A Change of Fate

The Chambers of a Secret

Author's Note

Hello, everyone,

Before you dive into this chapter, there's something I need to clarify.

I'm the original author of this story—the one who wrote the first 12 chapters with little knowledge of the Mahabharata beyond what I'd seen in TV serials. After that, my friend took over because I lost my job and fell into depression.

Now, he's in a much worse place than I am. His cousin, who was also his fiancée, tragically passed away in an accident. (Marriage between cousins is common in his family, so please refrain from any unkind comments.) This loss has deeply affected him, and he's currently struggling with his grief.

To help him, I've stepped back in to continue the story. What you'll read here is the result of that effort. It hasn't been beta-read yet, so the quality might not be up to the usual standard. I don't want to wait for beta-reader to look over this so sorry HopeMikaelson2009. You will have to beta read this and next chapter together.

This chapter is only half of what was planned, but given the circumstances, I wanted to share what was written so far. I'll post the remaining half in the coming weeks when he's in a better position to contribute.

To address some recurring comments: I know there have been questions about the Mahabharata from readers like GodishalaSiddartha and SimpForAngstBoi. Unfortunately, I'm not knowledgeable enough to answer them. 

I also noticed he have pissed off with his responses, and I sincerely apologize on his behalf.

With all that said, I hope you still enjoy this chapter. Please share your thoughts and reviews—they mean a lot.

Thank you for your understanding and support.

This is the end

Hold your breath and count to ten

Feel the Earth move and then

Hear my heart burst again

For this is the end

I've drowned and dreamt this moment

So overdue, I owe them

Swept away, I'm stolen

(Kripa's POV)

The silence in Kripa's chambers was not merely the absence of sound—it was a living force, coiling and pressing against him, relentless and unyielding.

Each breath he drew seemed a battle against the air itself, shallow and rasping, as though the very atmosphere sought to suffocate him. His hands, faintly trembling, rested on the carved arms of his chair, their stillness a brittle shield against the storm within.