---
The room was quiet.
The four of them sat on a woven mat under a stone awning behind the market temple—hidden from the city's noise. A single clay lamp burned beside them, flickering low. Outside, the bustle of Mathura pressed in like a tide: drums, footsteps, chants. The arena games would begin by dawn.
Inside, no one spoke.
Until Krishna finally asked, "Why did they never speak your name?"
Agasthya didn't look at him. He sat cross-legged, hands folded, eyes lowered to the floor.
"Because even my birth was a mistake."
Balarama frowned. "That's not true."
Karna, leaning against the stone pillar, added, "He's not wrong either."
Krishna reached forward and placed a hand on Agasthya's shoulder.
"I remembered you the moment we entered the city," he said. "Even before I saw you. I felt you in the stone. The river. The dust."
"I remembered you the moment I could walk," Agasthya whispered. "But I didn't know what to do with it."
Balarama looked between them. "Wait—what are you two even saying? Are you telling me… we're all brothers?"
Krishna smiled faintly. "Yes. And no."
Agasthya finally raised his eyes.
"I am not of this world," he said softly. "Not truly. I was placed here. Not born of love, but of imbalance. I've seen glimpses of what I was before. But not enough to understand it."
Krishna met his gaze.
"I think we were meant to balance each other," he said. "I was the cowherd who would become king. You were the forgotten who would become… something else."
Agasthya tilted his head. "Then what is he?" He looked toward Karna.
Krishna didn't answer right away.
Instead, he turned his eyes toward the small fire.
"The tether," he said. "The one who was meant to be both sword and shield. But made to choose."
Karna's jaw tightened.
"I'm not choosing anything," he muttered.
"But you will," Krishna said.
"And you won't?" Karna shot back.
Krishna didn't reply.
The silence pressed thick between them.
Finally, Agasthya stood. His voice was low. "You'll face Kamsa tomorrow."
Krishna nodded. "Yes."
"I want to be there."
Balarama brightened. "Then come! We'll fight together."
But Krishna looked at Agasthya with caution.
"Why?"
Agasthya's eyes flickered—gold in the firelight. "Because he hurt our mother. And I've waited eight and a half years to return to this city."
"You're not here to rewrite fate," Krishna said. "You've already done that."
"I know."
"Then what will you do if Kamsa dies without needing you?"
Agasthya paused.
"I'll watch."
Krishna leaned back. "And if he doesn't?"
Agasthya's voice was steel wrapped in calm.
"Then I'll finish what you start."
---
Later that night, Agasthya stood alone on the palace rooftop, gazing down at the glowing city.
The arena torches flickered in the distance. Kamsa's guards still patrolled the walls, but they no longer moved with confidence. Fear was thick in the air.
Agasthya closed his eyes.
> [SYSTEM NOTIFICATION:]
[YOU HAVE RETURNED TO THE CITY OF YOUR BIRTH.]
[EMOTIONAL CORE: ACTIVE.]
[FATE-POINT NEXUS NEAR — KAMSA'S THREAD REACHES TERMINUS.]
> [SUGGESTED QUEST: OBSERVE OR INTERVENE IN THE FALL OF THE TYRANT]
[REWARD TIERS UNKNOWN]
He opened his eyes again.
In the dark sky above, a single star pulsed softly.
Not a sign.
A reminder.
He had been born in silence.
But now, silence would choose whether to become a scream—or remain a shadow.
---