The night had turned colder, the wind carrying the faint scent of burnt oil and damp earth. The river stretched out before them, dark and restless, reflecting the flickering torches of the palace in broken, shimmering patterns.

Rhea sat on the edge of Karna's chariot, arms loosely wrapped around her knees, her thoughts tangled in the conversation they had just shared.

Loyalty. Strength. Right and wrong.

She exhaled. The world was never as simple as people wanted it to be.

A faint rustling of boots against gravel pulled her out of her thoughts.

"So, this is where you two sneak off to while the rest of us celebrate?"

Rhea closed her eyes for a brief second, already regretting what was about to happen.

Dushasana.



She turned, unsurprised to find him standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, a smirk tugging at his lips. His tunic was slightly ruffled, bracelets clinking as he moved—a man who had spent his evening drinking, laughing, and basking in his brother's supposed victory.

Dushasana eyed them both, then let out an exaggerated sigh. "The brooding charioteer and the ever-watchful ghost of the palace. Tell me, what is it you two discuss out here? The philosophy of war? The fate of the kingdom?" He smirked. "Or do you just sit in silence, enjoying the sound of your own thoughts?"

Karna, still adjusting the leather straps of his chariot, didn't look up. "Why don't you sit down and find out?"

Rhea snorted. "That might require him to listen first."

Dushasana let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "And miss an opportunity to talk? You wound me."

"Not yet," Rhea muttered. "But the night is still young."

Karna's lips twitched, but he remained silent.

Dushasana tilted his head. "You know, for someone who refuses to pick a side, you certainly have a lot of opinions."

Rhea arched an eyebrow. "You say that like those two things are connected."

"They are," he said simply. "People who stand in the middle do so because they're too afraid to choose."

She studied him. "Or maybe they stand in the middle because they refuse to let someone else choose for them."

Dushasana laughed. "You say that like the world waits for people like you to decide."



He dropped onto the wooden frame of the chariot beside her, resting his elbows on his knees. "Let's hear it, then. What do you stand for?"

Rhea exhaled. "Understanding."

Dushasana scoffed. "Understanding? That's the kind of nonsense people say when they don't have to fight for anything."

She turned to him, unimpressed. "You keep saying that, but tell me—what exactly was taken from you?"

His smirk vanished. "The throne."

Karna finally looked up, but said nothing.

Rhea tilted her head. "And yet, no one actually took it."

Dushasana's jaw tightened. "Didn't they?"

"No," she said, voice even. "You just don't like that the world doesn't bend to your brother's will."

He let out a breath, shaking his head. "You don't get it."

"Then explain it to me," she challenged.

Dushasana leaned forward. "Duryodhana has spent his entire life proving he's worthy. And no matter how many battles he wins, no matter how many alliances he makes, people still whisper that Yudhishthira was meant to rule."

Rhea sighed. "So, you think a throne is taken by force?"

He smirked. "How else do you think kings are made?"

Rhea tapped her fingers against her knee. "I don't know, perhaps by being someone worth following?"

Dushasana laughed. "You really believe that? That people follow because of goodness and wisdom?"

She met his gaze. "I think people follow those they believe in."

His smile faltered for a fraction of a second.

Then, he scoffed. "That's a pretty way of saying exactly what I just told you. The strongest man wins. The rest of us just make sure he does."



Karna watched the two of them, silent but observant.

Rhea tilted her head. "And where do you stand in all of this?"

Dushasana frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, who are you when you're not standing behind your brother?"

Something flickered across his face—something hesitant.

For the first time, Dushasana didn't have a quick response.

He exhaled sharply. "I don't need to be anything else."

"That's not true," Rhea said, softer now. "You just don't want to ask the question."

Dushasana rubbed a hand over his face, his usual smirk missing. "You love doing this, don't you?"

She blinked. "Doing what?"

He let out a humorless chuckle. "Digging." He waved a hand vaguely. "Looking past all the obvious things, poking at what people don't say."

She shrugged. "It's a habit."

Dushasana gave her a tired look. "It's a terrible habit."

Karna chuckled under his breath.

Dushasana groaned, stretching his arms. "You're just like an elder sister, you know that? Always asking questions, always making things complicated."

Rhea rolled her eyes. "If I were your sister, I'd have drowned you in the river by now."

Karna coughed to hide his laughter.

Dushasana grinned, nudging her shoulder. "You'd miss me."

She smirked. "I would miss peace."



Dushasana stood, brushing off his tunic. "Anyway, I should go before someone notices I'm gone."

Rhea raised an eyebrow. "What, no last insult?"

He grinned. "I'm saving it for later."

She sighed dramatically. "How generous."

He took a few steps away but then hesitated.

Without turning, he said, "You should think about what I told you."

Rhea frowned. "And what was that?"

Dushasana glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable now.

"That when war comes, you won't have the luxury of standing in the middle."

She didn't respond.

Because she didn't know how.

Dushasana nodded once, then disappeared into the night.

Silence followed.

Rhea exhaled, rubbing her temples. "I despise that man."

Karna chuckled. "Most people do."

She frowned at the spot where Dushasana had stood moments ago. "But I don't hate him completely."

Karna studied her. "Because you understand him now."

She inhaled deeply. "Because I see where it ends."

Karna didn't ask what she meant.

Because he already knew.

The river continued to flow, dark and endless.

And for the first time, Rhea wondered—

Would she be forced to choose, after all?