Dharmyudh : The Rewritten Destiny

72. A New Student

The grand chamber was steeped in shadows, its towering stone walls bathed in a bluish light that cascaded down from a high circular window in the ceiling. The light seemed alive, slicing through the air with an ethereal clarity that gave the room a foreboding aura. The centerpiece of this ancient hall was a pedestal of black granite, upon which rested the glowing mace. Its brilliance was magnetic, as if the weapon had been forged not by mortal hands, but by celestial forces. Molded out of pure gold, the mace shimmered with an almost regal intensity, the emblem of a roaring lion engraved at the base of its handle further enhancing its majesty.

Duryodhan stood before it, his broad shoulders tense with anticipation. His face, sharp and resolute, was lit by the glow of the mace, making him appear as if he were a figure from legend, stepping into destiny. His dark, kohl-lined eyes reflected both hunger and determination as he gazed upon the weapon that had eluded all but the mightiest.

Behind him, his uncle, Shakuni, moved with the serpentine grace of a man whose mind was always spinning schemes. He placed a firm, reassuring hand on Duryodhan’s shoulder.

Shakuni :- You were born for this moment, the mace knows its master.

He murmured, his voice smooth and dripping with conviction.
Duryodhan exhaled sharply, the tension in his chest easing at his uncle’s words. He nodded but said nothing.

Across the chamber, Sumali stood clad in dark silks that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Her piercing gaze alternated between Duryodhan and the mace. Gajasur, an imposing figure with a mane of wild hair, exchanged a glance with her, his brows furrowed with unease. Makrasur, the youngest of the asura siblings, fidgeted at her side, his face a canvas of confusion, as if he couldn’t fully grasp the gravity of the moment.

Sumali :- The glow… it amplifies when the weapon recognizes a kindred spirit. But this? This intensity…

She murmured to Gajasur, her voice barely audible. Her voice trailed off, biting her lip, her thoughts veiled in apprehension.
Duryodhan straightened, squared his shoulders, and took a step forward, the faint echo of his boots on the stone floor magnifying the gravity of his action. His hand hovered over the mace, the air between his palm and the weapon buzzing with invisible energy. He took a deep breath, bracing himself, and then, finally, his fingers closed around the handle.

The moment his skin made contact, the chamber was flooded with an almost blinding golden light. The mace’s glow amplified tenfold, its brilliance painting the walls and faces of those present in shimmering hues. The power coursing through the weapon seemed to hum, resonating with Duryodhan’s very being. His breath hitched as a flood of sensations overwhelmed him—strength, pride, invincibility.

He closed his eyes, as if savoring the connection, before tightening his grip. With a grunt of effort, he lifted the mace. At first, it resisted, its immense weight challenging his resolve. His muscles strained, beads of sweat forming on his brow. But he did not falter. Slowly but surely, he raised the weapon higher, until it was above his head, glowing like the sun in his grasp.

When Duryodhan opened his eyes, a triumphant smile stretched across his face. He lowered the mace slightly, turning to look at Shakuni. The latter’s face broke into an approving grin, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Shakuni :- Congratulations, my boy. With this, you have proven yourself as the greatest mace wielder in the land of Aryavarth.

He declared, his voice reverberating in the chamber.
Sumali stepped forward, her movements slow and deliberate. Her earlier apprehension seemed to have melted into cautious admiration. She studied Duryodhan and the mace with an intensity that was almost unsettling.