A Change of Fate

Best Served Hot...

Hello, everyone...

Vamsi here.

This chapter holds a piece of me—Yudhishthira's voice is mine, and Kripacharya's voice was brought to life by my friend. Arjuna's we both fought and wrote it.

The past year has been hell. I won't speak of all the ways it broke me, but the final blow—the one that shattered me—was losing my cousin.

Since then, the world has felt distant, voices muffled, colors faded. I wanted nothing, wished for nothing, only to be left alone with my grief. But those who love me refused to let me vanish into silence. They held on, even when I could not.

I live one day at a time. I see her everywhere—in fleeting glimpses, in echoes of laughter that no longer reach me. It sounds poetic, maybe even cliché, but it is my truth.

I do not know if I am back, not fully. But I will walk with this story, support it as best I can, even if my steps are slow.

I only hope that, in these words, you found something worth feeling.

"Justice is a lie told by the weak. The only truth is power. If you have it, you can shape the world. If you don't, you are shaped by it."

(Kripa's POV)

The sun above the Samudra division blazed with an unforgiving intensity, as though seeking to burn the earth into submission. Kripa walked briskly toward the soldiers' quarters, his sharp gaze catching the unusual stillness in the air.

The usual clamor—the rhythmic clash of weapons, the hearty banter of warriors—was gone, replaced by a suffocating silence. The atmosphere felt charged, like the ominous calm before a tempest.

Men scrambled about, their movements frantic and uncoordinated, eyes darting like cornered prey. These were not common soldiers, Kripa reminded himself. These were men under Vasusena's chain of command—veterans, molded in fire by the relentless training of the Vaikartana and they went through missions no sane man would ever take. The division whose success rate overtook even most of the Kshatriya divisions.

Rakshasas, people called them. The kind of warriors who struck fear into the hearts of bandits and beasts alike.

And yet, here they stood, shaken, as if facing a foe they couldn't fight against.

"What is going on here?" Kripa's voice cut through the suffocating stillness, sharp and commanding.

The soldiers exchanged nervous glances, their unease palpable. None stepped forward until an elder among them, Dheru, reluctantly emerged. His steps were hesitant, his shoulders hunched as though bearing the weight of the heavens.

"Acharya," Dheru began, his voice trembling. "There has been... an incident."

Kripa's frown deepened. "Speak plainly, Dheru. What incident has turned seasoned warriors into frightened children?"