The battlefield of Kurukshetra no longer roared with the voices of the war.
It waited,
There was dust everywhere in the air, unmoving as though the wind itself had been commanded to halt. The cries of dying man, the clash of iron sword, the thunderous sounds of chariots, all of it had fadded into a distant echo. Blood darkened the earth, soaking into soil that had witnessed the rise and fall of countless kingdoms and warriors, yet in that moment, none of it mattered.
Only two chariots remained at the heart of the field.
Upon one stood Arjuna, his form rigid with focus, holding the divine Bow Gāṇḍīva held steadily in his hand. The banner of Hanuman rose behind him, its presence heavy with ancient power. Beside him stood Krishna, reins loose in his hands, his expression calm, unreadable, as if the end had already been written and awaited its final line.
Opposite them stood Karna.
His armor was cracked and broken, his body has countless wounds earned across years of battle and rejection. The earth clung stubbornly to the wheels of his chariot, as though fate itself had reached up to restrain him, unwillingly to let him go any further. Yet Karna stood tall and still like mountain, his gaze unwavering.
He did not curse the ground beneath him.
He did not question the heavens above.
He simply raised his bow.
Vijaya answered with a deep, resonant hum less a sound then a presence, like fire drawn tight and waiting to be released. At that moment, the clouds cleared and sunlight spread across the battlefield, landing on Karna alone. His broken armor gleamed with faintly, as though remembering what it once was.
For an instant, he did not look like a man standing at the edge of defeat.
He looked like the son of the sun.
Arjuna Lifted Gāṇḍīva. The bow sang sharply in response, its voice cutting through the silence. His eyes narrowed, focused, resolute, yet something unsettled stirred in him. Across from him Karna's gaze held no challenge, no plea only acceptance, as if this moment had been awaited his entire life.
They both drew.
Time seemed to slow, stretching thin under the weight of destiny.
Then They released.
Two arrows tore through the air, carrying with them the will of the gods and men alike. They met not in explosion, but in resistance a clash so immense that the earth, itself cried in agony. The air trembled and the ground cracked.
Arjuna's chariot slid backward.
Only a little.
Barely the length of a footstep, yet enough to leave deep marks in the ground. Arjuna staggered, breath catching as surprised flashed across his face before pride rushed in to mask it.
Karna's arrow did not break.
It didn't waver either.
It pushed forward with relentless force, carrying a weight no mortal should have been able to do.
Krishna's gaze lowered to chariot wheels.
He felt the pressure.
For a brief moment, even the earth beneath them seemed uncertain.
Krishna stepped down the chariot. The battlefield shuddered as his feet touched the ground. He placed his palm against the side of the chariot and pressed it firmly into the earth. The soil split and groaned, anchoring the divine chariot in the place.
Arjuna turned toward him, confusion breaking through his focus. "Madhava...?"
Krishna did not look at him immediately.
"This chariot," Krishna said quietly, " carries the combined blessing of the gods, It bears Hanuman upon its banner and its protected by my will."
Only then did he lift his gaze Karna, standing alone beneath the sun.
"And yet, " Krishna continued, his voice calm, had i not restrained it, Karna's arrow would have driven us back several steps back."
Arjuna fell silent.
The realization settled heavily upon him, not as fear but as something far more unsettling.
Respect.
Across the field, Karna reached for another arrow. His movements were clean, his hands steady despite the blood staining them. He did not smile, nor did he boast. There was no triumph in his eyes only an unshakable resolve.
"Keshava," Karna called, his voice carrying clearly across the battlefield, "anchor the chariot if you must. I will not ask the world to be fair now."
Arjuna raised his bow again, his jaw tightening. "Karna," he called out yield. You have fought with honor. This war---"
"NO," Karna said softly.
"This war ended for me the day i was born without a name."
The earth chose that moment to betray him.
The wheel of Karna's Chariot sank into the ground. Swallowed as if by unseen hands. A curse long forgotten awakened, tightening around his fate. Karna exhaled slowly, understanding dawning without bitterness.
He stepped down from the chariot.
UNARMORED.
UNSHIELDED.
UNBOWED.
Arjuna hesitated.
For a single heartbeat, the battlefield waited—wondering if mercy could still exist within destiny. Krishna spoke, his voice quiet and absolute.
"Now."
The arrow flew. It struck true.
Karna fell to his knees.
The sunlight dimmed, as though the sky itself mourned. The earth seemed to sigh beneath him, warn with blood and dust. His breath come slow now, shallow and each one getting heavier than last one.
Footsteps approached.
Karna didn't need to look to know who it was.
Duryodhana fell beside him, his armor dented, pride and despair warring across his face.
For the first time they had met, The Prince Of Hastinapura looked small.
"Karna…" Duryodhana whispered, his voice breaking. "My friend… my brother… I failed you."
Karna turned his head slightly, enough to see him.
A slight smile appeared on his face.
"No," Karna said, his voice weak, "You were the only one who never did."
Duryodhana tightened his fist. "If the world had been just… if I had been stronger—"
Karna interrupted him gently. "Do not grieve for what had happened and which cannot be changed now."
His gaze drifted toward the sky, where the sun struggled behind darkening clouds.
"You gave me a name when I had none," Karna continued. "A throne when the world denied me even respect. Whatever history decides… remember this."
Duryodhana leaned forward, tears streaming over his cheeks. "What is it?"
Karna's voice softened, almost fading.
"I stood with you by choice. Not by fate. Not by debt. By will."
His hand twitched faintly, and Duryodhana grabbed it, as if he might anchor him to the world.
"Stand tall," Karna shouted with his remaining life. Win or Lose.... do not bow."
His grip Loosened.
The battlefield fell silent.
The sun slipped fully behind the clouds.
And Karna- son of the sun, friend of the fallen prince, a man that never favored by fate takes his final breath, leaving behind a truth the world would never undo.
Even Unchosen, he had stood against destiny.
And that was enough.
The One Who Was Never Chosen.