Abhijishya stirred awake, her head pounding, her body aching in ways she couldn't explain. The scent of sandalwood and something floral-jasmine, maybe-hung in the air, thick yet soothing. She blinked slowly, her vision adjusting to the dim, golden light flickering across carved stone walls.

Where... was she?

Her breath hitched as she took in the sheer luxury surrounding her. The bed she lay on wasn't a bed at all, but a massive mattress laid over a carved wooden frame, embroidered silk cushions surrounding her like clouds. Heavy drapes cascaded from the ceiling, pooling onto the marble floor, their deep red and gold threads shimmering under the flickering glow of oil lamps placed in ornate brass holders.

This wasn't her room.

Her stomach twisted painfully, her fingers curling into the soft fabric beneath her. No. No, this isn't real.

She squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling shakily. Maybe she was still dreaming. That made sense, right? Maybe she had passed out in her own bed, and this was some weirdly detailed lucid dream. But then why did everything feel so tangible?

Her fingers traced the edge of the sheet, the embroidery rough against her fingertips. The warmth of the earthen lamp against her skin, the faint murmurs outside the chamber-everything was too real.

'Think. What's the last thing you remember?'

She frowned, sifting through fragmented memories-walking home, a sudden pain in her chest, falling-and then waking up here.

A sharp knock jolted her upright.

Before she could react, the door parted slightly, and a woman peered in. Dressed in a richly woven sari with gold jewelry cascading down her arms and neck, the woman's dark kohl-rimmed eyes softened when they met hers.

"You are awake," she said in a warm, lilting voice.

Abhijishya blinked. Hindi. But not quite. The words felt different, older-Sanskrit? She understood most of it, though some words blurred in her mind.

The woman-Kunti, her mind supplied hazily-stepped further inside. "How are you feeling?"

Abhijishya parted her lips to respond, but no words came out.

How was she feeling? Confused. Scared. Completely unmoored from reality. But she couldn't exactly say that, could she?

She swallowed and managed, "Fine." It was barely more than a whisper.

Kunti's eyes held concern, but she didn't press. Instead, she gestured to one of the attendants. "Prepare a bath for her. She must be uncomfortable."

At the word bath, Abhijishya stiffened.

'Wait. Bath? As in... ancient Indian bath?'

She barely had time to process before two dasis gently guided her up, supporting her weight when her legs wobbled beneath her. She wanted to protest-she wasn't some helpless princess-but the truth was, she felt weak. Lightheaded. Her body still ached.

And so, with quiet reluctance, she let them lead her through the dimly lit corridors of the palace.

---

When they stepped into the bathing chamber, Abhijishya nearly forgot how to breathe.

The room was enormous, unlike anything she had ever seen. The floor, polished marble veined with gold, gleamed under the soft glow of brass lamps suspended from intricately carved pillars. The scent of rosewater, sandalwood, and saffron filled the air, mingling with the steam that rose from a massive central pool.

The pool-no, kund-was an architectural marvel. It wasn't just some basin of water. It was a deep, sunken bath, the edges lined with sculpted lotuses and elephants spouting gentle streams of warm water. The surface shimmered with floating rose petals, their delicate fragrance thick in the humid air.

On the far end, shelves carved into the walls held rows of clay jars, their surfaces labeled in elegant Devanagari script. Aged oils, herbal pastes, sandalwood powders, and crushed flower extracts filled them, their scents intoxicating even from a distance.

Abhijishya's head spun.

It was too much.

The sheer extravagance, the overwhelming choice. She had expected... what? A bucket of water? A stone chamber with a simple basin? She hadn't thought this far ahead.

As Abhijishya submerged into the bath, her senses were overwhelmed by the experience. The water, infused with rose petals, saffron, and sandalwood, was warm and velvety against her skin. The kund's marble edges were smooth and cool, the sound of water flowing over sculpted stone elephants a soft, melodic backdrop. The steam swirled around her, thick with the fragrances that seemed to seep into her very soul, soothing her rattled mind.

She closed her eyes, letting the warmth work its magic on her aching body. Each muscle, each joint, seemed to sigh in relief as the tension melted away. For a moment, she forgot where she was, lost in the bliss of the bath. The gentle touch of the dasis, who moved with practiced grace, rubbed her back with soft, herbal oils, the delicate pressure lulling her into a false sense of comfort.

But the luxury, though astonishing, only deepened her confusion. The warmth of the water felt as real as her confusion. She was really in this place.

After what seemed like an eternity of sitting in the tranquility of the bath, Abhijishya felt the gentle hands of the dasis help her rise, carefully supporting her weight. As they guided her out of the pool, the soft folds of her dripping body brushed against silk cushions and fragrant incense smoke, clinging to the air.

The dasis led her to a large, intricately carved wooden bench where she sat with their assistance. One of the dasis, a woman with deep brown eyes and a serene face, presented her with a silver tray filled with an array of finely-ground powders, oils, and pastes. The scents were intoxicating-some earthy, some sweet, all deeply rich in their aroma.

Abhijishya blinked at the choices, unsure of what to do. She had never been in a bathhouse this grand before. The beauty, the luxury, were overwhelming. What was she supposed to do? How did this work?

The dasis seemed to sense her hesitation. "Kesar-uttama lepa," one of them said with a soft smile, indicating the amber-colored paste. The gentle tone eased some of Abhijishya's unease, but she still felt lost in this world that wasn't hers.

She hesitated but finally agreed, and the paste was gently applied to her skin, its cool touch refreshing and rich. It smelled faintly of sweet saffron and sandalwood, and it soon spread over her skin, leaving it glowing and soft. The dasis worked in perfect unison, their movements a blend of fluid grace and practiced ritual.

---

The next part of the process was no less extraordinary. Abhijishya found herself guided out of the bathing area, her body still slightly damp but wrapped in a soft cloth. The air felt cool against her skin as the dasis began to prepare her for the attire she would wear.

Her hands shook as they helped her slip into a finely woven sari, but this was no ordinary sari. The fabric was made of soft, hand-spun cotton, and it was unlike any she had seen. The white cloth shimmered faintly in the golden light, embroidered with intricate gold thread patterns that seemed to glow with every movement. The heavy silk of the sari, the softness of the fabric against her skin-everything felt impossibly fine.

One of the dasis carefully draped the fabric around her waist, folding it expertly before tucking it into place at her side. The pleats formed a perfect cascade down her legs. The end of the sari was pulled over her shoulder in a delicate, yet elegant way that held both modesty and grace. The drape fell gracefully across her chest, the fabric light yet somehow substantial, like it held the very weight of history.

The second piece of the outfit was a choli, a tight-fitting blouse made of a rich fabric of gold and crimson. It covered her upper body, leaving her arms bare, its long sleeves ending just above her elbows. The choli hugged her figure with an elegance that felt foreign, yet strangely appropriate. It was unlike anything she'd ever worn-simple yet regal, understated yet beautiful.

A matching dupatta was arranged across her shoulder, its end trailing down her back, while the rest of it was draped over her chest, secured with a delicate knot. It was heavy, almost like a royal insignia, but it settled softly around her, framing her body in the most delicate of ways.

Her hair, still damp from the bath, was delicately tied into a loose bun at the back of her head, a few stray locks falling around her face. The dasis had used incense to dry it, filling her senses with a calm, grounding fragrance.

The final touch was a pair of simple yet elegant gold jhumkas-dangling earrings that caught the light as she moved. She resisted the urge to decline the jewelry, knowing it would mark her as an outsider in this royal court. She was still unsure of everything here, but she had to play along. She had to fit in. At least for now.

The final result was a strange mix of elegance and discomfort. She didn't look like herself anymore. Her reflection in the polished bronze mirror made her question who the woman staring back at her was. She looked... regal, yes, but she wasn't ready to accept this world as her reality.

Her heart ached as she tried to reconcile the image of the woman in the mirror with the one who had simply woken up in a modern city hours ago. How had she gone from her life in the present to this? How had she found herself here?

---

The dasis finished their work and stepped back, allowing her to adjust herself in front of the mirror. They offered her a respectful bow before speaking in the language she could scarcely understand. "Rajkumar Arjun awaits you."

Abhijishya nodded. She couldn't process much more right now, but she understood that this was a moment of no return.

This wasn't a dream. This wasn't a lucid fantasy.

This was real.

Taking a steadying breath, she adjusted her dupatta, walked out of the room, and followed the dasis towards the hall. The grandeur of the palace, its high ceilings and open corridors, felt foreign yet somehow familiar. The golden lamps and intricate carvings on the walls spoke of an ancient era. The soldiers, standing rigid and respectful as she passed, seemed like statues.

She was really here.

Her stomach twisted. She would meet them now-her captors, her saviours, her new world.

She had no choice but to move forward.

---

The royal hall was an embodiment of grandeur, far beyond any royal chamber Abhijishya had ever envisioned. Her eyes drank in the sight of towering pillars of marble, their surfaces etched with intricate patterns that seemed to dance in the flickering light. Massive tapestries lined the walls, woven with threads of gold, depicting scenes from ancient history, their vibrant colors shifting as though alive. Figures from myth and legend-gods, kings, warriors-came to life within those threads. The ceiling was a breathtaking expanse of stone, carved with delicate lotus petals and crowned with golden inlays that gleamed like stars scattered across the night sky. Hanging from it were chandeliers of crystal, each one reflecting the light of the oil lamps below in a thousand glittering fragments, as if the hall itself had captured fragments of the heavens.

And in the center of it all stood Arjun and Nakul, their forms regal, yet humble, in the quiet majesty of the room. They spoke in hushed tones, the sound of their voices blending seamlessly with the soft murmur of the palace.

As Abhijishya entered, she was momentarily struck by the overwhelming opulence of the scene. She paused just inside the threshold, unsure of how to navigate this strange, distant world. Her eyes met Arjun's first, and she offered a greeting-an awkward pranam. Arjun returned it with a warm, welcoming smile, his voice calm but laced with an underlying tension, "Abhijishya Devi, we are glad to see you are feeling better. Please, follow us."

Nakul's gaze, however, was fixed on her. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away. She was an enigma, a dainty creature misplaced from fantasy to a world of giants with the way everyone seemed to tower over her. Yet her appearance, so ethereal in the royal garb, was marred by the tension in her eyes, the vulnerability that flickered like a flame beneath her composed exterior. The bruises on her neck were faint but visible. His heart softened for her, though he couldn't understand why.

His gaze lingered too long.

Arjun, who had been watching the interaction, noticed Nakul's fixated stare. With a quiet exhale, he leaned in slightly, his voice low but firm, a command wrapped in the calm of a brother's concern. "Nakul, enough," he murmured, his words sharp but softened by the weight of unspoken understanding.

Nakul snapped back to reality, his face flushing with an awkward embarrassment. He quickly cleared his throat, adjusting his posture and trying to regain composure. His fingers tightened slightly around the hilt of his sword, though it was an instinctive, unconscious gesture.

Abhijishya watched the exchange, confusion and wariness flickering behind her eyes. Why was he staring at her like that? Was she out of place? Did she look strange in this attire? Did they think her strange?

She tried to focus on the conversation, but the language, barely familiar and distant. Some words were ancient, unfamiliar-the cadence of their speech, the rhythm of their voices, all wove together into something that sounded like a beautiful song but was just out of reach. Sanskrit, she guessed, but a form of it she couldn't quite place.

As they moved through the corridors toward the dining hall, the opulence of the palace only grew more intense. The walls were adorned with gilded murals and rich tapestries, each one telling tales of distant wars, great victories, and divine intervention. The columns lining the hallway were crafted from polished marble, shining faintly as if kissed by the light of forgotten moons. Their footsteps echoed softly as they passed, the faint hum of distant music growing louder the closer they drew to the hall.

The soldiers, standing with an eerie stillness, remained in perfect formation, their bodies statuesque, yet their eyes never left her. Each warrior they passed knelt respectfully as they went by, their foreheads touching the cool stone of the floor. She couldn't help but feel both honored and completely alien. They did not know her, but they bowed to her. In return, she offered nothing but an uncomfortable silence.

Finally, they entered the grand dining hall, and Abhijishya's breath caught in her throat.

The room was enormous-far larger than any hall she had ever seen. The ceiling, an intricate lattice of stone carvings, hung above them, supported by towering columns of stone, each adorned with scenes from the epics-Indra, Shiva, Narayana in his various avatars-their faces frozen in glorious battle. The chandeliers above glowed like molten amber, their delicate crystal forms casting fractured light across the long, elaborately set dining table. The table was laden with fruits, delicacies, and food that she could not even name. The rich scent of incense and spices filled the air, the fragrance of cardamom, cloves, and saffron mingling with the warmth of roasted meats and fresh breads.

And there, seated at the table, were faces she had read about in stories. Bheem, his broad shoulders towering over everyone, his ever-present smile etched on his face, despite the seriousness of the occasion. Sahadev, the quiet one, his eyes sharp and calculating, yet calm. And others she had only heard about in whispers or read in texts, their powerful presences filling the space like an invisible force.

Her heart raced as she tried to calm her nerves. This was no longer a story-this was her reality.