Words - once spoken can only be forgiven. The irreversible nature of them have always made the oldest caution the young lest they carry the regret like their ancestors. Alas! No one learns this lesson until it is too late.
(Blurb to be edited)
Vāc i...
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The ride back to the palace was a blur. Hooves thundered against the dirt, their rhythm erratic yet relentless. The wind lashed against Nakul’s face, dust and sweat mingling on his skin, but he barely noticed. His breath came sharp and fast, though not from exertion—from dread. A weight pressed against his chest, thick and suffocating, his mind refusing to quiet.
They had left the palace vulnerable.
He should have stayed back.
The morning air was crisp, carrying the lingering scent of damp earth from the previous night. The sun had only just begun its ascent, casting long shadows that stretched across the stone walls of the palace. The gates loomed ahead, stark against the soft golden light filtering through the mist.
Guards stood rigid at their posts, their expressions tense but composed. Their weapons were unsheathed—not in frantic panic, but in grim vigilance. There was no chaos, no panicked shouts—only a readiness that spoke of control, of an attack that had come and gone.
A sharp stab of relief surged in his chest, only to be drowned by cold apprehension when a soldier broke formation, his expression tense as he approached.
“Glory be to Indraprastha! Rajkumar Sahadev is expecting you,” the guard reported, voice clipped. He bowed swiftly before turning on his heel, leading them toward the palace entrance.
Yudhishthir was the first to speak, his tone even but unyielding. “The scale of the attack?”
The soldier kept his gaze ahead as he answered. “It was a small, focused strike, aimed at the inner chambers. Atulya led them in,” He hesitated for a fraction of a second before adding, “He died in combat.”
Nakul’s breath stilled. Atulya.
The name rang hollow now, as if it had already begun fading from the world. A man who had chased his vengeance too fiercely, only to be consumed by it. He had spent his life grasping at power, shaping conspiracies in the shadows, only to be undone by his own hands. A man who had burned too brightly in his quest and had been reduced to nothing but smoldering embers.
Atulya. Dead.
A grim inevitability.
Nakul swallowed back his thoughts and focused on what mattered. The palace. His family. Abhijishya.
Sahadev was waiting for them near the inner courtyard, his gaze sharp, cataloging each of them with the practiced efficiency of a physician. No words of greeting, no questions—only a quick assessment, searching for wounds. His tension eased slightly when he saw they were unharmed.
“The children?” Nakul demanded before Sahadev could speak.
“They are fine.” Sahadev’s answer was brisk, factual. “The attack was never meant to cause mass casualties. A smoke vial was used—an irritant, but non-lethal. It was likely to draw the children out and use them as hostages. Rajkumari Subhadra and Panchali are with them.”
