Word spread like wildfire across the subcontinent.
Three weddings.
Not of princes, but of powers.
Krishna to Rukmini.
Karna to Vaishali.
Agasthya to Vaidehi.
The invitations weren't mere scrolls. They were woven in golden thread, sealed with divine symbols, and hand-delivered by celestial birds, wind-spirits, and chosen warriors. Every king, every sage, every clan leader felt the gravity of the moment. These were not weddings. These were declarations.
But before the celebrations, there was one last shadow to clear.
---
Rukmi, still seething with humiliation from Krishna's escape with Rukmini, rallied his pride.
He stormed to Mathura, sword at his hip, his voice echoing through the palace gates.
"I demand my sister be returned!"
The guards hesitated.
But it wasn't Krishna who appeared first.
Agasthya walked out, cloaked in white, his eyes like embers.
"You demand nothing here."
Rukmi growled. "She is my blood!"
"And she is her own soul," Agasthya replied calmly.
"She was stolen."
"No," Agasthya said. "She was chosen. She sent a letter with her own hand. She called Krishna not as a thief, but as a savior."
Rukmi's hand twitched near his sword.
Agasthya didn't blink.
"If you draw that weapon, it will never see its sheath again."
The silence grew heavy. And Rukmi, tasting fear he didn't understand, stepped back.
"You dare threaten me?"
"No," Agasthya said. "I promise you safety. If you leave now."
Rukmi's pride shattered in silence.
He left.
---
Soon after, as word of Rukmi's retreat spread, the invitations arrived.
Kings unrolled scrolls with trembling hands. Sages gasped. Priests debated omens.
The marriage of Krishna alone would have shifted dynasties.
But to see Karna—once called outcaste—and Agasthya—now whispered as the strongest man in existence—join hands with love?
It was not just union.
It was legend.
---
In the halls of Mathura, Balarama poured another cup of honey-wine, watching the three brothers laugh and talk.
Krishna glowed with mischief, Karna was already planning his vows, and Agasthya's eyes never left the starlit path where Vaidehi had last walked.
Balarama grumbled.
"Married... all of you. And me? Years ago. No ceremony. No blessings from sages. No golden river."
Krishna smirked. "Jealous, brother?"
"I should remarry," Balarama muttered.
Karna clapped his shoulder. "You already rule your home. Let us rule ours for once."
Agasthya chuckled. "You had your wedding in peace. We'll have ours in legend."
And Balarama, despite himself, laughed.
Because even envy had no place where joy walked freely.
And the world?
It held its breath.
For the weddings of the three lights that shaped its age were soon to come.