The morning mist clung to the thatched roofs of the charioteer's quarter like a shroud, dampening the sounds of hurried footsteps and whispered curses. Krishna's arrival had shattered the fragile peace of Radha's home, leaving behind a tension so thick it could be carved with a blade.
Karna stood at the threshold, his bare feet pressing into the cool, dew-slick earth. The village, usually alive with the sounds of waking life—the rhythmic churning of butter, the distant bleating of goats—was eerily silent. Even the birds had stilled their songs, as if sensing the storm to come. Then—a twig snapped.
Krishna, stood at the threshold of their home, twisting his long flute absent mindedly. His voice was calm, almost conversational. "They've surrounded the house."
Ishani stepped forward, her fingers brushing the hilt of the dagger Karna had pressed into her hand moments earlier. The metal was cold against her skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his gaze when he had given it to her. "For protection," he had said, though his eyes had whispered, "For me."
From the mist emerged shadows—ten, perhaps twelve men, their faces obscured by cloth, their swords glinting dully in the pale light. Shakuni's hounds. Men who only knew killing.
"Stay down," he growled. Ishani simply stood her ground, lifting her chin up as a sign of defiance. "As much as I respect you Shreeman, I will not have you dictating me. I am not a weak little thing who cannot fight. I shall protect Radha Maa." Karna, already in duel, merely nodded. But a voice shifted inside him.
How can she not listen to me? I only want her safe. Why must she fight when I stand before her and the world?
Radha dropped to her knees beside the hearth, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Ishani took her back inside the room, trying to make her breath. She probably wasn't used to direct attacks that were too merciless. .
Krishna did not flinch. He merely sighed, as if disappointed by the predictability of it all. Then the shadows at the doorway shifted, and the first of Shakuni's men stepped through.
He was a hulking brute, his face obscured by a leather mask, his arms corded with muscle. Behind him, three more figures materialized from the mist, their swords already drawn.
"The woman comes with us," the leader rasped. "The rest of you can die quietly."
Karna's grip on his spear tightened. "Try."
In which angle did he seem like a slaughter pig?
The first attacker lunged. Karna moved like liquid fire, his spear a silver blur as it arced through the air. The man fell without a sound, his throat blossoming crimson.
Ishani had seen violence before—the kind that came in dark rooms and left bruises hidden beneath silk—but this was different. This was art. Karna fought with the precision of a man who had carved his place in the w0orld through sheer will, each motion deliberate, each strike fatal.
Yet, for every man who fell, two more seemed to materialize from the mist. Ishani gave a half glare and surprised expression to Krishna, why he seemed to be content watching Karna fight their battle. She really wanted to spar, but knew her meagre skills would cause more harm than intended to her own self. Krishna didn't look back, but even as he moved, something in the universe shifted, as if preparing itself for His onslaught.
Krishna, still astride his horse, sighed. "Enough."
He raised a hand. The world stopped.
The attackers froze mid-step, their weapons slipping from numb fingers. Their eyes widened in terror as an unseen force dragged them to their knees. Blood spurted from their knees as their skin grazed roughly against the tough grass. But they simply bent their heads in submission.
"Sleep," Krishna murmured.
Like puppets with cut strings, they collapsed.
Ishani's heart pounded. What kind of power—? He is God, silly. Of course he has powers.
Karna's grip on his spear tightened. "You could have done that sooner."
Krishna's smile was infuriatingly serene, and Ishani held back the urge to laugh knowing Karna would be groveling inwardly. "Where's the fun in that?"
"We need to leave," Krishna said, brushing invisible dust from his palms. "Now."
Karna looked at Ishani and Krishna in a mix of resignation and confusion. "You mean, you both. This is my home. And Radha Maa.." He trailed off, glancing at Ishani with a emotion he couldn't understand. She just came on Krishna's behest and defended him out of empathy. But why did it hurt so bad when she was leaving? They were nothing more than two people who were destined to meet for a day.
Cease your stupid thoughts, you idiot. She is ours.
Karna stiffened at the voice that hissed and crawled into his head. His mind cleared out as Krishna placed a hand on his shoulder, his touch like a river that soothed all his pains.
"When I said we, Vasu. I meant Radha Maa and you too. We Yadavas do not view a person by their caste. If it is your mother's wish to lead a peaceful life by the riverside and a forest, Dwaraka shall be most willing to provide that. It is no longer safe for either of you after Ishani has sided with you. But I still ask you, if it is yours and Radha Maa's wish to accompany us only, you're most welcome. If you wish to stay here, we shall take our leave then."
"Vasu, are you foolish enough to deny Yadav Raja Vasudev?" Radha's quiet voice lingered from the room as she stepped out, folding her hands at Krishna. Krishna simply bowed back, not before giving a look to Ishani that made her suspicious.
Radha held Ishani's hand and smiled through her relief, brushing the stray hairs that clung behind her ears. "I may have known Ishani only for a day, but I would gladly move to your kingdom where peace and hospitality reign, Lord. Hastinapur has become a hunting ground for the corrupt to feast on the innocents. As much as I love this small piece of land that has been my home for years, I think it is time I learn to live for myself. After all, that's what I have learnt from Ishani. Thank you, dear one. Words fail to express my gratitude for not judging us by our caste and being our support."
Ishani simply squeezed her hand back, her eyes showing what her words couldn't. Krishna smiled mischievously at a frozen Karna. "Let's get started, shall we? It takes time to Dwaraka after all."
The journey was a blur of dust and dread.
They rode hard, Krishna's white stallion leading the way, its hooves kicking up clouds of ochre dust. Radha clung to Karna's back, her arms locked around his waist, her face pressed into his shoulder. Ishani rode beside them, her fingers tangled in the mare's mane, her body aching with every jolt.
The landscape shifted around them—village huts giving way to sprawling fields, then to the dense, whispering forests that marked the borderlands. The sun climbed higher, its heat a physical weight against their backs.
Karna's thoughts churned like a river in flood.
Why does Shakuni want her? All because she spoke? Was his ego so fragile that he resorted to send men after a woman? Cheap.
And beneath it all, the voice—his voice—whispering:
She is ours.
He gritted his teeth, forcing the thought away.
They stopped at dusk, making camp beside a shallow river. The water ran clear over smooth stones, its murmur a soothing counterpoint to the evening's stillness. Karna walked beside her, his silence a living thing. Though the morning's battle had left no visible marks, his shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack stone.
She recognized the look. A man fighting his own mind.
"You're bleeding," she said abruptly.
He glanced down at his forearm, where a cut oozed sluggishly. "It's nothing."
Pathetic liar. Say you want her to treat it because it hurts like hell.
Ishani reached into the folds of her antariya, tearing a strip of cloth with more force than necessary. "Sit."
To her surprise, he obeyed. She didn't even know why she was concerned for a man, for all she cared. She was just being kind, yes. It was just kindness, for he fought the men that came at her.
The man who wasn't like the men in her life.
The touch of her fingers against his skin sent a jolt through them both. Karna's breath caught, his pulse jumping beneath her fingertips. Ishani focused on the wound—anything to avoid those burning eyes. A wounded man who needed fixing.
Not his heart.. His shoulder.. Krishna's calm voice floated in the baritone of her messy head and Ishani held back a retort, simply rolling her eyes inwardly at his underlying tone .
"You fight well," she muttered.
"You don't." He whispered bravely, wondering how she would react. He didn't mind a slap or a punch. A kick would be better.
She yanked the bandage tight. "Bastard."
A chuckle, low and warm. "Accurate."
Behind them, Krishna hummed a folk tune, his horse's hooves kicking up puffs of dust as he tied it to the nearest tree. Radha rested against the tree in exhaustion after eating the food she had packed. Karna thanked the Gods that his mother wasn't a witness to Ishani helping him or she would have teased him until he cried.
Karna volunteered for first watch.
He sat with his back against a gnarled banyan tree, his spear across his knees, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The others slept—Radha curled beneath a woolen shawl, Ishani's breathing slow and even, Krishna's form motionless beneath the stars. Or maybe Vasudev was just resting. He had heard numerous stories of his miracles and the whispers that Krishna wasn't a mortal, and somehow his stubborn brain believed it.
Sleep tugged at him, relentless.
He fought it desperately, like a drowning man who wanted to survive against the treacherous currents.
And lost. The dream was different this time.
No flames. No screams.
Just him.
Devajit lounged upon a throne of blackened bone, his form shifting between shadow and substance. His face was Karna's—but sharper, crueler, his eyes twin pools of liquid night.
"You're wasting time," the entity purred. "She doesn't trust you. She still is wary of you."
Karna tried to step forward and wipe the smirk off his face, but he couldn't move. This ghost always had some tricks up its sleeves.
Devajit chuckled, but his eyes held rage. "I am not a ghost, you idiot. No mortal has dared to address me such and live, but I shall be kind to you. You think I want to break her? No. I will worship her. I will drown the world in blood to see her smile. We are the same, Karna. Don't you see me in yourself? I'm just the man you allowed your demons to take over."
The dream shattered.
Karna woke with a gasp, his hands shaking. His hands searched for his spear that he held at all times, feeling the sharp edge across his fingers. The dream and Dev's words felt too real to be just a figment of his imagination.
Across the fire, Krishna watched him, his expression unreadable. Karna tried to speak, but no words came out of his mouth. Krishna simply whispered a sleep, and Karna's eyes closed on their own accord.
Morning,
Dwarka rose from the sea like a mirage—white towers gleaming under the midday sun, its walls draped in banners of sapphire and gold. The air smelled of salt and lotus blossoms, the cries of gulls weaving through the bustle of the docks. Radha and Karna looked around in awe and relief, a feeling that blossomed years after they lost their family. Markets bristled with goods from far and wide, children running around in glee and laughter while the old women sat in circles under trees and gossiped, whispering about the people their King had brought.
Dwaraka was indeed a militant kingdom that people rightly feared and loved. It felt more like a community rather than a kingdom of politics. Ishani felt Karna's hand brush against hers as she looked up.
Rukmini waited at the gates, her silk sari rippling in the ocean breeze.
"Welcome," she said, her voice warm as honey. "The palace is prepared."
Ishani stared at the city, her throat tight.
Home.
The word tasted foreign.
That night, Krishna found Devajit waiting in the palace gardens.
The entity leaned against a marble pillar, his form flickering between corporeal and shadow. The moon painted his edges silver, his smile a slash of white in the darkness.
"You're interfering," Krishna said, his eyes cold and unforgiving.
Devajit's laughter was the scrape of claws on stone. He looked at Krishna lazily, a grin that made him look wicked. "I'm existing. A devotee who waits in hope and silence."
"She is not yours. Not after what she went through. "
"Not yet." The entity's eyes gleamed. "But she will be."
Krishna's voice hardened. "You will not touch her. She has suffered enough."
Devajit pushed off the pillar, his form dissolving into smoke.
"We'll see, Narayan." And then, he whispered one last sentence before leaving, vanishing into the dark as the shadows danced in the dead.
"Haven't I suffered too?"
Krishna stood unyielding, looking at the pillar that Dev leaned against. For now, Dev could only watch her from afar.
Unless..
He looked at the night sky that shuddered against the weight of his gaze.