The early rays of the sun blessed the majestic capital of Hastinapur, gilding its domes and corridors with a golden shine. But within the grand palace walls, shadows danced—not of ghosts or demons, but of living men playing a game more dangerous than war.
Above the clouds, cloaked in divine energy and invisible to all mortal and immortal eyes alike, Rudra Pratap, the Pralayavatar, hovered with arms folded, his eyes glowing with cosmic insight. He had no need to sneak or suppress his powers—his mere presence could bend reality, his yogic perception saw through walls, minds, and karma itself.
Today, however, he was not here to destroy—but to observe, to witness the poison being sown into the future of Bharatvarsh.
From the sky, Rudra's sight pierced the palace chambers, focusing on a gathering of Hastinapur's elders. There stood Vidur, the supposed voice of Dharma, speaking with aged advisors. Yet, what flowed from his tongue was not wisdom, but venom wrapped in silk.
"The omens during his birth—the violent storms, the howling beasts, the earth trembling—should not be dismissed," Vidur said calmly. "Prince Duryodhan may carry the blood of royalty, but his existence threatens the harmony of the Kuru lineage."
One elder hesitated. "But he is just a child, Vidur. A mere infant."
Vidur responded without pause, his voice steady. "That is exactly why we must act early. Let us limit his influence now, restrict his presence, and let his soul prove itself worthy in time."
Rudra's eyes narrowed. This was not guidance—it was subtle assassination of spirit. Vidur, under the guise of dharma, was seeding doubt into the minds of the Kuru elders, pushing the child into social exile.
But that was not the worst.
Elsewhere in the palace, near the royal nursery, stood Shakuni, the Prince of Gandhar. He leaned casually against a marble pillar, his eyes fixed on the crib where a tiny Duryodhan cooed, unaware of the destinies unraveling around him.
"This palace reeks of judgment, little one," Shakuni whispered, his tone dripping with poison. "They call you a curse behind closed doors. But not me. I see greatness. I will shape it."
He turned to one of his attendants from Gandhar. "Bhishma thinks sparing my family from imprisonment is mercy? He forced Gandhari, my dearest sister, to marry a blind prince like a lamb to slaughter. And now he parades as the pillar of justice. No more. The Kuru dynasty will rot from within."
Shakuni clenched his fist. "And this boy... he will be my sword."
Rudra's rage simmered. He could destroy Shakuni with a mere thought—erase his karma, his name, his soul. But no... this battle needed a different path.
Hovering in the air, Rudra opened his third eye—not to unleash destruction, but to view the karmic web of these events. He saw it clearly: Duryodhan, born with promise and heart, slowly being twisted by rejection, manipulation, and isolation.
In another life, this child would grow into a tyrant, remembered as a villain. But not here. Not now. Not under Rudra's watch.
Rudra spoke into the wind, and though no one heard, the universe did: "You do not deserve this fate, child. I will change your destiny. You will rise—not as a symbol of arrogance—but as a leader of justice, of strength, and of brotherhood."
He flew above the palace and looked down at the child one last time.
"Let them whisper their poison," Rudra murmured, his eyes burning with cosmic light. "I shall be your shield. And when the time comes, you shall roar like a lion and shatter every lie they've planted in your soul."
With that, Rudra vanished into the sky like a streak of lightning. He had seen the disease that infested the Kuru court. Now, he would prepare the cure.
And somewhere, as if sensing the divine eyes watching him, baby Duryodhan smiled in his sleep.