The palace of Panchala never truly slept.

Even as the sky darkened, the halls still bustled with movement. Servants hurried to prepare for the grand event tomorrow, warriors murmured in hushed voices, and the air felt thick—as if the entire kingdom was holding its breath.

Rhea had meant to return to her chambers.

She had not planned on wandering the gardens. And she certainly had not planned on meeting him.

The scent of night-blooming jasmine lingered in the air as Rhea made her way toward the far end of the courtyard, where the noise of the palace grew distant.

She wasn't sure why she was out here.

Her mind was restless. Too much had happened. Too many pieces were shifting, and she had no control over any of them.

But something told her she wouldn't find peace in her room.

And that was when she saw him.

Standing by a small fountain, watching the water ripple under the moonlight.

A man in simple yellow robes, unadorned but carrying a presence that made him impossible to overlook.

She should have been wary.

He was a stranger.

And yet—something about him felt familiar, even though she had never seen him before.

As if he already knew her.

As if he had been waiting.

He turned before she could step away, his dark eyes bright with knowing.

"So, you are the one who watches but does not speak."

Rhea froze.

She didn't know what to say.

And that was rare.

For most of her life, she had lived in a palace filled with powerful men—men who thought their voices were the loudest in any room. She had learned how to talk to them, how to match their wit, how to stay sharp even in the presence of kings and warriors.

But this man?

There was something different about him.

Something unreadable.

She cleared her throat. "You seem to know who I am. But I don't know who you are."

His smile was easy, amused. "You will."

Rhea exhaled, tilting her head. "That doesn't answer my question."

"Doesn't it?"

She huffed. "No, it doesn't."

His chuckle was light. "Then I shall answer properly. My name is Krishna."

Her breath caught.

Krishna.

The name Draupadi had spoken earlier.

The man who had told her Arjuna was alive.

Her gaze sharpened. "You are the one she believes in."

He tilted his head slightly. "Does that surprise you?"

Rhea studied him. "It surprises me that she trusts you so much."

Krishna's eyes gleamed with something she couldn't name. "She trusts me because I do not need her trust."

Rhea frowned. "That makes no sense."

"Not yet."

She narrowed her eyes. "Do you always speak in riddles?"

His smile widened. "Only when I know the listener will try to solve them."

Rhea crossed her arms. "And why would you think I would?"

Krishna looked at her for a long moment, his expression thoughtful.

Then—"Because you want to understand the world."

Rhea inhaled sharply.

He was not wrong.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The night was still, the only sound the soft trickle of water from the fountain.

Then, quietly—"Is it true?"

Krishna's gaze did not waver. "That depends on what you are asking."

She swallowed. "That Arjuna is alive."

He nodded once. "Yes."

A rush of something passed through her. Relief? Shock? She wasn't sure.

"Then why does the world believe he is dead?"

Krishna sighed, glancing at the moon above them. "Because sometimes, the world is easier to move when it does not know the truth."

Rhea frowned. "What does that mean?"

Krishna turned back to her. "It means that some battles are lost before they begin. And some battles are won before the first strike is made."

Rhea let his words settle.

She did not know Arjuna.

Not the way Draupadi did.

But she had heard of him. A warrior, a prince, a man with an unshakable aim.

And if he had survived the fire—if he was coming to this very palace tomorrow—

Then everything was about to change.

Krishna watched her carefully, as if measuring her thoughts.

Then, suddenly, he asked—"Do you believe in fate?"

Rhea blinked at him. "No."

He looked amused. "So sure?"

She exhaled. "I have spent my life watching men bend fate to their will. They do not wait for the gods to decide. They decide for themselves."

Krishna nodded. "And yet, here you are. At the center of a game you did not ask to play."

She stilled.

He had a way of speaking that made her feel like she was standing at the edge of something vast—something too large to see all at once.

And she did not like it.

"I do not believe in fate," she repeated. "But I believe in choices."

Krishna smiled. "Then let me ask you this—if you knew the future, would you try to change it?"

Rhea frowned. "It depends on what I saw."

Krishna hummed. "And if you saw war?"

Her breath caught.

She thought of Hastinapura.

Of the way the Kauravas and Pandavas had been raised together, but not as brothers.

Of the way Duryodhana spoke of power, of the way Bhishma clung to old duty, of the way Vidura spoke in warnings he never fully voiced.

War.

It had always felt like something distant.

But what if it wasn't?

She exhaled, steadying herself. "I do not know what I would do."

Krishna studied her for a long moment.

Then, softly—"Perhaps that is why you are here."

Rhea inhaled sharply.

Because for the first time, she wondered—had she truly come here by chance?

The night wind carried the scent of the gardens, the palace glowing in the moonlight.

Krishna turned slightly, as if preparing to leave. "Tomorrow will be an interesting day."

Rhea exhaled. "That is one way to put it."

He chuckled. "You will watch?"

Rhea nodded. "Of course."

Krishna's smile turned knowing. "Then perhaps you will see what was always meant to happen."

She frowned. "You just said fate does not control everything."

He laughed. "I never said it controlled everything."

"Then what?"

Krishna's gaze softened. "Only the things that matter."

And with that, he walked away.

Leaving Rhea standing there, wondering if she had just spoken to a man—

Or to something far greater.