The war that shook the lands of Bharatvarsh had ended. Though victory was claimed, its cost had left the kingdoms dormant, their kings and soldiers licking their wounds in silence, their people recovering from the horrors that had scorched their skies and lands. Yet in the heart of Mahishmati, a fire of purpose still burned.
Rudra, the guardian King and savior of Mahishmati, chose not to rest. Even as the air still hung heavy with the memories of blood and screams, his vision turned to a new era. He had long sensed that the true war was not of swords and arrows—but of ignorance and weakness. And in the silence that followed calamity, he heard the call of fate once more.
Three divine children—Varun, Arun, and Dhoomketu—stood before him in the great hall of Mahishmati's newly rebuilt citadel. Born from the divine fruits (devil fruits of one piece) in Rudra's initial years, they were unlike any others. Now twelve years old, they had the aura of destiny wrapped around their very souls.
Varun, lean yet powerful, radiated a silent fury. He was born with a Siddhi that allowed him to manipulate vibrations and quakes—he could shake the ground with a stamp, shatter stone with his hum. Arun, slightly broader with a thunderous gaze, wielded the power of shockwaves since birth. His punches could ripple the air, his shouts could tear through silence like spears of sound. And Dhoomketu—tallest of them, eyes like molten suns—could transform into a gigantic humanoid ape, with four mighty arms, fiery hair that roared like a blaze, and golden fire wrapping his fists in divine might.
Rudra stood before them, his presence calm and yet boundless, like the ocean before a storm.
"Do you know why I called you here?" he asked, his voice echoing softly in the hall.
The three bowed their heads. "To be trained by you, Maharaj," Varun said, his voice like the tremble before an earthquake.
"No," Rudra said, stepping closer. "To become more than weapons. To become pillars of dharma."
Thus began the second great chapter of discipleship in Rudra's life.
The training grounds of Karmapeeth were opened, sacred fires rekindled, and the bells of divine learning rang once more. Rudra didn't just teach them techniques—he taught them meaning. Mace combat became a sacred dance for Arun and Varun, not a display of violence but of control, rhythm, and precise power. They learned to suppress and channel their overwhelming strength—to make their destruction purposeful.
Dhoomketu's training was more visceral. Rudra didn't restrain his ferocity but instead guided it. In hand-to-hand combat, they sparred relentlessly. His ape form, once wild and uncoordinated, grew into a terrifying yet noble avatar of power. He could now catch arrows mid-air, uproot trees without breaking focus, and bring down giant beasts without killing them.
Rudra also gave them knowledge—of scriptures, politics, diplomacy, and cosmic laws. They weren't just to be warriors, but future leaders, thinkers, and reformers. He introduced them to Kartavirya Arjun's ancient scrolls, made them read the Vedangas, and often debated them on topics of karma, justice, and power.
Evenings were spent in discussion, mornings in meditation, and days in grueling physical training. The bond between master and disciples deepened—not just of knowledge, but of respect, love, and a shared future.
Yet Rudra's vision did not stop at training divine warriors. He turned his attention to rebuilding the kingdom—not with just walls and weapons, but with innovation.
From the dark valleys of the southern mountains, Rudra created a new breed of mutant spiders. These creatures were harmless, but their webs—stronger than any rope, soft as cotton, and flexible as silk—were perfect for crafting a new generation of clothing. He created an entire textile industry around these webs. Commoners soon wore breathable, comfortable garments resistant to wear and tear.
Then came the golden silkworms—cultivated from the high-altitude forests. Their silk shone with a faint divine luster and exuded a light fragrance that soothed the mind. These were used to craft robes for kings, nobles, and diplomats. The Mahishmati Silk became a brand known across the lands.
Rudra ensured that these industries employed thousands. He created workshops, training centers, and cloth guilds. Money began to flow not from war, but from trade. He gave artisans pride and purpose. Trade caravans loaded with the new fabrics were soon seen heading toward Hastinapur, Panchal, Mathura, Dwarika, and beyond.
And yet Rudra remained grounded. He personally supervised weaving sessions, praised craftsmen, and walked among merchants like a fellow trader.
People whispered legends: that their prince needed no crown, for the land itself bent before him.
His vision of economy merged with his vision of dharma. He established the Nyayalay—a court of justice presided over not by soldiers, but wise sages, who judged without bias. Every village, town, and district had access to justice now.
To ensure enforcement, he created the first-ever police force of Bharatvarsh—not guards, but protectors of people. Under the command of newly risen Maharathi Bali—now titled The Iron Fist—this force was disciplined, ethical, and feared by wrongdoers.
Restaurants inspired by flavors of Kaliyug opened across the nation, offering dishes no one had tasted before. Daal makhani, shahi paneer, butter naan, sweet gulab jamun—became cultural phenomena. A strange blue-skinned man reportedly visited the same restaurant in Mathura every day, savoring the taste of daal with unmatched delight. Rumors spread. Little Krishna? Maybe
But Rudra ignored such talk. He was too busy laying the foundation of a kingdom that could sustain peace.
He visited schools, debated philosophers, broke bread with beggars, and fought with bandits when needed. Mahishmati was not a kingdom. It had become an idea.
And at the center of it stood three boys, now slowly becoming men—Varun, Arun, and Dhoomketu—
And their senior —Karna, Eklavya, and Ishita— learning the way of karma and dharma under the only man who had ever tamed fate itself.
The age of divine inheritance had begun.
And Rudra—teacher, prince, warrior, and visionary—walked onward, carrying the legacy not just of Mahishmati, but of Bharatvarsh itself.