The news of Krishnapriya’s return swept through Varunaprastha like a wildfire. It wasn’t just that a princess had come home; it was that the student of Adyashakti herself—a woman who had spent a decade touching the divine—now walked among mortals.
The streets were no longer mere stone and mortar; they were a sea of gasping lungs and straining eyes. From the grand gates to the palace steps, the citizens pressed against one another, their voices a low hum of reverence and curiosity. They wanted to see the warrior's hands, the clarity in her eyes, and the grace of the "Sixteen Arts" that were said to bloom in her presence.
Vidhi, sensing the weight of the moment, led Krishnapriya toward the royal stables. Among the towering, gold-plated war chariots sat a small, modest carriage—the one their father, King Vishvara, had built specifically for his three daughters.
As Vidhi climbed into the driver’s seat and snapped the reins, the sound echoed in Krishnapriya’s heart like a haunting melody. This was Megha’s place. In their childhood, Megha had always been the one to command the horses, her laughter ringing out as she navigated the city streets. Seeing Vidhi hold the reins felt right, yet it left a sharp, physical ache in Krishnapriya’s chest. The chariot felt lighter than it should have been; there was a ghost sitting in the empty space between them.
Despite the cheers of the crowd, Krishnapriya felt a strange restlessness. The grace on her face was a mask for the turmoil within. She waved to her people, her beauty radiant, but her soul was scanning the horizon, looking for something that felt... wrong.
They reached the great junction where the three veins of the city met—the road to the gates, the path to the markets, and the sacred way to the Tridevi Temple. At the center of this confluence stood something that froze the blood in Krishnapriya’s veins.
A massive statue loomed over the crossroads.
Krishnapriya felt a prickle of genuine fear. In a city where every stone and every face felt familiar despite her ten-year absence, this towering figure was a jagged intrusion. The idol stood with its back turned toward her, its gaze fixed perpetually on the Tridevi Temple.
The cheering of the crowd seemed to fade into a muffled roar. Vidhi stopped the chariot, her expression turning from joy to a deep, solemn gravity. Without a word, Vidhi stepped down onto the dust of the road.
Krishnapriya watched, her breath shallow, as her sister—a princess of the realm—prostrated herself completely. Vidhi lay face-down in the dirt in the Sashtang Dandavata position, a gesture of absolute surrender. The silence of the statue and the devotion of her sister created a chilling contrast to the festive atmosphere of the homecoming.
Krishnapriya stepped down from the chariot, her hand instinctively hovering near the hilt of her sword. She didn't know yet who the idol represented, but she could feel its power vibrating through the very earth of her home.
