Four years had passed since the land of Bharatvarsh had witnessed the cleansing wrath of Rudra and his army of Veerbhadra avatars. The Kingdom of Mahishmati had since entered a golden age. Peace prevailed, yet it was not idle peace. It was a time of rebuilding, of cultivating greatness, of forging mortals into legends.
In the heart of Mahishmati, within the sacred grounds of Karmapeeth, three young warriors stood under the open skies—the divine children born from Rudra's own miracle fruits: Varun, Arun, and Dhoomketu.
Varun, whose Siddhi manifested as the power of Vibration and Earth-Shaking, had grown into a towering figure with eyes that held thunder within them. His path had always aligned with mace warfare, and in these four years, he had mastered techniques that could shatter mountains and break the rhythm of an entire battlefield. Under Rudra's tutelage, he had become an unstoppable force.
Arun, whose Shockwave Siddhi turned his every strike into a blast of invisible force, had refined his art to such an extent that even the air obeyed his command. His mace twirled like a storm, and he could now emit sonic blasts strong enough to turn incoming arrows to dust. The battlefield was a canvas, and Arun painted with ripples of destruction.
And then there was Dhoomketu—the Gigantic Humanoid Ape with a flaming mane and four golden arms. His primal form had matured. When transformed, his very presence struck fear in seasoned warriors. His fists, now wrapped in golden fire, could split chariots and shatter the sky itself. His preference for unarmed combat led Rudra to refine martial arts that hadn't been practiced since the time of Deva Asuras.
Rudra was never one to coddle. His way of teaching was ruthless, real, and revelatory. The divine children were not merely learning war—they were understanding dharma, strategy, governance, and restraint. What use was power if it was not aligned with righteousness?
Meanwhile, the other three disciples of Rudra—Karna, Eklavya, and Ishita—had soared past human limits.
Karna, now a man of thirty, stood as the radiant embodiment of Surya himself. His battle aura shimmered golden, and his archery had reached divine heights. He had earned the title "Surya Veer", not just for his unmatched archery but for his unwavering loyalty to Dharma. Every time he stepped onto a battlefield, the enemies saw the sun rising in their doom.
Eklavya had taken a darker, silent path. His style was swift, efficient, and terrifying. He had embraced shadow tactics, and it was said that he could eliminate an entire battalion before the first scream echoed. He earned the title "The Silent Slaughterer"—an ode to his stealth and ruthless efficiency.
Ishita, the icy storm of Mahishmati, had embraced her Frost Siddhi to an almost mythic level. She could summon blizzards in the heat of battle, trap enemies in glacial prisons, and even calm raging fires with her icy breath. Her title became "The Frost Queen", and she was both adored and feared in equal measure.
Amid this growth, another prodigy had emerged. Shon, the younger brother of Karna, the boy who once idolized his elder sibling from the shadows, had now stepped into the light.
Under the fierce and protective eyes of Maharathi Vijay Raj, also known as the Silver Lion of Bharatvarsh, Shon trained with the Axe. His talent was unrefined, raw, but brimming with potential. Vijay Raj, the proud disciple of Parshuram himself, had found in Shon a flame reminiscent of his own youth. The axe danced in Shon's hands like a living extension of his spirit.
By age 16, Shon was feared and admired. Tales of his duels, where his axe split boulders and cleaved through illusions, began circulating across the kingdoms. He had not yet been titled, but the day wasn't far.
Not all growth was martial. Love too found its roots.
Karna and Vrushali, once inseparable childhood friends, now shared stolen glances and subtle touches. Though no words were spoken, it was clear—they were no longer just friends. Their hearts had acknowledged each other. Mahishmati noticed, yet chose not to speak of it. In a land led by warriors, even love was patient and resolute.
Meanwhile, word spread like wildfire: Krishna, the mysterious blue-skinned youth who had once studied the Vedas in Sandipani's ashram, had now carved out a kingdom of his own—Dwarika. A coastal city built on innovation, war strategy, and divine intellect. Krishna had become its guiding star. The people called him Dwarika Naresh.
A formal invitation had arrived, sealed with Krishna's personal symbol—
> *To the Supreme Lord of Mahishmati, Maharathi Rudra,
My Rajya Abhishek awaits.
Bring with you the sun, the frost, and the shadow—
For Dwarika must shine in their company.*
With Karna, Eklavya, and Ishita, Rudra set out for Dwarika.
The city sparkled like a jewel on the ocean's brow. Roads of polished coral, buildings that hummed with divine energy, and people who danced in prosperity. Krishna stood at the gates with Balram beside him, arms wide in welcome. The two embraced like old friends reunited across time.
But amid the celebrations, one gaze lingered.
Subhadra, the graceful and spirited sister of Balram and half-sister to Krishna, stood among the royal guests. Draped in silks that shimmered like moonlight, she tried to mask her interest. But her eyes betrayed her heart. She had heard countless tales of Rudra from Krishna—the warrior of unmatched might, the king of kings, the man who made demons tremble. But now, as she saw him laughing, talking with Krishna, her heart skipped beats she didn't know existed.
Krishna, ever the mischief-maker, leaned close to her and whispered, "Careful, little sister. Your eyes speak louder than your lips."
Subhadra turned crimson and looked away. But the smile on her lips lingered.
And thus, as the divine met the mortal, and warriors of legend gathered under one roof, the threads of fate began to weave something new—something divine.
The tale of Mahishmati was far from over.
It was only beginning to echo across the heavens.