Vidura stood firm on the balcony, his shadow stretching across the marble as the wind whipped his plain tunic, his dark eyes locked on Dhritarashtra amidst the night's sharp bite.
Dhritarashtra turned from the rail, his broken staff halves clattering at his feet, his breath still ragged from his outburst, his blind gaze shifting toward Vidura's steady voice.
Gandhari lingered near him, her indigo sari snapping in the gusts, her blindfold settled but her hands tense, the Ganga's restless hum a faint pulse below.
Vidura's words cut through the wind, firm and clear. "Raiders aren't the only threat—there's a plot brewing, my lord, and it's closer than the border."
The balcony's edge gleamed cold under the stars, torches flickering faint from the palace grounds below, their light barely reaching the trio against the dark.
Dhritarashtra's hands clenched, his voice a low growl. "A plot? Speak plain, Vidura—what's this now?"
Vidura stepped forward, pulling a crumpled scroll from his tunic, his tone unyielding. "Nobles—some you've just faced—scheme to recall Pandu, thinking he'll fix what they call your faltering rule."
Gandhari's head tilted, her voice soft but sharp. "Recall him? They'd dare that, with you here?"
The wind gusted harder, rattling the shutters beneath, the Ganga's hum rising as Vidura unrolled the scroll, its edges fraying in his grip.
He held it steady, his voice cutting through the night. "Truth bends to no one, Bhishma—I found this in the council chamber, slipped under a table after they left."
His dark eyes scanned the ink, his words deliberate. "It's a letter—names, plans, a call to send riders to Pandu's camp, urging his return to 'restore order' in Hastinapura."
Dhritarashtra's breath hitched, his fists tightening, his voice a low hiss. "They'd replace me? After all I've held together?"
Footsteps thudded behind them, heavy and sure, Bhishma emerging from the throne room's shadows, his silver hair catching the torchlight as he joined them.
His broad frame loomed, his deep voice rumbling over the wind. "You're my eyes, Vidura—what's this you've uncovered now?"
Vidura turned, handing him the scroll, his stance solid. "A thread hidden in their grumbling—some nobles think Pandu's the cure for every stumble we've hit."
Bhishma's gray eyes narrowed, scanning the parchment, his hand resting on Vidura's shoulder, a firm grip of trust.
The stars burned sharp above, the wind a relentless whip against their robes, the balcony a cold stage for the unfolding threat.
Dhritarashtra's voice dropped darker, his suspicion thickening. "Names—who's behind this? I'll have them dragged here tonight!"
Vidura's tone stayed even, his eyes steady on the king. "The emerald lord's mark is clear—others are hinted, but he's the loudest voice pushing for Pandu's recall."
Gandhari's hands clenched her sari, her voice a faint murmur. "They plot in shadows while you stand in the light—that's their courage."
Bhishma's hand tightened on Vidura's shoulder, his growl low but fierce. "You've caught them before they could ride out—good work, Vidura, sharp as ever."
He crumpled the scroll in his fist, his voice deepening. "This isn't just talk—it's treason, skulking under our noses while we fight raiders."
Vidura nodded, his resolve unshaken, his words firm. "It's a spark they mean to fan—I brought it here to snuff it out before it spreads."
Dhritarashtra's staff halves scraped the marble as he kicked them, his voice a bitter snarl. "Snuff it? I'll crush it—every one of them, starting with that emerald coward!"
The Ganga's hum pulsed steady below, the wind tearing at the torchlight's reach, the night a stark backdrop to the simmering rage and quiet steel.
Vidura stood alone at the balcony's center, his tunic flapping, his voice cutting through. "Crushing them proves their point—let Bhishma handle it, show them your rule holds without breaking."
Dhritarashtra's head jerked up, his tone sharp. "Prove their point? They're traitors—why spare them when they'd shove me aside?"
Bhishma's hand dropped from Vidura's shoulder, his voice a deep command. "Vidura's right—force alone feeds their case. We root them out, quiet and sure."
Gandhari stepped closer, her sari whipping wild, her voice low but steady. "You're king, my lord—they can't take that, not with Vidura seeing through them."
Dhritarashtra's fists unclenched, then clenched again, his voice a raw mutter. "Seeing through them? They've already turned half the court—Pandu's shadow grows with every word."
Vidura's gaze didn't falter, his tone resolute. "Shadows fade when you shine light—this plot's exposed, and we'll cut its threads before it ties us up."
The wind howled, the stars cold and distant, the balcony a tense knot of anger, trust, and looming action.
Bhishma straightened, his frame a wall against the night, his voice booming over the gusts. "Council—now. We'll drag this into the open, Vidura, you lead it."
He tossed the crumpled scroll to the marble, his gray eyes flashing, his hand clapping Vidura's back with a solid thud.
Vidura nodded, his dark eyes sweeping them all, his voice firm. "We move fast—truth's our blade, and it cuts deeper than their whispers."
Dhritarashtra's breath slowed, his suspicion darkening into a heavy silence, his hands flexing as the weight of betrayal sank in.
The Ganga's hum rolled on, a restless undertone as the wind whipped the torches below into a frantic dance, the night pressing against the balcony's edge.
Vidura turned, his steps steady, leading them back through the throne room doors, his shadow sharp against the marble.
Dhritarashtra followed, his broken staff left behind, his voice a low growl. "They'll pay—king or not, I'll make them feel this."
Gandhari trailed last, her sari settling as the wind died at the threshold, her blindfold a mute witness to the storm shifting inside.