The sun had begun its slow descent into the embrace of dusk when Arjun and Nakul reached the grand gates of Hastinapur. The sky, a molten tapestry of orange and violet, cast elongated shadows upon the palace walls, gilding the ancient stone with a golden glow. The evening air carried a quiet chill, whispering through the corridors of the great city, as if murmuring of the fate that had just been sealed.

Arjun dismounted with practiced ease, lifting the unconscious woman into his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather. Her body was limp, her breath barely perceptible against the hush of twilight. The scent of damp earth and crushed leaves still clung to her, a silent testament to the strange manner in which she had arrived.

A soldier stepped forward to take the reins of their horses, bowing swiftly before leading the animals away. Meanwhile, Nakul, ever swift, hurried ahead to summon their mother. Arjun did not pause, his steps measured yet urgent as he carried the unknown woman inside.

"Dasi," he called, his voice firm but unhurried. "Go inform the Rajvyda and his wife at once. I will take her to one of the guest rooms near Mata Kunti's chamber. Make haste."

The maidservant, momentarily stunned by the sight of the unconscious stranger, snapped to attention and scurried away to fulfill his command.

Arjun entered the guest chamber, the flickering glow of newly kindled diyas casting wavering pools of light upon the smooth marble floor. He laid the woman gently upon the soft mattress and stepped back, only now allowing himself to truly take in the strangeness of her appearance.

Her garments were unlike anything he had ever seen in all of Aryavarta. The fabric-neither silk nor cotton-clung to her frame in a manner alien to his world, its weave fine yet unfamiliar. The hues were bold, unnatural, as though the very essence of some far-off sky had been woven into its threads.

His brow furrowed. Who was she?

The door creaked open, and Queen Kunti entered, her presence an aura of quiet authority. Behind her, three maids followed, their hands folded in silent readiness.

"Pranipaat, Mata," Arjun greeted, bowing his head respectfully.

"Kalyan ho, putra," she blessed him, though her eyes had already drifted to the still figure on the bed.

With a single glance, Kunti took command.

"Bring warm water and clean cloths," she instructed the first maid. "You-fetch fresh garments suitable for a young woman."

The maids bowed and disappeared into the dim-lit corridors. Another servant moved swiftly, lighting more oil lamps to chase away the encroaching darkness.

Kunti seated herself beside the girl, gently fanning her pale face. Concern laced her voice as she turned to her son.

"Who is this kanya, putra? From where did you find her?"

Arjun exhaled, his expression thoughtful.

"Mata, Nakul and I had ventured into the eastern forests to set a wild boar free. The air was serene when we arrived, but then-suddenly-the earth trembled, the winds howled as if the very heavens were at war. The trees bent as though bowing to some unseen force, and thunder cracked across the sky with a ferocity I have never known. At that moment, I thought perhaps the pralay itself had come upon us."

Kunti stilled, her fingers tightening around the edge of her shawl.

"And then I saw her fall, Mata," Arjun continued, his voice laced with something akin to reverence. "From the sky itself, as if cast down by the gods. We found her breathing, though only barely, and so we brought her here without delay."

Kunti closed her eyes briefly, murmuring a prayer to Mahadev.

"You did right, putra," she said softly. "May Bhagwan grant her life."

The door opened once more, and the Rajvyda entered, his wife close behind. He examined the woman from a respectful distance while his wife gently assessed her injuries.

After a few moments, the healer's wife turned to Kunti with quiet reassurance.

"Rajmata, the devi has sustained flesh wounds and bruises, and there are signs that her neck has suffered strangulation. There is swelling upon the left side of her head, but her bones remain unbroken. She will regain consciousness soon."

Kunti sighed in relief, her fingers pressing together in silent gratitude to Lord Shiva.

"Arjun, you may go now. We must tend to her wounds."

He nodded. "As you command, Mata."

As Arjun stepped into the corridor, he was met by Nakul and Sahadev, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"What did the healer say, Bhrata?" Nakul asked eagerly.

"She will awaken soon, and fortune favors her-there are no broken bones," Arjun replied.

Nakul exhaled, but his brows remained furrowed. "How strange... to fall from such a height and live. Perhaps the very trees bent to cushion her descent. Or perhaps..." He hesitated, glancing at Arjun. "Perhaps she is no ordinary woman."

Sahadev crossed his arms, deep in thought. "But where could she have come from? And why? It makes no sense."

"Her garments," Nakul murmured, almost to himself. "Did you notice them, Bhrata? That was not the silk of Vanga, nor the cotton of Gandhara, nor even the wool of the Yavanas. The very threads shimmered like liquid dusk, yet were weightless as air. I have never seen such craftsmanship before."

Arjun nodded. "You are right. They were unlike anything woven in Aryavarta."

"Then what if she is not from Aryavarta at all?" Nakul whispered, his voice tinged with an uncharacteristic seriousness.

Sahadev frowned. "Do you mean... beyond the Himalayas?"

"Or beyond this very world," Nakul murmured, half in jest, half in intrigue. "The way she appeared, the storm, the very trembling of the earth... it felt unnatural. As if the heavens themselves had wept and thrown her down."

Arjun remained silent, but the thought took root in his mind.

Before they could ponder further, a deep voice called out.

"Arjun, Nakul, Sahadev-have you seen Mata?"

They turned to find Bheem approaching, his heavy stride unbothered by the evening's stillness.

After hearing of the mysterious woman, Bheem scowled. "Then we must inform Jyesth immediately."

"That has already been done, Bhratashree," Nakul replied. "Jyesth is likely with Pitamah and Kakashree now."

Sahadev's voice was measured. "Let us hope this does not bring trouble. If it does, Suyodhana will seize the moment to turn it against us."

"You worry too much, Sahadev."

Yudhishthir's voice carried across the hall, calm and unwavering.

"Pranipaat, Jyesth Bhrata," they greeted.

"You did well to bring devi here," Yudhishthir said. "To abandon her would have been adharma."

"But Bhratashree," Nakul pressed, his voice hesitant. "Do you not find it strange? Who is she? And why did the heavens themselves seem to rage before casting her down?"

Yudhishthir exhaled. "We do not have those answers yet, Nakul. But we will. Until then, she is under our protection."

------------ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ------------

In the sacred city of Dwarka, the evening unfolded like a celestial painting. The ocean sang in hushed whispers against the shore, the tides weaving an endless hymn to the eternal presence of the Divine. The sky, vast and unblemished, bore the first stars of the night-distant jewels strewn across the heavens, their light reflected in the pristine waters surrounding the island kingdom.

In the heart of the palace gardens, where fragrant jasmine wove its perfume into the breeze, a grand swing-crafted from sandalwood and adorned with golden inlays-stood beneath an ancient kadamba tree. It was here that Shri Krishna, the lotus-eyed lord, reclined with effortless grace, his dark curls haloed by the soft glow of fireflies. The fabric of his garments, as fluid as the Ganges, rippled with every breath of wind. The flute that had bewitched gods and mortals alike rested against his thigh, silent for now.

His consort, Rukmini, sat beside him, her beauty radiant in the silver glow of the rising moon. Yet even as she rested her head upon his shoulder, she could sense the faraway look in his deep, fathomless eyes.

"What are you thinking, Arya?" she asked, her voice a whisper of curiosity, her fingers tracing absent patterns upon his hand.

A slow, knowing smile played upon Krishna's lips. His gaze, filled with a tenderness beyond mortal comprehension, flickered towards her.

"Abhijishya," he murmured, almost to himself.

Rukmini lifted her head. "Abhijishya?" she repeated. "Who is that?"

Krishna's eyes gleamed with an ethereal light, a flicker of divine amusement hidden in their depths.

"It seems," he said, his voice lilting like the river's song, "that I shall have two sakhis this time around."

Rukmini frowned playfully. "You and your riddles, Arya. No one but you understands them."

Krishna chuckled, the sound as soft as the rustling of peacock feathers. "And yet, Priye, do you not love the mystery?"

She sighed, shaking her head with feigned exasperation. "Fine, keep your secrets. But I am leaving. Bhabhishree will surely need my help."

She moved to rise, but in an instant, Krishna's hand caught her wrist, his touch a gentle tether.

"Ah, my dear Rukmini," he said, his voice woven with playful lament, "will you leave me to suffer in solitude? How shall I endure the night if my beloved refuses to sit beside me and enjoy the fragrance of these blossoms, the melody of this breeze?"

Rukmini's heart softened at his words, a smile curving her lips despite herself. She sat back down, leaning into him once more, her head resting where it had always belonged-against the steady rhythm of his divine heart.

"Arya, if you speak like this, how can I ever refuse you anything?" she murmured.

A mischievous glint sparked in Krishna's eyes. Before he could respond, she pinched his forearm-lightly, teasingly.

"Ah, Priye!" Krishna clutched his arm in exaggerated pain. "How could you do this to me?"

Rukmini giggled, rising swiftly before he could pull her back again.

"Shama, Arya, but I must go," she called over her shoulder. "And I know I did not pinch you that hard!"

Krishna laughed heartily, his voice blending with the night breeze. But as Rukmini's footsteps faded into the palace halls, his laughter quieted, replaced by a contemplative stillness.

He closed his eyes, and in the vast, boundless expanse of his vision, he saw her-a lone figure lying upon a guest bed in Hastinapur, shrouded in unfamiliar garments, her soul caught between two realms.

A mortal? No... not quite. A celestial? Not entirely.

"Ah, Abhijishya," Krishna whispered, a knowing smile touching his lips. "What path has fate woven for you?"

The kadamba blossoms trembled in the night air. Somewhere beyond time, destiny stirred.

It would not be long now. Soon, Krishna would set foot in Hastinapur.