Arjuna stood with Gandiva drawn taut, his breath steady but heavy.
The battlefield around him rumbled on, uncaring of the weight that hung in the air between two souls.
He had not heard the conversation that passed between Krishna and Karna. He had not seen time halt, or truth laid bare.
But somewhere deep within, something had shifted.
A stillness crept over him. A knowing.
He stared at Karna—muddied, weaponless, proud—and for a moment, he saw not an enemy, not even a rival… but a man. Tired, worn, unbending.
Even now, Karna stood tall.
Arjuna closed his eyes.
Hatred roared within him—hatred born of Abhimanyu's death, of Draupadi's insult, of the years of war and blood and silence. But beneath the hatred was something else… something far more dangerous.
Pain.
And beneath the pain—grudging respect.
He had trained his whole life for this war. For this duel. And yet, this ending… this wasn't how he had imagined it.
So, he gave Karna a mercy few received on a battlefield.
A clean death.
Summoning the power within him, Arjuna called upon an Astra blessed by the gods—an arrow of pure, slicing energy, designed to sever with precision. It glowed faintly with ethereal light, silent in its fury, calm in its purpose.
This was no ordinary arrow. It would not maim. It would not burn. It would not torment.
It would simply end.
Maybe it was Arjuna's final gift to the man who had nearly equaled him.
Maybe it was a balm to his own guilt.
Maybe… it was both.
He took one final breath.
And released.
The arrow flew like time itself—inevitable, absolute.
Karna saw it coming.
He didn't flinch.
He didn't raise his arms.
He didn't curse fate.
He simply closed his eyes.
In that moment, the world slowed—not by Krishna's hand this time, but by the sheer weight of the act.
A golden light—faint, like the last rays of a setting sun—flickered around Karna's chest as the arrow approached. Not as armor. Not as defense.
But as farewell.
The arrow struck.
It passed through his chest without resistance, like a whisper through silk.
Karna staggered—not from pain, but as if the force had nudged his very soul. He looked downward, placing his hand where the wound had opened. Blood trickled—not violently, but steadily, with dignity.
He looked up once more, locking eyes with Arjuna across the distance.
There was no hatred there. No rage.
Only peace.
Then he fell.
Slowly.
Like a mountain collapsing into sleep.
Like a warrior surrendering—not to death, but to destiny.
The earth embraced him, cradling his body in the wet soil that had once trapped him.
But even as his heart stopped, the battlefield seemed to pause with him.
A silence swept across the plains. Even the crows stilled.
As if the world itself mourned the fall of one of its fiercest sons.
Krishna closed his eyes.
For he knew—
This was not the end.
This was the moment between stories.
The pause between lives.
Karna's journey through karma was not yet complete.
And even now… something stirred.
Far, far away—from the field of Kurukshetra, from the yugas of gods and mortals—
A light flickered in the darkness.
And a soul began to awaken.
Karna's POV
Between End and Beginning
There was no pain.
No clang of metal.
No weight of armor.
No screams.
No earth beneath his feet.
No sun above.
Just darkness.
But not the suffocating kind.
This one was warm. Quiet. Still.
Like floating in ink, yet untouched by its weight.
Karna drifted.
He couldn't feel his body anymore—no limbs, no breath, not even a heartbeat.
And yet… he was aware.
Aware of himself. Of his thoughts. Of something deeper.
"Is this what death feels like?"
He wondered—not with panic, but with the curiosity of someone who'd already endured the worst that life could offer.
Strangely, he didn't feel fear. No dread crawled over him.
Instead, there was peace.
A serenity he had never known in the noise and ache of the world he had left behind.
His thoughts moved like ripples in water.
"So… it's over," he murmured inwardly.
"Everything I fought for. Everything I endured. All the names, all the lies, all the oaths."
He waited for sorrow to rise.
For regret to gnaw at him.
But it didn't.
He thought he would be angry—at fate, at his curse, at his loss.
He wasn't.
He thought he would ache with longing—for his son, for the throne, for glory.
He didn't.
There was only one lingering thread in his heart, tugging gently.
"I still believe I was right… standing with Duryodhana."
His mind didn't waver.
"Right or wrong, I stood by the one who stood by me. I cannot abandon that, even in death."
He felt no pride in it.
Just… truth.
Time didn't exist here.
There were no moments to measure, only thoughts that drifted freely.
And then, from somewhere far within, a quieter voice whispered:
"I had no real wishes left. No crown. No fame. I've seen it all fall apart."
He paused.
"…But maybe…"
A soft ache began to form—not in the body, but in memory.
"…Maybe I did wish for something."
He saw flashes—of his foster mother's gentle hands, his father's firm encouragement, the hearth of a simple home.
And then, shadowed behind it…
A face he had never seen.
A mother he had never known.
Brothers he had fought and nearly slain.
A truth that had come too late.
"A true family," he whispered to the dark.
Not titles. Not alliances. Not borrowed identities.
Just belonging.
That single, quiet wish lingered like the final glow of a dying ember.
"I wonder…"
"What life could have been—if I had truly known what it felt like to be… someone's son. Someone's brother. Without shame. Without masks."
A silence followed, heavier this time.
Then Karna sighed, if such a thing could exist in this formless drift.
"Not that it matters now. The world has moved on. I have no more to give it."
He felt himself beginning to fade. Not violently—more like dissolving into sleep.
One final thought crossed his mind.
"Will I go to heaven… or to hell?"
He chuckled silently.
"Or will fate play one last joke on me?"
The darkness began to stir.
A faint pull.
Like something… calling.
Not judgment.
Not punishment.
Something else.
A summons.
And for the first time, in what felt like eternity, Karna sensed something new.
Not an end.
A beginning.
Just as Karna drifted in the calm darkness, he felt a faint pull on his soul. It was subtle at first, then grew stronger—drawing him toward something unknown.
Then, like a whisper cutting through the silence, Krishna's voice echoed in his mind,
"Perhaps, Karna… your dharma was never about this war. Perhaps your story doesn't end here."
The words lingered, unfinished—like a riddle left behind.
Before Karna could make sense of them, a tunnel of light emerged ahead, wide and radiant. It pulled him in effortlessly. The light grew brighter, surrounding him from all sides.
And for the first time since everything had ended, confusion stirred in him again.
"What… is going to happen to me now?"
He wondered, as the light consumed him.