Aryavardhan had only been submerged for a few minutes when a young woman emerged from the treeline. Her eyes immediately locked onto the foreign armor and fine silks resting beneath the banyan tree. Sensing an intruder, she didn't hesitate; she notched an arrow to her bow, the string taut and humming with tension, and aimed it squarely at the center of the lake.
She waited with the stillness of a predator. As the sun climbed to its zenith, casting no shadows in the bright midday heat, Aryavardhan finally broke the surface. He waded toward the shore, the water cascading off his shoulders, when a voice—sharp and crystalline—rang in his ears.
"Who goes there?"
Aryavardhan looked up, squinting against the glare. For a heartbeat, he felt as though he were looking at a manifestation of Adyashakti herself. The girl stood bathed in sunlight, her face radiant and set with a fierce, unmistakable pride. It was the look of someone who knew exactly what she was capable of.
"Answer me!" she demanded, her voice rising with a flash of genuine anger. "Who are you to tarnish these waters?"
Aryavardhan didn't flinch. A slow, calm smile spread across his face as he stood his ground in the shallows. "I am Aryavardhan, Sovereign of Prabhas Kshetra in the west of Aryavarta. Now," he added, his voice steady, "perhaps you might offer a name in return?"
"I am Krishnapriya," she countered, her words cutting through the air like a blade. "Disciple of the Mahadevi and the sworn protector of this sanctuary."
"A disciple of the Great Goddess?" Aryavardhan mused, stepping out of the water. "Then I presume your strength rivals that of Yogmaya herself?"
Krishnapriya’s eyes narrowed, and she shifted her aim, the tip of her arrow following his every movement. "Why are you here, King?"
"I came to offer my soul to Mahadev," Aryavardhan replied simply. He walked past her toward the banyan tree, seemingly unbothered by the weapon pointed at his heart, and began to reclaim his armor and robes. "But looking at you now, I feel my purpose here has already been met."
Insulted by his nonchalance, Krishnapriya’s fingers slipped. She released the string. The arrow hissed through the air, striking Aryavardhan’s bronze breastplate with a sharp crack before splintering into two useless pieces.
Aryavardhan froze. He turned to her, his calm replaced by a cold, simmering fury. "You have grown blind from drinking too deeply from the cup of power," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "Is it not the first law of the warrior that one does not strike an unarmed man? True war is fought only between equals."
Krishnapriya didn't apologize. Instead, a sly, mocking smile pulled at the corners of her lips. "My only law is the protection of this lake. I will break any rule to ensure it. If you are truly the Great King you claim to be, then prove it. Fight me like a Kshatriya."
Aryavardhan gave a single, curt nod. "Choose your weapon," he challenged. "Let the trial begin."
The wry smile never left Krishnapriya’s face. She slung her bow over her shoulder, reached into her belt, and drew a small, unassuming dagger. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it toward him. Aryavardhan caught the hilt mid-air, his eyes tracing the fine craftsmanship of the blade. He ran his thumb along the flat of the steel, a spark of ancient energy passing from his skin to the metal.
Under his touch, the small dagger groaned and stretched, its metal expanding and hardening until it transformed into a heavy, gleaming double-edged sword. He raised the new blade, testing its weight, and turned his gaze back to Krishnapriya. The games were over.
