The truth should have felt like clarity.

Instead, it felt like a weight pressing against her ribs, making it harder to breathe.

She had spent years collecting whispers, piecing together the gaps where her father's name should have been.

And now, she had it.

She should have felt something.

But there was only exhaustion.

Hastinapura was never truly silent.

Even at this hour—when the court had emptied, when the torches burned low—there were still sounds.

The soft footsteps of servants moving unseen. The clink of armor as a guard shifted his stance. The distant sound of river winds brushing against the stone walls.

Rhea wasn't sure where she was walking.

Or if she was even walking with a purpose.

She only knew that she couldn't stay still.

Not after what Giri had told her.

"Your father was not the only one searching." "Vidura knew. Bhishma knew." "But he was the only one who paid the price."

She had always known the past was dangerous.

She just hadn't realized how many ghosts were still living in it.

She had wandered further than she realized.

Because when she finally stopped, when she finally looked up from the storm in her mind—

She was not alone.

Shakuni.

He stood near the balcony edge, leaning against the stone railing, his dark robes blending into the shadows.

For a moment, he didn't speak.

He just looked at her.

And then—he smirked.

"You look like someone who finally understands what kind of place this is."

Rhea exhaled. "Do you ever say anything helpful, Gandhar Raj?"

Shakuni chuckled, turning his gaze back to the flickering torchlight below.

"Oh, my dear, if you came to me for comfort, you are truly lost."

Rhea scoffed, stepping beside him, resting her arms on the railing. "I didn't come looking for you at all."

"And yet, here you are."

She didn't have the energy to argue.

Instead, she let the silence settle between them.

It was a strange thing—to stand beside the man who had built his entire life on deception and manipulation—and feel... nothing.

Not fear. Not wariness. Not even hostility.

Just tiredness.

And, perhaps, a strange kind of understanding.

Shakuni finally sighed.

"So, what is it? What terrible truth have you uncovered that has left you looking like a ghost?"

Rhea studied him for a moment.

Then, finally—"My father was looking for something. And it killed him."

Shakuni raised an eyebrow. "You only just figured that out?"

Her fingers curled slightly over the railing. "No. But now, I know what it was."

Shakuni hummed thoughtfully. "And now that you know—do you feel any better?"

She swallowed. "No."

His smirk faded, replaced by something almost curious.

"That's the thing about the truth, little wolf. It never really satisfies you. You think it will. You think knowing will fix everything."

His fingers tapped absently against the stone.

"But in the end, all it does is leave you with more questions."

She exhaled slowly. "I don't need more questions. I need a way forward."

"Do you?"

She turned her head slightly. "What do you mean?"

Shakuni studied her, eyes dark with amusement.

"You say you want the truth. You say you want to understand. But tell me, Rhea—do you want justice? Or do you want peace?"

She hesitated.

Because she didn't know.

She had always thought they were the same.

But now—now she wasn't sure.

They stood there for a long time, neither speaking.

Then, finally—Rhea broke the silence.

"Do you ever regret it, Gandhar Raj?"

Shakuni tilted his head. "Regret what?"

She turned to face him fully. "Not walking away."

A flicker of something passed through his eyes.

Something sharp. Something old.

And then—he smiled.

But this time, it was not his usual smirk.

It was something smaller. Something almost real.

"Ah, but I never had that choice."

Rhea held his gaze. "Neither did I."

For once, he didn't laugh.

For once, he didn't offer a clever remark.

They stood there in silence, two people who had spent their lives watching the world move, but never being able to change its course.

And in that moment—for the first time since she had learned the truth—

Rhea didn't feel quite so alone.

She glanced at him.

"Gandhar Raj."

"Yes?"

"Why do you hate them?"

He didn't need to ask who she meant.

He exhaled, his fingers tightening slightly over the stone.

And then—he smiled.

But this time, it didn't reach his eyes.

"Because they took everything from me."

Rhea didn't ask anything else.

Because somehow—she understood.