Far to the south, where the forests of Anga bled into the turquoise embrace of the sea, Karna stood atop a cliff of black volcanic rock, his gaze sweeping over the land below. This sprawling territory was his. He had poured his heart and soul into its creation, forging it from the raw earth through blood, sweat, and unwavering determination.

"Shouldn't it be called Karnapura now," Krishna remarked, appearing beside him in a ripple of shimmering blue silk, his presence sudden and unexpected.

Karna's lips twitched into a wry smile. "A bit obvious, wouldn't you say, Vasudeva?"

"Perhaps," Krishna conceded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "But undeniably effective. It leaves no doubt as to who holds dominion here."

"I call it Suryapura, the City of the Sun." Karna corrected, his voice resonating with pride and a quiet sense of satisfaction.

 Its walls, built from the same black volcanic rock as the cliff, stood as a stark challenge to the world. Its streets, laid out in precise, concentric circles, pulsed with a vibrant energy, a melting pot of cultures and creeds. 

"You're building an empire of the unwanted, aren't you, my friend?" Krishna observed, his gaze encompassing the city with a mixture of approval and concern. "A haven for those rejected by society, a kingdom forged from the discarded remnants of the world."

 His expression hardened, a shadow of pain flickering across his face. "I know what it's like to be discarded, Vasudeva. To be judged and ostracized, to be denied my birthright and treated as less than human. I will not allow others to suffer the same fate. Here, they will find acceptance, purpose, and the chance to forge their own destinies."

A pause hung between them, the silence filled with unspoken understanding. Then, Krishna spoke, his voice softer, more contemplative. "She would hate it here, wouldn't she?"

Karna's stern visage softened, a rare, true smile gracing his lips. "Ishani?" A vision of her face, defiant yet vulnerable, flashed through his mind. "The heat. The oppressive humidity. The swarms of mosquitos that plague these lands. The... the smell of the marshes." He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "She'd complain endlessly, her nose wrinkled in distaste, her sharp tongue lashing out at every inconvenience. She would rant about how cool it was in Kali Yuga, and she didn't have to wake up sweaty and fearful of any insects."

The god chuckled, a melodious sound that seemed to resonate with the very air around them. "Then you'd better build her a palace worthy of a queen, wouldn't you? With lotus pools to soothe her delicate sensibilities and silk curtains to shield her from the harsh realities of this world."

Karna's smile faded, replaced by a look of grim determination. He had only just completed the arduous task of transforming this land, making it a place that could be called a kingdom. It was not he who had decided the city's location and design, but Devajit, who had heard Ishani's wish and sought to create a kingdom that would be a testament to his love and a sanctuary for her.

A few days prior,

 Ishani and Krishna sat by the riverbank, the gentle flow of the water a soothing counterpoint to the storm within her heart.

"I wish to live far away from these kingdoms, Krishna," Ishani had said, her voice filled with a longing that transcended her usual defiance. "A place where I can be free from the burdens of my past, the intrigues of warring nations, and the constant threat of those who seek to control my power. A place where I can simply... be happy."

Unbeknownst to them, Devajit, whose essence was intertwined with Karna's, had been listening from the ethereal realm. It was this wish, spoken in a moment of vulnerability, that had moved him to guide Karna in the creation of Suryapura.

"If she ever forgives me, Vasudeva," Karna said, his voice rough with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. "If she can ever find it in her heart to look past the pain I caused her and see the man I have become."

Meanwhile,

 Yudhishthira, ever the embodiment of righteousness, stepped from his chariot, clad in pristine white robes that flowed around his tall, regal frame. Bhima, his massive bulk a stark contrast to his brother's composure, followed close behind, his eyes scanning the bustling crowds with a curious gaze. Nakula, Sahadeva, and Arjuna, their handsome faces mirroring a shared unease, walked in perfect sync, their movements fluid and graceful. Draupadi walked, her crimson and gold sari shimmering in the sunlight, her gaze sweeping over the vibrant scene with regal curiosity.

"No Krishna," Nakula noted, his voice barely above a whisper, his keen eyes searching for the familiar blue-skinned figure amidst the throngs of people.

"He must be occupied with matters of state." Yudhishthira offered. "We were not expected so soon."

A harried-looking servant hurried forward, bowing deeply before the assembled royals. "Your Highnesses, the Yadava-raja, Lord Krishna, awaits you in the council chambers.  

Yudhishthira exchanged a look with his brothers. "We understand. Please lead the way."

Meanwhile,

Ishani found Karna in the palace gardens, his bare torso gleaming with sweat from the morning's drills, his muscles rippling with power as he practiced his swordplay with an intensity that bordered on ferocity. The sight of his scars that mirrored her own internal wounds, made her breath catch in her throat, stirring something she was not yet ready to confront.

"You're an idiot," she announced, her voice sharp and accusatory, the words a poor disguise for the turmoil within her heart.

He turned, wiping his brow with an forearm, his expression a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Noted. Is that the best you've got, Pari? I was hoping for a more creative insult."

"Taking my pain upon yourself. Building a kingdom in that forsaken land. Do you really think these grand gestures, these... these heroics, erase what happened between us? Do you believe they can simply wipe away the years of suffering, the betrayal, and the agony I endured?"

Karna sheathed his sword, the metallic click echoing in the tranquil garden. His storm-gray eyes met her fiery gaze. "No, Ishani. I am under no such illusions. I know that my actions, however well-intentioned, cannot undo the past. But I still wish to do whatever it takes."

Then, a mischievous glint sparked in Karna's eyes, a playful smirk curving his lips. It was the familiar spark of Devajit, the ancient being whose essence was intertwined with Karna's, a side of him that both intrigued and exasperated Ishani.

"My goddess," he murmured, his voice a low, reverent tone that contrasted sharply with his earlier teasing. He took a step closer, his gaze intense and unwavering. "Allow me to purify this unworthy dust with the touch of your divine feet." And before Ishani could react, he dropped to one knee, reaching for her feet with a gesture of devotion.

Ishani's eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and exasperation. "Karna!" she exclaimed, her voice a sharp reprimand. "Get up this instant! What foolishness is this? I told you last night itself, not to bow down to me, didn't I? Why do you do this?"

Karna, or rather Devajit, chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through the air. "But my Queen, is it not the greatest honor for a humble mortal to touch the hem of your garment, to bask in the radiance of your presence?" He remained kneeling, his eyes sparkling with playful adoration.

Ishani sighed, a sound of long-suffering patience. "You are impossible," she muttered, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Get up, you ridiculous man. Before someone sees you and mistakes you for a madman."

Karna rose, his movements fluid and graceful, his eyes still fixed on Ishani with an unwavering intensity. "But I am mad, my Queen," he said, his voice a husky whisper. "Mad with love for you. Mad with longing for your gaze. Mad with the desire to spend an eternity at your feet."

Ishani rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth in her gaze that belied her exasperated tone. "You are incorrigible," she said, shaking her head. "Absolutely incorrigible. And I am not your queen."

He grinned, a flash of white teeth against his bronzed skin. "Ah, but you wound me, my goddess! And as for you not being my queen... perhaps you are more than a queen?  You are  far more divine, and this devotee of yours knows it."

Before Ishani could retort, a breathless servant skidded into the garden, his face pale with urgency. 

"Devi! The Pandavas have arrived from Hastinapur and Vasudev requests your presence in the council hall. Along with Shreeman Karna."

Ishani's spine stiffened, her expression hardening into a mask of cold indifference. The arrival of the Pandavas stirred complex emotions, but she was determined to face them with composure. " I will attend them shortly."

Karna inclined his head. "I shall accompany you." It was not a question, but a statement of intent. 

Ishani walked in with Karna, her movements fluid and graceful. Her gaze, sharp and perceptive, met Draupadi's with a respectful nod, acknowledging the other queen's presence with a subtle inclination of her head. Knowing what Draupadi would endure, Ishani held her in high regard. 

"Welcome, Queen Draupadi," Ishani said, her voice a melodic resonance that filled the hall, "to Dwarka." There was a warmth in her tone, a genuine sincerity. Turning to the Pandavas, her voice cooled, losing its warmth. "Princes of Hastinapur. You are here." It was a statement, not a question.

Draupadi stepped forward, her crimson and gold sari shimmering with each graceful stride. "Devi Ishani," she replied, her voice mirroring the other woman's warmth, "it is... an honor." She couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in Ishani's demeanor, the barely perceptible hardening of her gaze as she addressed her husbands. While she acknowledged Draupadi's presence with grace and respect, she offered little in the way of personal conversation.

"Greetings, Devi," Yudhishthira said, his voice grave. "We have come to offer our apologies. Our uncle's actions were... misguided, and do not reflect our feelings. We were horrified by what transpired."

Bhima stepped forward, his large hands clasped before him. "We failed justice. We should have spoken out against his cruelty."

Nakula and Sahadeva nodded, their faces reflecting a shared sorrow and regret.

Arjuna spoke, his expression conflicted. "We... It was wrong of me to raise arms against you, Devi. I fervently apologize. And Mamashree... he is a master of deceit." A flicker of bitterness crossed his face. "It does not excuse our actions, but I ask you to consider the circumstances."

Ishani nodded simply, no longer wishing to pursue the matter or hold grudges against them. But her hard gaze remained on Arjun, since she could sense the blow to his pride. "However, remember this, Rajkumar. Pride always falls. Dignity and self respect rises."

Karna, positioned at Ishani's left, didn't flinch—but the shadows under his eyes darkened, betraying the turmoil within. The years of resentment, the bitter taste of injustice, and the burning desire for vengeance simmered beneath his stoic facade. Devajit's voice slithered through their shared mind, a dark whisper that promised retribution.

"Let me gut them. Just one. The smug one with the silver earrings. He raised arms against our Goddess."

Ishani's fingers brushed against Karna's wrist—a silent no, a subtle yet firm command that stayed his hand and calmed the raging storm within him. The contact sent a visible shudder through him, even as a faint blush crept on to his cheeks.

Draupadi noticed. Interesting, she mused, her keen eyes missing nothing. The subtle exchange between Ishani and Karna, the unspoken communication, the raw intensity that passed between them – it spoke volumes. 

In the markets of Hastinapur, where the air hung thick with the scent of spices , the dice-master's influence extended far beyond the gaming tables. Shakuni's carefully placed coins bought more than just exotic delicacies and rare silks; they purchased whispers, rumors, and insidious lies that slithered through the city like venomous snakes.

"They say she's sent by Krishna," a fishmonger hissed to his customers, his voice barely audible above the din of the market, yet carrying the weight of malicious intent. "A seductive sorceress who has bewitched the Lord of Dwarka with her dark magic."

"I heard she ensnared the sutaputra with black magic," a gossiping weaver added, her shuttle pausing mid-air . "They say she controls him with her  powers, bending him to her will like a puppet on a string."

The rumors, born of Shakuni's twisted imagination, were slowly spreading. They painted Ishani as a dangerous enchantress, a threat to the established order, and a pawn in Krishna's mysterious schemes. The whispers spread like a plague, infecting the minds of the populace and turning them against the woman they had never even met.

Until they reached the wrong ears.

A seasoned merchant who was new to the city, frowned at the outrageous claims. "But the woman at Dwarka—isn't she the one who saved  the sutaputra and his family from Shakuni's assassins?" he asked, his voice ringing with genuine confusion. 

Silence descended upon the crowd, a stunned hush falling over the bustling marketplace. Then, a murmur arose, hesitant at first, but growing in volume with each passing moment.

"Assassins?" a burly porter questioned, his brow furrowed in disbelief. "What assassins? Who would dare attack the mighty sutaputra?"

The crowd turned as one toward the speaker, their faces a mixture of shock and dawning realization. It was a grizzled soldier, his armor bearing the royal insignia, a man known for his unwavering loyalty.. He recounted the tale of the assassination attempt, his voice filled with righteous indignation.

By dusk, the rumors had reversed, their insidious poison turned back upon its source. Now it was Shakuni who stood accused, his own venom dripping back onto his robes, his reputation tarnished, and his schemes exposed for the vile machinations they truly were.

Kunti paced her royal chambers, her heart a tempest of conflicting emotions, her mind besieged by a desperate yearning for redemption. The apology letter from Bhishma, delivered by a royal messenger, lay crumpled and discarded on the floor, its words offering little solace to her tormented soul.

We were misled, the letter stated, its elegant script a cruel reminder of her own blindness. The woman is under Krishna's protection. Any further insult to her will be taken as an insult to Dwarka, and will invite the wrath of the Yadavas.

A knock on her chamber door broke through her anguished reverie.

"Enter," she said, her voice hoarse and weary.

Vidura stepped inside, his face grave and lined with concern. The wise counselor and trusted advisor of the Kuru dynasty, his presence usually a source of comfort, now brought with it an air of foreboding. "The royal council is in an uproar, sister," he said. "The whispers and rumors that swirl through the city grow louder with each passing day. They demand to know who this Ishani is, what her connection is to Karna, and why Krishna shields her. I merely stood silent to their questions, for I, too, am in the dark."

Kunti's nails bit into her palms, the sharp pain a small distraction from the agony in her heart. My son's savior, she thought, the truth a bitter pill to swallow. And my greatest failure. Karna is my son. Ishani is divine.

And I am a coward.