chest tighten further. "But... Why is Grandfather like this? How did you know about Bhimasena?"

Vidura stilled. His heart dropped into a pit at Arjuna's question. There was a desperation in Arjuna's tone—a tremor that barely concealed the storm that seemed to be brewing within him.



"Bhima should still be struggling in the Ganga's waters if what you are saying is true, Kakashree. Nagaloka is almost a day and a half journey from where Bhima drowned," Arjuna pressed, his voice growing sharper, more strained. The tremble was louder now. "How could he be in Nagaloka? And even if he reached there quickly, how do any of you know?"



Vidura swallowed hard. The knowledge about Vasusena was a closely guarded secret among themselves. None of the servants or even their trusted confidants had any knowledge about the power of that deplorable suta.



"Unless you know the future, what you have said is a lie." The boy spoke in an agitated tone. "Either you know the future or you are lying to us to placate us."



Arjuna had already begun to piece together parts of the puzzle. There was no escaping what needed to be said.



"It was Vasusena," Vidura said, each word a heavy stone falling into the pit of silence between them. "He's the one who told us of Bhimasena's fate."



Arjuna blinked, his confusion only deepening, his brows furrowing in disbelief. "Vasusena? How could that suta know that?"



Vidura drew in a deep, steadying breath, feeling the weight of the next revelation pressing heavily on his shoulders. "The current incarnation of Vishwadhipathi came to us," he said slowly, each word deliberate, as if the truth could be softened by the carefulness with which he spoke.



He watched as Arjuna's eyes widened, shock flaring across his features like lightning. "He revealed that Vasusena performed an intense penance... that Lord Shiva blessed him with the ability to see paths that men could take in the future."



For a moment, time seemed to freeze. The words hung in the air between them like a blade poised to strike, and Vidura could feel the shift in the atmosphere—how the weight of his confession pressed down on both of them.



Then Arjuna's lips parted, a small smile creeping over his face—a smile that didn't belong in the heavy stillness of this conversation. It was a smile born of something else entirely. And when he spoke, his voice was barely louder than a whisper, yet it carried the force of a hurricane.



"Krishna came here?"



Vidura's heart skipped a beat, a cold dread spreading through him. He hadn't mentioned the name of the Vishnu Avatar. None except the people present in the room of Gandhari on that day knew the name of the current Vishnu Avatar. And yet, Arjuna spoke it with a certainty that made Vidura's breath catch in his throat. And the way the middle Pandava spoke showed familiarity between the boys. But, as far as he knew, the two had never met.



Before Vidura could react, before he could process how Arjuna knew, the younger prince's expression shifted— the joy he had at the mention of Krishna, was quickly turned into something sharp and vicious. A deep, burning wrath took hold of his features as the rest of Vidura's words sank in.



Arjuna's smile had vanished. His confusion was gone, replaced with something far more dangerous. The direction Partha was looking at was the direction of Vasusena's house. And he stared in that direction with hatred and deep loathing.



It was then, as if struck by the lightning Vidura finally understood:



Arjuna wasn't just lost in confusion.



Just like Vasusena, he too knew the future.



—----------------------------------------------

(Gandhari's POV)



Gandhari sat in the familiar stillness of her chamber, the darkness behind her eyes offering no comfort as her senses focused entirely on the presence of her son. She couldn't see him, but the weight of his silence filled the air, thick and suffocating. Every breath he took carried the strain of unspoken emotions, and the longer he remained wordless, the more it unnerved her. His silence was a storm waiting to break.



When Suyodhana finally spoke, his voice was low, ferocious with restrained fury. "Mother, because of Vasusena's words, I promised that I would always listen to you. But now you say to disregard everything he says. So, should I take back my promise?"



There was something dangerous, almost venomous, in the tone he used. Gandhari waited, her heart tightening, sensing that her son was standing on the precipice of something she feared.



"And I ask you now..." His voice was trembling with a darker edge. "If you wish for me to stop listening to him, then I will. But know this: If I stop listening to Vasusena,I will stop listening to you as well."



The silence that followed wasn't a hesitation; it was a threat, a decision already made. The weight of it hung in the air, oppressive and inescapable.



Gandhari took a slow, measured breath, her heart pounding. Though blind, she could sense the fracture between them—her son, who had been loyal to her beyond reason, now teetering on the brink of something dark and bitter. Her fingers tightened into fists in her lap, nails digging into her palms.



"You speak of Vasusena," she began, her voice quiet yet cold. "You ask why I wish for you to stop trusting him—because it was I who told you to trust him, wasn't it?"



There was no denying that, and yet her heart twisted with a bitterness she hadn't allowed herself to feel. "Because he too worships Mahadev, just as we do. I trusted him. I believed in his loyalty, Suyodhana." Her voice faltered momentarily before the coldness returned. "But that trust... he shattered it, and he will break it again."



Her words carried a chill she had rarely shown to her son, but she had to make him understand.



"Vasusena is a murderer," Gandhari's voice tightened, cutting through the heavy air.



Suyodhana's breath caught, and when he finally spoke, his voice was sharp with disbelief. "A murderer? Amma..." He dragged the word with sarcasm. "Vasusena is a soldier. All soldiers have blood on their hands. We fight, we kill—it's the way of the world."



"Soldiers are killers," Gandhari interrupted, her tone hardening with conviction. "But Vasusena... he murdered someone in cold blood. Not in battle, not for war. He did it because that person would cause trouble for someone he loved in the future."



For a moment, Suyodhana was silent, his mind processing her words. Then his voice grew quieter, more measured. "Vasusena killed someone because they would cause his loved one trouble in the future?" His words were slow, deliberate, as if testing the weight of them. "Does that mean my friend knows the future amma?"



The air grew heavy as Gandhari remained silent. She was not supposed to reveal that fact to her son. But the cat was out of the bag, and she could do nothing but nod in assent.



"You said Vasusena killed a person because in the future the said person was the reason for the death of the person he loved?" Suyodhana exhaled sharply, and it seemed he collapsed into a chair.



"Yes." She replied bitterly.



"The person Vasusena killed... it was my uncle, Gandharraj Shakuni, wasn't it?"



Gandhari's heart skipped a beat. He wasn't asking. He was stating it as fact. Her son, her beloved Suyodhana, had figured it out on his own.



How? How had he known? Vasusena wouldn't have told him. The boy was not that foolish. None of the others in the know could have told Suyodhana. Her son loathed them. She had not told him. So how?



Before she could answer, Suyodhana spoke again, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. "No need to tell me, amma... Your silence answers more than your words ever could."



For several moments, the only sound in the room was Suyodhana's harsh breathing. Gandhari braced herself for his rage, for the explosion of anger she knew would follow, but instead, something far worse happened.



Laughter.



It was a twisted, broken laugh, echoing through the chamber like the sound of someone unraveling. It wasn't anger—it was a dark realization. The sound cut through Gandhari's chest, twisting painfully as she listened.



Suyodhana chuckled, his voice hollow. "Of course. Of course, it was him. My most trusted friend, the one I held above all others, was the one who killed my uncle. How fitting."



His voice was laced with irony, filled with odd joy as he turned towards the Shiva Linga in her room. "I prayed to you Maheshwara..." He was speaking to the deity now, and she could hear the agony and joy mixed in his tone. "I wished that in my next life Vasusena and I should be brothers. Have you fulfilled my wish in this life itself, Parameshwara?"



Gandhari's breath hitched at his words. Her son's mind—was unraveling before her eyes. Was he losing his sanity?



Suyodhana walked out onto the terrace, his voice turning venomous, colder than ice. "All this time, I thought it was Krishna." He spat the name with such hatred that Gandhari felt a shiver run down her spine. "I thought that damned cowherd had interfered, that he had killed Shakuni to push me towards dharma."



His voice cracked, derangement creeping into his words. "But no. Of course not. Krishna would never help me. He's never cared about me. He's always hated me. Always." His words dripped with poisonous hatred.



"Do not speak of Krishna that way!" Gandhari snapped, her voice sharp and cutting. "You don't know who—"



"Krishna is the current incarnation of Vishwadhipathi." Suyodhana interrupted coldly, his voice like a knife. "I'm not the person who doesn't understand the situation I'm in amma. You are the one who doesn't have the slightest idea of what is happening."



And in that moment, a horrifying realization dawned on her. 'Just like Vasusena... Suyodhana knows the future too.'



Her heart stilled. This was the first time in years that her son had spoken to her with such venom. His voice, his words—it was as though all his love, all his devotion, had curdled into something dark. Her mind flashed back to Adhirathi's words, words she had tried to forget after Krishna came to reveal the murderer of her brother..



"I used this power for the second time on your eldest child, Devi Gandhari. The future of your child has so many possibilities. In most of the futures, he and his brothers are killed just by a single person. Prince Bhimasena.



But the root cause always traces back to the elders of Hastinapur. I saw the love your child has towards the elders grow twisted due to jealousy, and despite the fact that mistakes were made on both sides... the current Narayana Avatar has branded your son as an adharmi and has all your children and your grandchildren killed in a war that occurred for 18 days. Prince Suyodhana lost everything in his life before dying brutally in the hands of Prince Bhimasena."



Suyodhana knew. He knew his fate. He had seen it. He had seen everything.



If Vasusena is not lying, and if her child had seen such a future... The disrespect he had for his elders, the loathing he had for Krishna—all of it makes sense. He knew, even without her telling him, that Shakuni was the reason for the death of Vasusena's beloved brother, and for that reason, he killed her brother.



But how had her son turned against them all? Had he no love left, no loyalty? Bhishma, Vidura and even herself she could understand. She to her shame had succumbed to the words of her elders and started to hate him.



But Shakuni loved Suyodhana with all his heart. He loved him so much that every moment he was not in her presence he stayed with her son trying to make the ascension of Suyodhana as ironclad as possible. And yet Suyodhana is still supporting the bastard who killed him.



"But it wasn't Krishna who killed my uncle, was it?" His voice dropped to a whisper, as though the truth was finally settling in. "It was Karna."



He paused, the room so silent it felt as though the air itself was holding its breath.



"All this time..." Suyodhana's voice cracked. "All this time I thought I was dealing with Vasusena. How blind am I not to recognize the friend I loved the most in my life even when he is before my eyes."



Another joyful yet bitter laugh escaped him, his voice laced with deranged clarity. "What a fool I am. All this time... I wasn't dealing with Vasusena. I was dealing with Karna."



"My child..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "Did Parameshwara bless you with a vision of the future too?"

—------------------------------------

(Arjuna's POV)



"My child..." Kakashree whispered, his voice trembling. "Did Parameshwara bless you with a vision of the future too?"



All this time, they had not been dealing with Vasusena... they had been facing Karna.



It was a strange world he had found himself thrust into. A world so distant from the one he knew, so unfamiliar, that at times he questioned if it was all just a vivid, disorienting dream.



A world where Gandhararaja is no longer among the living, where Duryodhana is reasonable, and where the Suta, once a stubborn iconoclast, is now bent on societal norms, following his father's path to become a charioteer. In the beginning, it felt like heaven—a paradise that grew even sweeter when Duryodhana declared he had no desire for the throne.



But then, the troubles began.



A great blow struck this family. After the coronation of his brother, Yudhistira as the Crown Prince, Queen Gandhari and King Dhritarashtra severed the ties with their family—a devastating strike that left them reeling.



Arjuna understood the reasons behind their actions, but it did little to dull the sting of their loss. The sorrow clung to them, but as they returned from the ashram to the palace, his mother stated that Queen Gandhari let them back into her chambers. She didn't say how it happened but it did bring him solace.



The Dhārtarāṣṭras, under the command of their eldest brother, mostly kept their distance from them. His brother Bhimasena, however, had managed to piss off all of their cousins due to his actions.



Even when all the princes were sent to the same Gurukul, the divide remained. It was there, amidst the teachings of weapons and warfare, that they began to learn the art of psychological warfare—warfare that would soon tear open old wounds.



Against Suyodhana's strict orders, Susashana let his tongue run wild, hurling insults at their mother, Kunti, mocking her for bearing sons from different gods. Suyodhana, oddly being the peacemaker in this world, rebuked his brother for his disrespect.



But Susashana refused to take back his words. What followed was inevitable—an eruption of wrath. Bhimasena, blinded by rage, snapped Susashana's arm in a single, swift strike.



Predictably, Suyodhana's own fury ignited. The cousins clashed like a snake and a mongoose, locked in a brutal struggle. Suyodhana, with his superior skill, deftly used Bhima's anger against him, seizing the moment and throwing him into the river.



Panic seized Arjuna's heart as he watched Bhimasena being swept away by the merciless currents of Jahnavi. The sight of his brother lost in the churning waves, struck fear deep within him. But just as swiftly, he forced himself to regain composure. This wasn't the first time—no, in his previous life, his brother had been poisoned by Suyodhana and driven by jealousy was thrown into the river the same way.



Yet by the grace of the gods, Bhimasena had found his way to Nagaloka, where he would drink the Naga Amrita and return, empowered with the strength of ten thousand elephants.



The memory of that divine intervention steadied his breath. Arjuna let the panic subside, watching carefully as the scene around him unfolded. His heart still raced, but his mind grew calm, just in time to hear Guru Drona's voice cutting through the tension like a blade.



Guru Drona's furious reprimands echoed through the training grounds, his wrath aimed at Suyodhana. And with a name that would seal his fate, the guru, in that moment of judgment, christened him Duryodhana.



Arjuna's eyes narrowed as he noticed the coldness in Suyodhana's gaze. The silent defiance, the disrespect simmering just beneath the surface, aimed at their Guru. It gave him the flashbacks of a cold, stubborn and disrespectful man who hated dharma.



It was Bhimasena who struck first, yes, but only after being provoked by a fool's reckless words. Suyodhana had attempted to stop the confrontation, that was clear. Yet the way he looked at Guru Drona now, filled with such quiet disdain, was wrong.



Guru Drona had not heard the full story, perhaps, but he was still their teacher. For Suyodhana to harbour such contempt, to direct that look of disgust at a teacher—it disturbed Arjuna deeply.



Because before the incident with Ekalavya, Suyodhana had always respected Guru Drona. That dark moment—where his teacher's character was forever stained—would not come to pass in this life. Arjuna would make sure of it.



But this Suyodhana, though not outwardly hostile towards them, harbored a different poison in this lifetime. The hatred he once held for the Pandavas seemed to have found a new target—the elders. There was a bitterness in him that was different from before, more corrosive. And that pride, that arrogance, it was even sharper than what Arjuna once knew.



Every insult, every slight, Suyodhana took to heart, feeding the venom within. Arjuna couldn't help but worry what path this would lead his cousin down.



Arjuna often found himself wondering what had changed in this life and who or what was responsible for these shifts. There were good moments undeniably—moments where things seemed brighter, better. But for every flicker of hope, there was a shadow cast by something far darker.



The peace among the cousins, the harmony he and his brothers had once dreamed of, seemed within reach....yet Suyodhana's growing bitterness soured it all. It was as though the balance had tilted in a strange, unpredictable way.



So when his Kakashree came to deliver the news—that Bhimasena was in Nagaloka and would be brought back by their great-grandfather in seven to ten days—Arjuna's heart skipped a beat.



Yes in his previous life, events had unfolded just as Kakashree described. Bhima had indeed gone to Nagaloka, but something was off. The timing was wrong. Even accounting for the strong currents that may have hastened his brother's journey, Bhimasena should have been battling the Naga guards outside the kingdom by now. Yet, Kakashree had spoken with an eerie certainty, as if he was told about the future.



But if one of the elders—whether it be Pitamah Bhishma, King Dhritarashtra, Queen Gandhari, or even Kakashree Vidura—had foreseen the future, the course of their lives would be different.



His uncle, the King, would hate them for killing their cousins, even if it was in accordance with dharma and would deny them entry into the Kingdom.



Queen Gandhari would have done everything in her power to prevent the growing rift between the cousins.



Pitamah and Kakashree would have made sure that the cousins stayed united, even if it meant taking drastic steps—perhaps even killing Suyodhana if it came to that.



Yet, it was none of them. The person who told Kakashree about the future was someone outside their family and it made Arjuna's frustration grow with every passing moment. What was happening in this world, where things looked familiar but felt utterly wrong?



Today, after nearly a year and a half in this strange reality, Arjuna would finally get a clue—a hint at who, or what, was behind all these changes.



And when Kakashree told him the person who had the knowledge of the future... all hell broke loose inside him.



Arjuna's mind spiraled, each memory of Vasusena—no, Karna—burning brighter, turning into vivid recollections of the terrible adharma he committed. His thoughts raced through every wrong, every injustice, every unforgivable sin.



That man—Karna who stood beside Duryodhana and watched... no, encouraged Draupadi's humiliation. The same Karna who, with bitter words, called for her disrobing, stripping away not only her dignity but the honor of their entire family. Arjuna's hands curled into fists, his knuckles white as rage rolled inside him.



The memory of Abhimanyu's death struck next—a brutal blow to his heart. Karna may not have dealt the killing strike, but his role in trapping Arjuna's beloved son within the Chakravyuha, sealing his fate to die surrounded by cowards, was no less unforgivable. The image of Abhimanyu, a mere boy, standing alone against the might of seasoned warriors, crushed under their weapons, made Arjuna's chest ache with an unbearable weight. Karna was a part of that betrayal.



Then came the thought of Ghatotkacha's demise—his nephew, killed by Karna using the divine weapon Shakti. A weapon that could have been reserved for someone stronger, perhaps even Arjuna himself, but instead was used to strike down Ghatotkacha. For Arjuna, this was yet another sin that added to Karna's growing tally of unforgivable acts.



And Karna's pride—his constant boasting of superiority, challenging Arjuna at every turn, feeding the flames of rivalry that had cost countless lives. Karna had stood against them, against dharma itself, supporting Duryodhana's tyranny with unwavering loyalty, knowing full well that the cause he fought for was unrighteous.



Every crime, every act of arrogance, every betrayal of dharma. Arjuna could feel the heat of his fury building, threatening to consume him whole. Karna, that wretched soul... he had stood against them, against everything righteous, and Arjuna could see no end to his sins.



But before he could fall into the abyss of his own rage, a grounding presence—a gentle hand—settled on his shoulder. It was Vidura, standing beside him, his touch firm but comforting. Arjuna turned to face his uncle, expecting to see concern, but instead, Vidura's eyes were filled with something unexpected: joy, a deep, palpable joy that seemed almost out of place in this moment of fury and revelation. It was as if something long awaited, something they hoped for and prayed for came true.



Vidura's presence, his silent strength, pulled Arjuna back from the brink. With monumental effort, Arjuna forced himself to breathe, to rein in the storm of anger raging within. His body trembled, his heart boiling with fury, but he knew he had to focus. There would be a time for reckoning, but for now, he had to remain composed. He couldn't lose himself in this fire.



"Kakashree..." He started with a soft voice that was barely able to hide the turmoil bubbling inside him. "The day when all of you met Keshava... Tell me what happened on that day?"



"Krishna arrived nine months ago," Vidura began, his voice low but steady. "Kakashree Kripa and I were summoned to your mother's quarters by Kakashree Devavrata. It was there, in her chambers, that we saw Krishna for the first time. We were told that Krishna would be the one to gain us entry into the room of Devi Gandhari."



"Madhava can do anything," Arjuna replied, his tone softening with warmth at the mention of his dear friend. "But how did he manage to convince Mata Gandhari to allow all of you into her room?" He asked curiously.



"He never needed to do anything," Vidura continued, his breath coming out in a slow, deliberate exhale. "Krishna simply gave the door guard his name and said that Queen Gandhari would grant him entry. He also mentioned that he wouldn't step into the room unless we all were allowed in."



Vidura's eyes clouded for a moment, recalling the scene. "The guard looked at Krishna as if he had lost his mind—and we too had similar thoughts. At that time, none of us had the knowledge of his divinity.



"And yet," Vidura sighed, his voice tinged with disbelief, "to our utter surprise, she allowed all of us in. We followed Krishna like a herd of sheep—dumbfounded, unable to grasp what was unfolding before us."



Arjuna's brow furrowed, a growing unease settling in him. "Mata Gandhari just allowed you all in?" he asked, still grappling with the idea, his tone heavy with disbelief.



"Yes." Vidura nodded solemnly. "The very first thing Gandhari did was fall at Krishna's feet, seeking his blessings. At that moment, she proclaimed him the current incarnation of Vishwadipathi."



"Yes," Vidura finished, his voice steady. "That's when we understood who we had in our midst. And why Krishna was so confident. After all, no one turns away Vishwadipathi from their home."



"How did she know, Kakashree?" Arjuna asked in a soft tone. "The fact that Krishna was the avatar of Vishnu was unknown to the entire world till the very end."



"Vasusena informed her, it seems, Arjuna." That explains it.



Kakashree then told the apologies given to Mata Gandhari by Pitamah and himself. He stated even if they could see the anguish... she did not accept their apologies.



Arjuna's expression darkened, imagining the silent poison Suyodhana and Vasusena pumped into her heart for her to turn her face away from her relatives.



"Pitamah, in his helplessness, had turned toward Krishna," Vidura's voice grew quieter as he recounted, "and it was only then that Krishna had intervened. He asked her, 'What do you know of Vasusena?'"



Arjuna's brow furrowed as Vidura continued. "Jiji told Krishna that Vasusena had undertaken a severe tapasya to gain the favor of Shiva. She explained to all of us that Parvathi and Parameshwara took him as their disciple and taught him everything they knew. She also mentioned that Shiva granted him the power to look into all possibilities..."



The chill of those words spread through Arjuna's veins. Shiva had bestowed upon Vasusena the aspect of time? The Kalabhairava aspect? Why had Parameshwara shown such favour to an adharmi, granting such a powerful boon to someone undeserving?



"Krishna responded," Vidura continued, "that it wasn't the only tapasya Vasusena had undertaken. He revealed that we all needed to understand the depths of the suta's life, the very thing that drove him to become the person he is today."



Vidura's voice grew heavy with the weight of what followed. "Krishna then showed us the death of Vasusena's brother, Swarnajeet. And we learned that it was at that very moment that Vasusena first gained knowledge of the future. Seven years ago, he learnt what was to come."



Arjuna's thoughts spiraled as he processed the enormity of it. Vasusena—Karna—had known the future for years, and he had been altering it, manipulating fate for his own advantage. For seven years, he had been left unchecked, shaping the future to suit his purposes.



"And then we were shown how that boy," Vidura's voice trembled as he recalled the memory, "peeled off his natural armor... just to gain Brahmastra for an hour."



Arjuna blinked spastically.



"That hardly seems like a fair trade, Kakashree," the son of Indra interrupted, his voice sharp with disbelief. "That armor was imbibed with amrita— as long as he had it, Vasusena could not be killed. Even Sudarshana Chakra would not harm him out of respect for Surya Dev. To trade such a thing for a single..." Arjuna swallowed.



"So Bajrangbali granted him Brahmastra for half an hour. And what did he do with it?"



Vidura's voice turned heavy. "The boy used the Brahmastra to kill Gandhari-jiji's brother."



For a moment, time seemed to collapse in on itself for Arjuna. His mind was a blur, and the world around him felt muted, as though a fog had descended over his thoughts. A ringing sound drowned out all else, his Kakashree's voice barely audible as he tried to pull Arjuna back to reality, urging him to listen.



Shakuni Mamashree... killed by Vasusena? The thought clawed at his sanity, refusing to settle. He could barely comprehend it.



How was this possible? Mamashree Shakuni—the mastermind, the manipulator of destinies, the architect of the Kurukshetra War—slain at the hands of Karna? The very idea was unimaginable. He had always assumed it would be Krishna or someone on the side of dharma who would see Shakuni's end, not Vasusena.



Shakuni and Karna— they were the twin pillars that upheld Suyodhana's reign. If Vasusena was Suyodhana's strength, then Shakuni was his mind. The two of them together were what gave Suyodhana his power. Vasusena had never seemed like the type to betray his ally, his closest friend.



But if he had done this... it could only mean one thing. Vasusena, like a snake shedding its skin, was trying to follow a new path—trying to embrace dharma.



Yet... Arjuna thought, his heart sinking as realization dawned, just like a snake, he can never truly change his nature. Vasusena may have turned his poison away from the Pandavas, but he had also turned Suyodhana against the elders who loved him.



Villainy wears many masks, none so dangerous as the mask of virtue.



This Vasusena was convinced that what he was doing was just, and that made him a thousand times more menacing than ever before.



Now, it all began to make sense. Arjuna could see why Kakashree was so relieved to know that he knew the future. Vasusena—no, Karna—was manipulating everyone around him with terrifying precision. He knew so much about Pitamah, Kakashree, and the entire court.



Knowing his hated enemy, Arjuna could say without a doubt that Karna was playing with them, toying with their emotions and strategies like a cat with a mouse caught in its paw. The youngest son of Kunti could only imagine the chaos Karna must be causing among the elders, the frustration and helplessness they must be feeling.



Once he came back to his senses, he just asked a single question: "Did Krishna state that because Gandharraj was the reason for the death of his loved ones, Vasusena killed him?"



Kakashree looked momentarily startled by the question, but he nodded slowly in confirmation. Arjuna dragged a weary hand over his face, feeling the weight of this new understanding sink into his bones.



"Well, if we play our cards right, Kakashree... we could get Vasusena on our side," Arjuna spoke reluctantly as if the thought itself was a bitter pill to swallow.



Vidura blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback by the statement. Arjuna's voice was tinged with reluctance, the words coming out heavy and hard. "Both Vasusena and I... we loathe each other. But if he was the one who killed Shakuni... it means he's trying to walk on the path of dharma."



As much as Arjuna despised the thought, it was becoming increasingly clear that Karna—Vasusena—was no longer the man he had once been. If he was willing to strike down someone as crucial to Suyodhana as Shakuni, then perhaps... Perhaps he could be turned. Perhaps they could find common ground in their pursuit of dharma.



But even as he considered the possibility, a part of Arjuna remained wary. This Vasusena, dangerous as he was, could not be trusted so easily. His newfound righteousness could be just another mask, another layer of manipulation.



"You're saying Vasusena was justified in killing Shakuni?" Vidura's voice shook with disbelief. "And how on earth do you wish to turn that poisonous suta towards us, Arjuna? Vasusena doesn't just hate us—he loathes us with every breath, with his body, mind, and soul."



Arjuna's gaze was steady as he met his Kakashree's eyes, his expression marked by a strange, exhausted calm. "I don't think Madhava told you the name of the one Vasusena loved, did he?" The question was soft, but the weight of it fell between them like a boulder, crushing the air from the room.



Vidura froze, confusion evident in his features. "Krishna said it was Vasusena's brother, Arjuna," he murmured



"A good friend is greater than a brother, Kakashree." Arjuna's laugh was hollow, devoid of mirth. "The name of the brother Vasusena loved so much he would lay down his life—it's Suyodhana."



Vidura's usually composed face shattered into shock, and his legs gave out, sending him to the ground. His face turned ashen, his voice faltering. "Which Suyodhana, Arjuna?" Arjuna could see in his uncle's eyes that hoping against hope that it was not their Suyodhana. Because if it is their Suyodhana... then Mata Gandhari will forgive that suta and all the work they have put in to sever the connection between the suta and the queen will be down th drain.



"Our Suyodhana, Kakashree." Arjuna's words were sharp, each one cutting deeper. "The name of the person Vasusena would follow into the depths of hell is our Suyodhana, Kakashree."



Vidura's breath escaped him, and he could barely muster a response. "By the gods," he finally whispered, his voice laced with fear.



"Suyodhana Dhārtarāṣṭra Kuruvanshi."

—-------------------------------------

(Kripacharya's POV)

Suyodhana Dhārtarāṣṭra Kuruvanshi.



The name echoed relentlessly in Kripa's mind, ever since it had fallen from the lips of Chiranjeevi. From the moment he departed from Mahendragiri to his return to Hastinapura, the name lingered, ringing in his ears, a shadow of dread following him throughout the journey.



His purpose had been clear—he sought out Guru Parashurama to discover a way to rein in Suryaputra, before Vasusena's wrath brought Hastinapura to ruin. Upon reaching the sacred mountain, he presented himself to Gurudev Parashurama, paying his respects to the great sage as tradition demanded. But the question that weighed heavily on his heart could not be held back for long.



"Why does Vasusena persist on the path of adharma, despite knowing the future, Gurudev?" Kripa's voice held both frustration and exhaustion.



Gurudev Parashurama's gaze remained as unshakable as a mountain, his expression unreadable. "To protect both dharma and adharma, Vasusena walks alone on this path, Sharadvanputra," came the sage's measured, calm reply, each word laced with deliberate weight.



Kripa stifled a groan of irritation, his mind swirling with frustration. Well... That explains nothing. Why must sages always speak in riddles?



"To protect both dharma and adharma, Gurudev?" he echoed, his tone now tinged with disbelief. "Committing adharma to safeguard dharma might make sense for anyone else, but not for Vasusena, Gurudev. The boy... he knows the future."



He paused, shaking his head in irritation thinking of the actions of Adhirathi. "No, that's an understatement. The boy knows thousands upon thousands of futures. He should have known better than to follow the path of adharma, Gurudev. And doing adharma to protect dharma..."



Kripa hesitated, swallowing hard. 'It's madness... foolishness.' He wished to say. But he could not dare say such a thing to the sixth incarnation of Vishnu.



"Dharma does not need adharma to protect it, Gurudeva."



The sage's smile was tinged with both sadness and amusement as he met Kripa's eyes. "Go to my Vasusena. He will explain it to you better than anyone else could ever hope to. In fact, he's waiting for you in Hastinapur."



Kripa's heart froze at those words. Vasusena knew the reason behind this journey. He then bashed his head irritably. Of course, he did.



That blasted boy will always know. Adityanandhana because of his boon could predict every move and anticipate every step long before the thought had even crossed a person's mind. Kripa had deliberately taken the longest route to Mahendragiri, stopping at every holy site along the way, hoping the boy would think it was a mere pilgrimage.



"It's very difficult to deceive my Vasusena in this life, Kripa" Bhargava's voice held a trace of mirth. "Now, ask your questions clearly, and I will answer them."



Kripa swallowed, his voice soft as he asked, "What compels Vasusena to remain on the path of adharma, Gurudeva? You said he walks it to protect both dharma and adharma. But for him knowingly to walk in this path... he needs something to keep him going forward. What drives the boy? What drives him to continue to be a natural calamity that was loathed by everyone around him?"



Rainukeya's smile was calm, yet enigmatic. "My other avatar has already given you the answer, Kripa."Kripa was confused by those words. "Think carefully—how?"



Kripa's mind flashed back to the words Krishna had spoken to Gandhari.



"Because of your brother's actions, Vasusena will lose the person he loves most in this world. He will lose his entire family due to the schemes of Gandharraj Shakuni.



Vasusena loved one person above all else. In his own words, there are very few sins he wouldn't commit for the happiness of that brother."



Kripa's breath caught, a chill creeping down his spine as the weight of it settled into him. Vasusena's devotion, all-consuming and unwavering, made the implications all the more horrifying.



The leash that binds Vasusena... is his brother? By the gods. It was for the love of his adharmic brother that Vasusena walked this path, a path of loathing and isolation.



Who is this person that, despite being an adharmi, could invoke such unwavering love in Aditya Nandhana? What brother of his could bring the son of the light-bringer to his knees, earn his undying devotion, and be the one from whom Vasusena would draw the strength to battle the entire world? Who is the person for whom Radheya would willingly descend into hell?



Kripa, shaken by this revelation, asked Karttaviryari the question that gnawed at him. The answer shattered everything he thought he knew about Vasusena.



"Suyodhana." The Chiranjeevi's voice was soft, yet its weight was undeniable. Odd... Because of their ongoing war with Vasusena (which he would have enjoyed if it wasn't so frustrating), Kripa learnt all the names of Adhiratha's children and he knew none shared their name with the eldest son of Dhritarashtra.



"It seems you need to know the child's full name, Kripa," Guru Parashurama interjected in a mirthful tone.



"Suyodhana Dhārtarāṣṭra Kuruvanshi."





Kripa's heart stopped for a few moments in his chest.



The one for whom Vasusena would forsake everything, to walk the path of adharma, was none other than their Suyodhana? But one thing he didn't understand. Why is he poisoning the heart of Suyodhana against Putra Vidura and Jyesta Devavrata?



If he was poisoning Suyodhana against his elders... Was he doing something wrong? Did Vasusena see something in the future in which he, Jyestha and Vidura would cause destruction to Suyodhana? 'Narayana give me strength to face all these obstacles...' he prayed.



—---------------------------------------

(Bhishma's POV)



The one for whom Vasusena would forsake everything, even walk the path of adharma, was none other than their Suyodhana? But then why was he poisoning the heart of Suyodhana against Putra Vidura and himself?



Bhishma's pulse quickened, the revelation sending shockwaves through his mind. The words of Adhirathi from yesterday echoed relentlessly in his mind.



Any other man who tries to wield that knowledge against me will die. For he is both my strength and my weakness. But you... you or anyone in Hastinapur could never hope to wield it against me.



And when the name of the brother I loved falls upon your ears, you will grasp the futility of any leash you seek to place upon me.



Bhishma's breath caught. The realization settled deep within his chest. No wonder Vasusena stood so unshakable, so certain that no leash could bind him. It was not mere arrogance—it was the truth. To fight Vasusena, with his unwavering loyalty to Suyodhana, meant they were fighting Suyodhana himself.



Bhishma's thoughts darkened, realizing the implications. Suyodhana may be a kul nashak according to his horoscope, a destroyer of the Kuru lineage, but he was still a child of the Kuru Vansh. Still the child of the reigning king. In a roundabout way, to antagonize the suta unnecessarily was to challenge the very sovereignty of Hastinapura, to wage war against the king's will itself.



But Vasusena... by Kripa's account, who gained his knowledge from Guru Parashurama, loved Suyodhana deeply. And even Krishna himself had stated that Vasusena would willingly walk into hell for him. So instead of putting him on the path of dharma, the suta made it so that none of the Dhārtarāṣṭras would listen to the words of their elders.



"Why is that bloody suta leading Suyodhana down the path of adharma?" Bhishma's heart tightened. The blasted boy had poisoned Suyodhana's mind so thoroughly that he no longer even heeded the counsel of those who loved him. The elders, those who had only sought to guide him—were now cast aside, thanks to Vasusena's influence. What was Vasusena's true game? What did he stand to gain from dragging Dhritarashtra's son into darkness?



When Bhishma shared his troubled thoughts with Vidura, his nephew remained calm, as if he had known all along. That was when Vidura revealed something Bhishma had never expected—Arjuna too had been blessed by Parameshwara with the knowledge of the future.



The revelation struck Bhishma like a wave of divine mercy. After all their struggles, all the turmoil and chaos, it seemed that Parameshwara had finally shown them grace. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, relief flooded his weary heart. At last...



They now had a counter, a means to stand against the Suryaputra on equal footing. All this time, the suta had run circles around them, exploiting their blindness, moving with an ease that came from knowing every path before it was even taken. They had no counter against him—no one who could match Vasusena's cursed foresight.



But now... now they had Arjuna. Arjuna, who could see the future as Vasusena did, could finally be the one to counter Suryaputra's relentless games.



With joy swelling in his chest, Bhishma eagerly dispatched a guard to summon Arjuna from his quarters. It felt as though a parched traveler had stumbled upon an oasis in a desert, just when death seemed imminent. Arjuna's gift—his divine knowledge—had arrived at the precise moment they needed it most.



Finally, after all this time, they had hope. Finally, they had a way to stand against Vasusena. Now they need a game plan to fight Vaikartana.



Before Arjuna could enter the room, Kripa's voice broke through the tension, hesitantly asking, "Jyestha... do we really need to confront Radheya? What if Vasusena isn't poisoning Suyodhana's heart out of hatred for us? What if there's another reason behind his actions?"



Kripa's caution was warranted. Facing Vasusena without fully understanding the situation was akin to entering a Chakravyuha without a single weapon or shield. The intellect of Aditya Nandhana had the power to make a man doubt everything he knew. In that moment of hesitation, Vasusena would annihilate all opposition, leaving nothing but ashes in his wake.



"I'm not trying to fight that suta, Kripa," Bhishma began softly, his tone betraying the gravity of his thoughts. "But from your words, Vasusena is walking alone on this path to protect Suyodhana. He bears all the scorn, so that Suyodhana may tread the path of dharma this time.



You mentioned both Krishna and Guru Parashurama hold him in respect. A man who gained the respect of two Vishnu avatars doesn't walk the path of adharma lightly."



Bhishma paused, his mind weighed down by his own reflections. "And yet, for the love he bears for Suyodhana, that suta has willingly made himself and his own family a target for our wrath.



We all know of the ill omens that plagued Suyodhana's birth. We just knew that Suyodhana will be an adharmi. But Vasusena has seen every instance of adharma Suyodhana committed in the future. And he is trying to prevent Suyodhana from walking down that path.



Suyodhana refuses to heed good advice even at this age. The only person who commands his ear is Vasusena."



He sighed heavily, exhaustion seeping into his voice as the ghosts of his past mistakes loomed. "Our goal remains the same: to keep Suyodhana from walking down the path of adharma. I see now the mistakes I made with Dhritarashtra because of my previous conversation with that suta. I won't repeat the mistake I made with Dhritarashtra, not with Suyodhana."



His shoulders slumped under the weight of his failures. "I want this family united, Kripa. I would do anything for that. But before we can achieve that, we must face Vasusena. And fighting him in mental warfare is a monumental challenge because of his boon.



From Arjuna, we can learn about Vasusena. Krishna has told us why he is the way he is now. But from Arjuna, we can uncover his nature—his modus operandi, his strengths, and his weaknesses."



Then a voice spoke behind them.



"The tree of adharma that is Duryodhana stands tall and formidable." All the elders jumped at the sudden appearance of Arjuna. Without stopping for a single second he continued. "Its very essence is woven with hatred, with a trunk that is none other than Vasusena—unyielding, unwavering in his loyalty.



The branches, wide and poisonous, are the schemes of Gandharraj Shakuni, spreading their reach far and wide. And then, there are the fruits and flowers—Dushasana, embodying the cruel consequences of their actions. But the root, buried deep and feeding the entire tree, is the king himself, Dhritarashtra. He, the amanushi, unable to wield his intellect with wisdom, nurtures this tree of destruction, allowing it to grow unchecked.



These are the words of Keshava, Pitamah."



"So, you wish to learn about Vasusena, do you?" Arjuna's voice was soft, his words laced with an unexpected calm. All the elders nodded at once.



"Guru Drona once called me his most dedicated, focused, and intelligent disciple," Arjuna continued, his gaze distant, as if reliving a memory, "but in my eyes, Vasusena is the prodigy— that appears once in a generation." The openness of his confession sent a ripple of shock through the room.



"In our previous lives, Vasusena was a part of Guru Drona's ashram, in the division reserved for sutas. He was a solitary child, always keeping to himself, but his dedication... was unshakable. He's the kind that excels in whatever discipline he sets his mind to.



He never hesitated and did not falter when the entire world told him that it was his destiny to hold the whip, not the bow. By the time of his death, he was perhaps the only person who made my brother Yudhistira lose composure with his skill. He was the only person who defeated all of us and I even count myself among them. Even with Sree Maha Vishnu guarding my chariot he made Gandiva fall from my hands.



He was gifted beyond measure—not just in skill, but in speech and in his piety" Arjuna's voice grew softer as he spoke of the boy he once knew. "He is a golden-hearted child."



"Unlike us Kshatriyas, who give because it is our duty, Vasusena gave because it was his nature. It was who he was." Arjuna paused, a shadow passing over his face. "Kakshree Vidura mentioned that Krishna showed you the final battle between Vasusena and me.



You must've seen Pitamah—he had no Kavach and Kundal, did he? Do you know why?" Arjuna's voice hardened, the next words filled with bitter irony. "Because my father, Indradev, disguised himself and asked for them as charity. And even though Vasusena knew it was Indradev, he didn't hesitate. He gave away the very armour that made him invincible. To my father. To his enemy's father. Without a second thought, he gave it."



The silence that followed was heavy with disbelief. The Vasusena Arjuna painted was a stark contrast to the bitter, caustic figure they had come to know—this boy, who could have embodied generosity, now twisted by the path he chose to walk for the sake of Suyodhana.



Arjuna's voice broke the silence again, quieter now. "I don't know the full reason, but he always hated me. Even back then. His hatred grew, I think, out of jealousy. He despised how freely I received the education he craved, simply because of my birth, my caste. Guru Drona refused to teach him the astras.



So, Vasusena left Hastinapur, seeking a teacher who would. He wandered Aryavarta for eleven years, begging for that knowledge, until finally... desperation led him to cheat his way into Parashurama's tutelage, by pretending to be a Brahmin not knowing that Guru Parashurama does not care about the caste of a person."



At this revelation, Bhishma and Vidura exchanged shocked glances, their voices rising in unison: "Wait... Vasusena is a Parshurama Shishya?"



"Why has he fallen so low in this life, I never knew," Arjuna admitted quietly, the weight of his words heavy. "I was shocked when you told me that he insulted Guru Parashurama, Pitamah. In our previous life, he held Bhargava in the highest regard. What could have turned that respect into such bitter hatred, I still don't understand."



Arjuna's voice faltered for a moment before continuing. "His deception came to light after three years of training under Bhargava. Guru Parashurama, in his anger, cursed him. But after his fury cooled, he gifted him the Vijaya Dhanush and sent him away. Vasusena returned to Hastinapur just as our education was coming to an end."



"Guru Drona after our education has been completed, arranged..."



Kripa cut in coldly, his interruption sharp and unexpected. "The reason Vasusena's love turned into bitter respect is because Bhargava betrayed him, Arjuna."



The room fell into stunned silence as all eyes turned to the Kulguru of Hastinapur. Kripa's voice was laced with bitterness. "Bhargava has divya-drishti. No mortal—let alone a boy less than thirty—could ever hope to deceive him. Bhargava knew from the very first day that Vasusena was lying, yet he still cursed him to die."



Kripa's sudden, hysterical laughter reverberated through the chamber, a sound so sharp it felt like ice cutting through the air. "No wonder Vasusena called Reinukeya a heartless butcher. Vasusena may have tried to deceive Bhargava, but he did it out of desperation, not malice. Yet Bhargava, without a shred of mercy, condemned Aditya Nandhana to death. And for what? For the crime of wanting to learn?"



He, Arjuna, and Vidura exchanged glances, their eyes wide as the weight of Kripa's words began to sink in. And Bhishma—who had stood by silently, supporting his teacher—felt the crushing guilt of his ignorance. On that day Vasusena asked him not to interfere because he did not know what happened between him and Guru Parashurama.



How many lives had he shattered with his narrow-mindedness and stubborn refusal to listen to both sides? Gods, how many had he destroyed in his blind arrogance? His heart cried silently, the agony of his choices more suffocating than the stillness in the room.



"Continue, Arjuna," Kripa commanded harshly, his voice unyielding. Arjuna hesitated, stumbling over his words for a moment, but then he pressed on.



"After our education was completed, Guru Drona arranged a Kala Pradharshan to showcase the prowess of our arms to the world. It was during this event that I saw Vasusena again."



Arjuna's voice grew quieter, his gaze distant as he recalled the scene. "The Kala Pradarshan went smoothly, and when my turn came, I performed well. I was praised by the elders, the kings, the people... and finally, by my teachers. I had trained hard for this moment, for I wished to honor Guru Drona's teachings. When I finished, I was filled with a sense of accomplishment, happiness, and pride."



"Guru Drona then declared me to be the greatest archer of my generation, and in his joy, threw an open challenge to anyone who dared prove him wrong.



A crack, like the clap of thunder, split the air and all of us looked towards the source. It was then that I saw him. Vasusena stepped forward, his Vijaya Dhanush still vibrating from the power of his stringing. He stood before the gathered assembly, challenging me, boldly stating that whatever I could do, he would do better."



"He is the son of a charioteer. He cannot challenge a prince," Kripa spoke, ever bound by the rules of hierarchy and propriety.



Arjuna's response came with a hint of amusement, tinged by the weight of memory. "You said the same to him in our past life. Even as the public shamed him, Suyodhana took his hand and declared, in front of all, that he would make him the King of Anga with his father's permission. And he did."



"Suyodhana was the first person to show Vasusena respect," Bhishma's voice softened, as though the truth itself was too painful to accept. "Just that small act of kindness made Vasusena this loyal?"



"Yes, Pitamah. Because we were equals now... we could truly fight each other." Arjuna's lips curled into a faint smile. "It was only the second time in my life that I felt truly humbled."



His smile faded into the air as he continued, the memory sharp and clear. "Everyone present at the Kala Pradarshan felt that Suyodhana gave Anga to an unworthy man. They saw Vasusena as nothing more than a charioteer's son, and we—his peers—looked down on him the same way. But then, he showed us all just how dangerous he could be."



Arjuna's voice took on a distant tone as he recounted the humiliation. "I had practised for months—months—for that day. I had trained endlessly, refining my skill with the astras, devising a performance that I thought was groundbreaking. Even Guru Drona himself confirmed that I had used the astras in ways no one had before. It was supposed to be my moment, my showcase."



A pause hung heavy in the air.



"Vasusena took a single glance," Arjuna continued, his voice now laced with awe. "Just one glance, and he understood everything. He saw the mechanics of my astras, the precision of my movements—and without hesitation, he replicated them. Not just replicated... sometimes, he performed them even better. What all of us thought was an empty boast was proved wrong very quickly. Vasusena backed his words with his skill."



It was no wonder Arjuna had called Vasusena a once-in-a-generation prodigy. "To the people watching, it seemed like a battle between equals," Arjuna continued, his voice turning bitter. "But to my brothers, cousins, and every warrior trained in martial arts, it was nothing but humiliation. I had spent months relentlessly preparing for this display of skill, only for a suta to master and perform it flawlessly on his very first attempt."



Arjuna's smile, though guileless, seemed weighed down by the memory. "In the ashram, among my peers, there was no one my equal. Perhaps I would have grown prideful of my abilities, if not for Vasusena.



That suta—with his threadbare clothes, his fierce determination, and his skill that matched mine—opened my eyes. He made me realize how vast the world truly is, and that there was still so much for me to learn. He drove me to sharpen my abilities further."



A flicker of pain crossed his face as he spoke of Bhima. "For the humiliation, Vasusena dealt me, Bhimasena called Vasusena's father, Adhiratha, a dog during his crowning ceremony. Jyeshtha Yudhishthira rebuked him privately, but the damage had already been done. The insult Vasusena suffered that day poisoned his heart completely against all of us. From that moment, he fell into the clutches of Mamashree Shakuni."



Arjuna's words grew heavier, weighed down by regret. "That was when his downfall began. He adopted Gandhararaja's schemes as his own and became Suyodhana's unwavering supporter. In every one of Suyodhana's plots, Vasusena was the one who secured the means to bring them to fruition."



He sighed deeply, the gravity of his words pressing down on the room. "His wrath towards us became his undoing. If we had received the same education, used the same equipment, and had equal opportunities, Vasusena could have killed me."



Arjuna paused, his gaze distant. "I never stopped learning. I kept honing my skills. But Vasusena... he stopped. His growth, which could have eclipsed every warrior in Aryavarta—save for Dau Balarama and Madhava—came to a halt. All because his grudge against us became more important to him than his own progress. Such a waste of potential."



"Out of all the warriors on the opposing side, we hated him the most," Arjuna's voice trembled with a mix of bitterness and reluctant respect. "For the insult to his father, Vasusena repaid us a thousand times over. His knowledge of the Vedas surpasses that of most in Aryavarta. But he was no saint. He was an iconoclast, a disrespectful bastard, filled with rage."



There was a brief pause, his expression hardening. "Yet... he was a good man to everyone except us. That truth infuriated all of us—how could someone with such strength of character turn to adharma? Instead of guiding Suyodhana back to the path of righteousness, he encouraged him further. Both of them sank deeper, dragging each other into the pit of adharma—all because of the anger they carried toward us.



But in this life Vasusena has diverted Suyodhana's anger from us towards you, Pitamah. This is another kind of adharma. I wish he'd understand our view and come to our side."



Bhishma's eyes glazed as Arjuna's words stirred memories. His mind drifted to the vision Krishna had shown him—the terrible revelation of Vasusena's true nature, of the choices he made and how it came to this position.



I stood by him and yet I have never performed my duties as a true friend."



"Suyodhana gave me his friendship, and I betrayed him," Vasusena whispered, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him. "I betrayed him in so many ways that I feel ashamed of myself."



The tears fell faster as he continued, his voice thick with sorrow. "I supported Suyodhana in his conspiracies against the Pandavas. I thought I was doing it out of loyalty, not out of selfishness, save for my enmity with Arjuna. I believed my actions were selfless, aligned with my friend's wishes, to prove my loyalty."



"But a true friend would have guided him away from such evil deeds. A true friend would have stopped him from walking down a dark path."



He paused, his voice barely above a whisper. "Suyodhana made me the King of Anga so that I could challenge Arjuna. Some might see this as a bribe, and perhaps it was. He wanted an archer who could defeat Arjuna, yes. But he had already secured my loyalty."



Vasusena's tears continued to flow as he spoke, his heart laid bare. "He never needed to call this sutaputra his friend. He never needed to love me so much. He never needed to place me in his heart above all his brothers and relatives."



I supported Suyodhana in all his schemes, and at times, I even devised them.



"I knew a fair fight with the Pandavas was futile, so I suggested we crush them before the Vrishnis and Panchalas could come to their aid. It was a brilliant strategy, but was it the strategy of a true friend? No. A true friend would have urged him to seek honor, not deceit."



I even encouraged Suyodhana to mock the Pandavas in their exile, driven by my own desire to see them suffer. In doing so, I dragged him into the Ghosha Yatra, where the Yakshas attacked us. When danger loomed, I fled, leaving Suyodhana at their mercy. What true friend abandons his friend in peril?"



Vasusena's tears fell freely now, each drop a testament to his regret. "Through it all, Suyodhana remained steadfast. He never questioned my failures, never complained. He ignored my mistakes, hoping against hope that I could change his destiny. He proved to be a better friend than I ever was to him."



His voice grew softer, filled with the weight of his self-condemnation. "In the end, it is clear to me. I, Vasusena, failed as a true friend. I let my ego, my hatred, and my ambition blind me to what Suyodhana truly needed—a friend who would guide him towards righteousness, not an enabler who would lead him further into darkness."





The memory Krishna had shown wasn't one from some distant future, nor an imagined vision of what could be. No, it was a glimpse into Vasusena's present reality—his regret, his relentless battle to right his wrongs.



Bhishma's thoughts spiraled in turmoil.



In this life, Vasusena had sought atonement, struggling down the treacherous path of redemption, turning away from the darkness that had once consumed him. And yet... by the gods, they had provoked him. They had pushed an evil man, who had finally sought to reform, back into the very inferno he yearned to escape.



'How cruel and how blind am I?' Bhishma's heart weighed heavy with grief. A man once buried in adharma had tried, desperately, to tread the path of righteousness. But instead of lifting him up, of guiding him toward salvation—they—he—had become the very force dragging him back into the depths.



Is this what my life has come to? he questioned bitterly. 'Am I, in the end, destined to shove innocents into the arms of adharma with my actions? Is this my legacy?'



His voice, rough and cracked from the weight of it all, broke through his reflection. "Anyway..." he murmured, shaking off the oppressive burden of his thoughts. "Let's confront that suta once and for all. Let's put this behind us and try to mend our family from now on."



—-----------------------------

(Kripa's POV)



"Before we face Vasusena, show us the conversation you had with him, Jyeshta," Kripa's voice was soft but firm. "Arjuna, Vidura, and the rest of us need to understand how Vaikartana managed to break your spirit. We need to know the weapons he used—the words that wounded you, Jyestha. Arjuna... you are our guide for what lies ahead. We cannot afford to face him blindly."



Jyestha Devavrata hesitated, clearly unwilling to relive what had transpired, but finally, with a sigh, he summoned the screen of mist to reveal the bitter conversation he had with Aditya Nandhana.



It was painful—more than painful—to watch. Vasusena had not merely challenged Bhishma; he had dismantled him, piece by piece, tearing down his brother's strength with a cruel precision. Brick by brick, Radheya had destroyed the pillars of Bhishma's self-assurance. What was worse, he had done it not through raw force, but through his mind. He had shown himself to be Bhishma's equal in wisdom, his words sharp and profound, cutting deeper than any weapon could.



But when he accused Bhishma of planting the seeds of jealousy in Dhritarashtra's heart... all hell broke loose.



Arjuna and Vidura growled low, their fury barely contained. Arjuna's fists clenched, and Vidura's eyes narrowed with anger, but Bhishma... Bhishma only smiled, a wry and defeated smile, as though he had expected this all along.



"He's not wrong," Bhishma said quietly, his voice bitter but resigned, raising a hand to calm both of them. "He's not wrong at all."



The conversation that followed was worse than anything Kripa had anticipated. Vasusena exploited every chink in Bhishma's armor, using his pride against him with ruthless precision. By the end of their debate, the great Bhishma had been reduced to sobbing on the ground, and even they—those who loved and respected Bhishma—could not argue against the unyielding logic of Vaikartana.



And then came the final blow. Vasusena had shown Bhishma a vision—one that captured the conversation between Suyodhana, Gandhari, and Dhritarashtra.



Suyodhana's mocking tone rang out through the mist. Mahaamahim Bhishma? Prime Minister Vidura? Amma, really? The scorn was palpable, cutting through the air like a sharp blade, each word drenched in venom. The child's disdain was unmistakable as if each syllable was meant to wound deeply.



When Suyodhana spoke of being branded as "Hastinapur ka kalank," the curse of the kingdom, Kripa saw Bhishma's face downcast. That cruel title had first been uttered by his Jyestha, spoken in anger at a childish mistake long ago. Now, it has come back to haunt them all. They could only watch as the memory twisted Suyodhana's young face into a mask of bitterness, the scorn in his voice stinging like an old wound being torn open.



Then came the accusation that stilled every breath in the room: Ask him to spend time with us without thinking that I and my brothers are Kulnashaks.



Suyodhana's words were laced with contempt, and the weight of that accusation hit Bhishma like a blow to the chest. Kripa could see the pain flicker across Bhishma's eyes—every time he had looked at Dhritarashtra's sons and seen not children, but harbingers of destruction, it all came rushing back in an instant. How had he failed so utterly to see what was right in front of him?



Suyodhana's recounting of Vidura's neglect and disdain, his manipulations over the years—it was a hammer blow. The young prince's words, spoken with the pain of betrayal, echoed like a curse. All of their chest heaved with the weight of it all, every accusation cutting deeper than the last while Arjuna looked horrified at the scene unfolding before him.



When Suyodhana confronted Gandhari, accusing her of blindness, Bhishma could no longer hold his composure. The boy had to ask why his mother had chosen to abandon her duties to him and his brothers.



His contempt for her, for her adherence to Bhishma's counsel over her own instincts, reflected not only Gandhari's failure, but all of theirs. He had seen it in her too—her loyalty to them had driven a wedge between mother and son. It was as if Suyodhana had demanded to know why she had blindly followed a man who loathed them all.



Suyodhana's words were dripping with disappointment and betrayal—a stark contrast to the love Kripa had always seen that shone in the boy's heart for all of them.



Kripa could only watch in horror as Suyodhana, consumed by righteous rage, interrogated the royal physician. The disdain in the prince's voice, the trembling fear in the physician's body, and the brutality of the interrogation unfolded like a slow nightmare. Their hearts clenched at the transformation of the boy he had once sought to guide.



And then came the final revelation that crushed all hope: By Mahaamahim Bhishma's command. The physician's cry rang through the air, revealing that the very person who had sought to protect the kingdom had been the one to keep the truth hidden from the king and queen.



Suyodhana's sneer, as he repeated those damning words with chilling finality, struck the deepest wound. Mahaamahim Bhishma? Amma, really? That's the person you trusted with our well-being? The accusation hung in the air like a heavy weight, suffocating and undeniable, crushing what little hope was left in their hearts.



Vasusena's voice, cold and unyielding, filled the air, and Kripa shuddered at the chilling intensity it carried.



"The King's hope, that one day you'd come to love him and his children, was dashed to pieces," Vasusena declared, his tone merciless. Every word struck like an arrow, and Kripa could see the agony reflecting in Bhishma's eyes. The elder who had always been revered, always in control, now stood defenseless against the unrelenting truth. Kripa tightened his grip on the pillar behind which he stood, wishing he could shield his brother from the onslaught, but knowing Vaikartana's words were the bitter truth.



Vasusena pressed on, his voice devoid of emotion. There was no sympathy in him as he recounted Bhishma's cold demand on the day Suyodhana was born—that the newborn be cast into the forest. Kripa flinched at the cruelty of the memory, at words he had known but had never truly heard until this moment. The weight of that command now seemed unbearable.



Bhishma's face was a mask of disbelief and grief, his once-proud demeanor crumbling. His eyes silently pleaded with Vasusena to stop, but the boy continued, relentlessly. Vasusena listed the humiliations that Bhishma had inflicted upon the Gandharinandhans, each insult dripping with venom, and Kripa could only watch helplessly.



The great Bhishma, the pillar of the Kuru dynasty, was unraveling, and Kripa sensed that the worst was yet to come. Vasusena had not finished his assault.



"You call yourself dharmik?" Vasusena whispered, his voice sharp and cold as ice. His laughter followed, bitter and filled with years of suppressed fury, echoing through the hall like a taunt. Kripa's blood ran cold at the sound, as if death itself had laughed in the boy's voice.



And then Vasusena spoke of Krishna, the Vishnu avatar, and Kripa's breath caught in his throat. The boy's recounting of the Dashavatara was unnerving, each avatar described with haunting precision, but it was when Vasusena reached Keshava that the room seemed to darken. His words were a warning, a chilling reminder of the danger Krishna posed—the ruthlessness, the willingness to commit adharma for the sake of dharma. Kripa felt the chill deep in his bones.



As Vasusena's voice darkened, revealing terrifying visions of the future, Kripa's heart ached for Bhishma.



It was when the boy foretold of Bhimasena's slaughter of the Kuru dynasty, of the bloodbath that would befall Hastinapura, he and Vidura collapsed. The horror of that vision weighed on them all, crushing their spirits under the enormity of what was to come.



And then, with a cruel laugh, Vasusena reminded Bhishma of Krishna's words. Krishna had never promised to heal the rift between the Pandavas and the Dhārtarāṣṭras. No, he had only given Bhishma access to Gandhari's chamber, nothing more, nothing less. Kripa's heart sank at the reminder. They had all believed in Krishna's promise of peace, had hoped against hope that it would save them, but Vasusena's cold reminder shattered that illusion into pieces.



Bhishma, soaked in tears, now looked utterly defeated. The mighty patriarch, the unshakable Gangeya, had been reduced to a broken man. Kripa had never seen him like this, and the sight of his brother's suffering filled him with a terrible sorrow. He wished to shake Bhishma, to plead with him, to make him see reason. But how could he? How could anyone stand against the boy who had been blessed by Shiva himself?



Kripa could only stand there, paralyzed, as Bhishma wept openly, his once mighty spirit crushed beneath the weight of Vasusena's truths. Vasusena, meanwhile, stood before him, cold and unbothered, a slight smile on his lips. This was no longer a debate or a battle of words; it was a reckoning, and Bhishma had lost.



The weight of Vaikartana's words hung in the air, suffocating, as all of them tried to comprehend the enormity of what had just been spoken.



Arjuna, his voice trembling, broke the silence. "Is everything shown here true?" His eyes were wide with disbelief, his breath shallow and uneven as he surveyed the devastation around him. "Can our family ever be whole again?"



His question hung in the air, laden with fear and desperate hope, but there was no answer. Only the suffocating weight of truth settled in the room, pressing against their souls.



Kripa, his face etched with anguish, turned to Arjuna. "Is Bhimasena the one who killed all the Gandharinandhans, Partha?" His voice cracked under the strain of disbelief. "Tell me the suta is lying."



Arjuna bowed his head, unable to meet his gaze, and the silence that followed was answer enough. How could he speak when the burden of guilt lay so heavily on his shoulders? The truth had been laid bare, and no words could change what had already come to pass.



The weight of their mistakes against the Gandharinandhans now seemed unbearable. How could any of them hope to face Vasusena, knowing the injustice they had allowed? Yet in this moment, the only flicker of hope that remained was in the very one they had wronged—Vasusena. A cruel twist of fate that none of them could deny.



At that moment a servant entered, shattering the silence that had weighed heavy in the room, his voice cutting through the oppressive stillness. "Vasusena wishes to speak with you."



Bhishma barely managed to raise his head, his silent nod the only response, signaling the guard to allow Vasusena in.



When Vasusena entered, it felt as though the very air in the room shifted, a cold presence accompanying him. His gaze swept briefly across the room, before landing on Arjuna. A soft, almost gentle smile appeared on his lips, though it teetered on the edge of mockery.



"Gudakesha..." Vasusena's voice was unnervingly cheerful as he greeted Arjuna. The title, meant to be one of honour, instead felt like a mockery on his lips. Kripa's brow furrowed—Gudakesha means the conqueror of sleep. Why is Vasusena...?



"You knew..." Arjuna's voice, though soft, carried an undercurrent of wrath that slowly began to seep into his tone. "You knew I was from the future."



Vasusena's smile widened, unmistakably mocking now. "From the very first day I saw you, I knew." His words were light, but the playfulness beneath them was clear. "To be honest, your confusion and frustration have been quite entertaining for me. Whenever I feel down, I just recall your face, so lost and bewildered... gives me a good laugh."



This insolent little—



"Don't judge me, Gurudev," Vasusena addressed Kripa, without so much as turning to face him. "I have to find my amusement somewhere."



"And my frustration gives you amusement?" Arjuna snapped, his words sharp with barely contained anger.



Vasusena didn't even hesitate. "Yes, it does." His smirk grew. "Watching you flounder like a newborn kitten, so confused by the world around you, is... so adorable."



Arjuna's fists clenched, his entire body rigid with barely restrained fury, but Vasusena waved him off, his dismissal casual, almost bored. "Please leave, Gandivadhari," Vasusena said, his voice smooth and cutting. "I have a meeting with Mahaamahim Bhishma here. I asked him to come after discussing the knowledge he received from Kripacharya."



"I will stay," Arjuna growled, his voice taut with anger. "No longer will you exploit your knowledge of the future to torment Pitamah and Kakashree."



Vasusena's smirk deepened, deliberately provoking. "Letting a child fight your battles for you, Mahaamahim Bhishma?" His tone dripped with venomous mockery. "That's a new low for you, I suppose."



"Not as low as murdering an unarmed child with the aid of others," Arjuna shot back, his voice like steel, "like jackals tearing apart a lion cub."



Kripa's grim satisfaction was evident as Vasusena's smirk faltered. But the expression that followed sent shivers down his spine. The shift in his demeanour was palpable—gone was the mocking, playful man. What stood in his place now was a predator, eyes gleaming with dangerous intent. "Dhananjaya," he began, his voice low and simmering with menace, "this... is the issue I have with Mahaamahim Bhishma."



He took a step forward, his presence overwhelming, and suddenly it felt as though an asura had entered the room. His molten gaze locked onto Arjuna, unblinking. "This is a conversation between adults. Walk away, Gandivadhari. I don't wish to fight a child. Consider this your only warning. Leave... while I still see you as a child and not an enemy."



"Scared?" Arjuna's voice was laced with mockery, a dangerous edge to it.



Vasusena's eyes softened. "No. It's mercy," he replied, his voice dangerously calm. "A mercy for all the adharma I caused you and your family in my previous life. A mercy I won't offer twice."



"I killed you in my past life," Arjuna snarled. "I know you better than anyone here, Karna. You're nothing but a coward, boastful when you feel threatened, but always ready to flee. You've survived so far only because of your knowledge. No more."



Vasusena stood in silence, the weight of Arjuna's words hanging in the air between them. "Since you wish to walk the path of dharma in this life," Arjuna continued, his tone softening slightly, "join us. Repair the damage you've done. Help reunite our family."



Vasusena's expression darkened further, his smirk morphing into something cruel and predatory, like a beast ready to strike.



"So, despite my warning, you've chosen to stay. Very well, Dhananjaya. It seems that all my problems are gathered in one place." A chilling, shark-like grin spread across his face. "Let's see if I can't make my problems tear each other apart, piece by piece. Don't say I didn't warn you."



His molten gold eyes glowed red with dark amusement as he declared, "Shall we begin our war?"