---
The dust had not yet settled from the duel.
Karna stood, calm, his bow lowered, the faint glow of his divine armor fading back beneath his robes.
Arjuna picked up Gandiva without a word.
But the silence was short-lived.
Dronacharya stepped forward from the council tier, voice sharp.
"Name your father."
Karna didn't flinch.
"Speak," Drona said again. "If you challenge a Kshatriya, the court has the right to know what caste your blood crawled from."
A murmur rippled.
Some gasped.
Others smirked.
Duryodhana stepped forward. "He stands by my side. That should be enough."
Drona ignored him.
"Karna. Do you have a father? Or only a story?"
Still, Karna said nothing.
His eyes drifted to the side.
To Agasthya, standing still, watching.
One of the younger princes muttered, "He's a charioteer's son. What else could he be?"
Another added, "All that for a servant's brat?"
The noise grew.
Sycophants fed off each other.
Laughter like knives.
And then—
Agasthya moved.
He stepped into the center of the courtyard, between Karna and the court.
And spoke, voice low—but echoing with something ancient.
> "Enough."
The air chilled.
"I have heard rats speak more wisely than some of you."
Dronacharya's brows furrowed. "You overstep."
"No," Agasthya said. "I wait. Patiently. Until someone forgets that death can wear a child's face."
Bhishma stood—but said nothing.
Agasthya raised his head slowly and looked directly at the throne.
> "If one more word is spoken against him—one more breath of contempt—then I will not ask your caste, your name, or your title."
> "I will simply erase you."
His tone did not rise.
But the silence that followed felt like a storm holding its breath.
"No scripture," he added softly, "has ever protected a man from me."
Somewhere, a goblet dropped. No one picked it up.
The court fell into utter silence.
Even Drona took a step back—though he masked it as posture.
Only Bhishma remained still.
---
High above, in the women's gallery, Kunti's hands clutched the stone railing.
Her knuckles white.
Her breath trapped.
She stared at Karna.
At his armor.
At the grace in his stance.
At the voice he didn't use.
> He's mine.
Her lip trembled.
Tears slipped silently down her cheeks.
> I left him.
> He stood there while they tore him down—and I said nothing.
A sob escaped her lips—too soft for the hall, but loud enough for Kripacharya beside her to glance over and wonder.
But he said nothing.
Because grief sometimes explains itself in silence.
---
Down below, Bhishma finally stepped forward.
"Agasthya," he said, "walk with me."
Agasthya looked once more at Karna—then turned and followed.
Behind them, the court said nothing.
Because something had been said that no one dared answer.
---