The palace was alive with color.
Courtiers drifted across the marble halls like brushstrokes—robes of saffron, emerald, and deep ruby swirling against white stone. Gold lanterns burned low, perfuming the air with sandalwood and jasmine.
Arjun stood at the edge of the hall, cloaked in anonymity. He wasn't dressed like a noble. He wore no jewels. His face, marked by a single sharp scar along his cheek, earned him more glances than his name ever did.
He didn't belong here.
And yet—he had to be here.
His mission had brought him into the very heart of the palace, but for one breathless moment, he forgot why he came.
Because he saw her.
She entered from the far archway, her steps light, almost floating. Not in extravagance, but grace. Aditi. The name passed through the room in low murmurs, like a prayer and a warning.
She wasn't dressed to dazzle, but she dazzled anyway—an indigo silk drape over her shoulder, hair pinned in place with a single silver ornament, eyes like dark wells that had seen too much and yet revealed nothing.
Arjun froze.
He was stone. Silent. Still.
Because in the storm of politics, vengeance, and Zenora's curses, she looked at him.
Just for a second.
And when their eyes met, it wasn't curiosity. It wasn't fear.
It was recognition.
As if she'd known him before the scar. Before the exile. Before the mask of Rudranath ever formed.
"My creator, My Muse, my life, my world- Aditi", He thought to himself.
Arjun POV:
And in that moment, as our eyes met, everything she had held back cracked open.
Longing surged first—wild and wordless. She wanted to run to me, touch my face, say my name like a prayer she'd been repeating in silence for years.
I could see her holding back. She wanted to break this invisible wall between us and hug me tight. She knew she couldn't do that. She was in the middle of the Court. She must've already met Yash by now. He must've told her the whole truth. She must be angry for my decision to enter this world and kill the bastard of king Dhrupad. She underestimates herself. I will never let any harm near her. This is why I entered into this cursed world of SuryaGarh- Only to protect my Aditi.
I wanted to tell her to stop staring at me with those eyes- eyes that begged for answers. This was not the right time. But, I promise, You will find answers to all questions.
"Pranali, why are you still standing there? Come with me. The Princess wants you to be by her side.", one of the maids distracted her. 'Pranali', that's her new name now... Just when she turned to look at the maid, I escaped. I was a coward who no longer had the courage to look into her eyes.
Aditi POV:
I heard the royal maid take my name and I drifted just for a second..... And he was gone. Just in-front of my eyes, he disappeared. His face was covered with a fresh Scar. Why did he go as far as to hurt his face? Does he want to hide his identity? Guess what? He must be waiting for the perfect time to take me from here. I must wait. Yes. Thats why he has come here. To rescue me. I went upstairs to stay with the Princess. I promised her, I would not leave her alone in this ceremony.
The royal court was transformed into a hall of gold and silk, its columns wrapped in red banners, lotus petals scattered across the marble floor. Musicians played soft, regal tunes, their instruments humming like the breath of fate itself.
At the center of the hall, under a canopy of embroidered stars, stood the Princess—veiled, resplendent, poised like a sculpture of divine grace. Her eyes, hidden behind a translucent veil, scanned the line of warriors, princes, and kings who had gathered from across the land to win her hand.
Above them all, suspended from a tall brass frame, rotated a mechanical fish—intricately carved, glinting silver in the lamplight. It spun slowly, mid-air, its eye a small, blackened gem no wider than a coin.
The challenge was simple—yet nearly impossible:
Pierce the eye of the rotating fish—not by looking at it directly, but through its reflection in the pool of oil below.
The hall fell silent as the royal priest stepped forward and raised his staff.
"Let the trial begin."
One by one, princes stepped forward—famous names, cloaked in silk and confidence. Each one approached the bow, aimed, and missed. Arrows flew wide, some landing in the frame, others in the oil, none near the target. Gasps rippled through the watching crowd. Whispers spread like wildfire.
Then came Prince Viraj, maybe he was one of the Jal Vansh Clan. He smiled at the princess before lifting the bow. He took aim—too fast, too proud—and fired.
Thunk.
A miss.
The eye remained unpierced.
The hall fell silent again. Then a murmur rose near the back.
One by one each and every prince failed to shoot the fish's rotating eye. Vishtha was now boiling with anger. "Is there no one worthy to win my hand in marriage? All seem useless"
Her lady-in-waiting consoled her to keep calm. Then, an announcement was made, "Everyone stop at once. King Dhrupad is arriving right now."
So finally, I get to meet this 'immortal beast'.
Suddenly, the conch blares—a low, thundering sound that silences the murmur of the court. The golden doors at the far end swing open with a resonant boom, and a gust of wind sweeps into the hall, snuffing out a line of lamps, as if nature itself bows to the presence that follows.
Clad in obsidian-black armor etched with ancient runes, his cloak—deep indigo, trailing like a night sky in motion—billows behind him. His face covered with a harnessed brass. Only his eyes shine beyond the scary mask. Why does his eyes look so familiar? His crown, dark gold with a single blood-red ruby, gleams under the chandeliers like a watchful eye. He does not walk—he commands the ground he treads. Every step is thunder; every breath, a challenge.
The guards bow low, their spears clattering against the marble in trembling salute. Even the most arrogant kings seated near the dais rise involuntarily in respect of SuryaGarh's mighty King.
Vishtha herself, seated with the garland of decision in her delicate hands, cannot mask the flicker of awe in her eyes.
King Dhrupad's voice breaks the silence like a blade slicing silk.
"Forgive my delay."
Gasps ripple through the assembly. The other suitors look to each other in disbelief, fear flashing like lightning in their eyes. Dhrupad surveys them all with the calm disdain of a storm eyeing rooftops.
"You sit here in fine silk and polished steel… claiming love, honor, and glory. But I ask you—is anyone among you truly worthy of winning my one and only daughter?"
And in that moment, the swayamvar ceases to be a ceremony.
It becomes a battlefield of fate.
"Is there anyone among you who can earn my daughter by striking the fish's eye? It can be anyone. A royal or a non-royal. Come forward. At once."
A figure stepped forward—not robed in royal silk, but in black linen, a scar running down his cheek like a silent warning.
Arjun.
I had seen him earlier. Now he was in a different attire. Why is he coming forward? Is he participating in the Swayamvar of Vishtha? Why? What will he gain by doing that?
He loves me.....Why will he do something like this?
He said nothing. Bowed to no one. Walked forward with the stillness of a predator, the grace of someone who had nothing left to lose.
The king narrowed his eyes. The queen leaned forward.
The princess held her breath.
Arjun took the bow, fingers calloused and calm. He did not look at the fish. His eyes were fixed on the oil, dark and rippling slightly. His breathing slowed. His heartbeat dropped.
He became still.
And then—
Whip.
The arrow flew.
A flash of silver.
A crack of metal.
The fish stilled, spinning slightly from the force—and the crowd leaned forward.
The arrow was lodged deep in the fish's eye. Dead center.
Silence fell like a dropped curtain. The silence that almost killed me. He won the challenge, which means now he will marry the Princess.....
And then—a single chime from the priest's staff.
"He has done it."
The crowd erupted. Some in cheers. Some in shock.
Arjun lowered the bow. I sat disheartened. All those promises he made with me in the real world, were they all wake?
His eyes never left the King's dreadful eyes.
And though the Princess said nothing, though her lips never moved—
Her eyes, sharp as stars through silk looked into his.
As if she had been waiting all along for a person like him.....
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Third Person POV:
The celebrations behind her roar like distant thunder. The swayamvar is over. The man she loves is now betrothed to a princess, his fate sealed in gold and applause.
Aditi walks alone.
Her bare feet move swiftly across the palace stones, her steps silent but shattering inside. She doesn't wait for anyone to notice. She doesn't look back. Every cheer that echoes from the royal hall is a knife twisting deeper in her chest.
The palace gates loom ahead—grand, ornate, and heavily guarded. But no one stops her.
Servants avert their eyes. Guards look away.
Tears streak her face, and she makes no effort to wipe them away. Let them fall. Let them carry with them the last pieces of a dream that will never return.
She doesn't cry loudly.
She breaks quietly.
The kind of heartbreak that makes no sound—just a trembling lip, a clutched chest, and eyes that refuse to stop weeping.
At last, she crosses the threshold.
Beyond the gates lies the world: vast, indifferent, and unknown.
And yet… she walks forward.