The golden hues of dusk bathed the spires of Mahishmati in divine light as Rudra stood at the highest terrace of the palace, gazing far into the horizon. The cool breeze carried the aroma of blooming champa trees and the distant hum of devotional chants from temple courtyards. After returning from years of spiritual adventures, the now eight-year-old boy-prince carried a calm, refined demeanor. His eyes, once wide with curiosity, now held profound wisdom that made even seasoned rishis pause.
Despite his age, the sages referred to him with reverence as Maharishi Rudra, and whispers of his miraculous deeds had spread not only across Bharatvarsh but also to realms above and below.
But Rudra's heart was not at ease. Somewhere deep within, he felt a pull, an unfinished thread of destiny. It was then, as if fate had aligned its chords, that he found himself summoned by Vijay Raj, his grandfather from the previous life, now aged and peaceful, living in a quiet ashram within Mahishmati.
When Rudra reached the ashram, Vijay Raj was sitting beneath the sprawling banyan tree, eyes closed in meditation. He opened them slowly, a flicker of pride flashing across his aged face.
"You have returned… just as I dreamt," Vijay Raj said softly. "Mahishmati has waited long, my child."
"I feel it, Pitamaha," Rudra replied, bowing with deep affection. "There is something calling me, something older than time itself. I feel... unfinished."
Vijay Raj gestured toward an ancient scroll wrapped in golden silk. "Your father entrusted me with this. It was passed down through our bloodline, with strict orders—only to be opened by the one who bears the mark of dharma and karma in balance."
Rudra unrolled the scroll slowly. It was in the ancient tongue of Mahishmati, inscribed with divine ink that shimmered faintly. As his fingers brushed the surface, a vision surged through his mind—a warrior of immense stature with a thousand arms, his presence radiant as a thousand suns, seated on a golden throne by the Narmada River.
Kartavirya Arjun.
The greatest emperor of Mahishmati.
"He was not only a ruler," Vijay Raj's voice cut through the vision. "He was a bridge between gods and men, a guardian of Dharma, a divine king who once matched the gods in strength. But he foresaw the decline of dharma. Before his final war with Parashurama, he sealed his essence and trials within the hidden realm of Mahishmati—a realm only accessible to his true-blooded heir."
Rudra looked up, stunned. "His heir?"
"You," said another voice.
It was King Suresh, Rudra's current-life father, entering with a heavy expression.
"You are the only one in the royal lineage with the spiritual qualifications, karmic balance, and pranic mastery to enter the Trial of the Thousand-Armed King."
Rudra's heart pounded.
"But why me? What lies within this trial?"
Suresh looked to the sky. "The trial is not of battle. Not of strength. It is a test of will, character, and purpose. Kartavirya believed true rulers must transcend even their own power. The trial will break you... and then remake you."
"And I must walk it alone?" Rudra asked.
"Yes," Suresh said firmly. "The realm opens only to those with the direct royal blood of Mahishmati and the purity of spirit. Even we cannot follow."
Vijay Raj added, "You'll begin the search soon, when the signs align. Until then, prepare your soul. This is the true beginning of your destiny."
Rudra closed his eyes. A fire lit in his heart. He was no longer just the child blessed by gods, nor only the prodigious sage revered by the world.
He was a prince of Mahishmati.
The chosen one to walk the forgotten path.
And in the shadows of time, the soul of Kartavirya Arjun stirred—waiting.
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