The thunderous roar of battle filled the sky, the air thick with dust, blood, and the cries of warriors. The great war of Kurukshetra was nearing its final moments, and on the seventeenth day, the battlefield seemed drenched in the pain of fate itself.
Karna stood alone, his chariot surrounded by enemies, his armor battered but his spirit unyielding. The truth he had buried deep in his heart gnawed at him — his identity as the eldest son of Kunti, hidden from the world and from his own brothers. The faces of those he loved flashed before his eyes: Vrushali, Radha Ma, the innocent smiles he left behind.
His hand tightened around the reins, his eyes closing for a moment of bitter reflection.
"I fought for honor... yet I was a stranger to my own blood."
A voice, calm yet powerful, whispered through the storm. It was Krishna, the divine guide, the keeper of dharma.
"Karna... your journey is not over. You shall have another chance. In this age of darkness, you will rise again — not on the battlefield of war, but in the war against shadows."
Then, silence.
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The harsh beep of a hospital monitor dragged Karan from the echoes of his past. He opened his eyes to white walls and strange machines. The world was unfamiliar. Yet inside, the memories of a warrior's life burned bright.
Karan Malhotra — reborn in the age of Kaliyug, with a destiny yet to unfold.
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