Vidura walked into the council chamber, his plain tunic brushing the stone floor, his dark eyes steady despite the weight of the riders' empty-handed return. The room was tense, lamps dimming on the walls, their flickering light casting long shadows over the oak table where maps lay untouched. Nobles sat hushed, their silks still for once, their faces tight with dread and unanswered questions, the air heavy with a quiet that felt like it might snap. Bhishma leaned against the table's edge, his silver hair dull in the gloom, his big hands folded, his gray eyes lifting as Vidura approached. Dhritarashtra stood near the far wall, his dark tunic taut, his staff tapping a fast, jittery beat, his scowl dark after the throne room's chaos.
Vidura stopped near the table, his voice calm but firm, breaking the silence like a pebble in still water. "The riders are back, my lord—no trace out west, just silence, not proof. Empty trails, no camp, nothing clear." He rested a hand on a map, his fingers steady, his dark eyes flicking to Bhishma, then Dhritarashtra. Bhishma straightened, his deep voice rumbling low. "Nothing at all? No tracks, no signs?" He rubbed his jaw, his broad frame shifting, his gray eyes narrowing as he listened.
Vidura shook his head, his tone even and clear. "Nothing solid—paths worn cold, a few scraps of cloth, but no camp, no word. It's quiet, too quiet, and that's all we've got." His dark eyes stayed steady, his words a lifeline in the thickening hush, his calm strained but holding. A noble in emerald silk, his voice low and shaky, muttered from the corner. "Too quiet? He's gone then—fled or dead, and we're left guessing!" The others shifted, their silks rustling faintly, their hushed murmurs stirring like a breeze through dry leaves.
Dhritarashtra's staff tapped faster, a sharp, insistent rhythm, his bitter voice a low growl cutting through. "He's scheming, alive or dead! Hiding out there, laughing while they turn on me!" His blind eyes glinted, his fingers tightening on the staff, his envy twisting into a dark, gnawing suspicion that filled the room. Vidura turned, his voice calm, his dark eyes steady. "Scheming needs proof, my lord—silence isn't a plan. We've got riders' eyes, not noble guesses." His hands folded behind him, his resolve firm, a quiet wall against the king's spiraling doubt.
Bhishma nodded, his deep voice steady and deep, rolling through the tension. "We wait, Vidura—truth will out. No camp's not enough to call it yet." He crossed his arms, his silver hair catching a flicker of light, his broad frame a solid anchor beside Vidura's calm. Dhritarashtra's staff slammed the floor, a hard thud that made a noble flinch, his bitter voice rising, sharp and cold. "Wait? They're not waiting—they're plotting with him! He's slipped away, and I'm the one they'll blame!" His shoulders hunched, his tunic creasing, his paranoia peaking into a raw, jagged edge.
The lamps dimmed further, one guttering out, the chamber sinking into deeper shadow, the air heavy with dread as the nobles' hushed whispers grew tighter. Vidura's voice stayed firm, his dark eyes locked on Dhritarashtra. "Blame needs something real, my lord—this is just silence, not betrayal. We hold steady till we know." His words hung there, a lifeline stretched thin, his calm a fragile thread against the court's sinking fear. A wiry noble in sapphire silk, his voice high and nervous, piped up. "Know? Trails cold, camp gone—what's left to know? He's vanished!" The others nodded, their murmurs tightening, the room's tension coiling like a spring.
Dhritarashtra's staff tapped fast again, his bitter voice a low snarl, almost to himself. "Vanished? He's planned it—left me to rot while they whisper his name like a prayer!" His blind eyes widened, his fingers flexing, his suspicion a dark veil dropping over him, his envy twisting into something cold and fierce. Bhishma stepped forward, his deep voice rumbling. "Whispers aren't plans, Dhritarashtra—Vidura's right, we've got nothing solid. Riders saw silence, not schemes." His big hands rested on the table, his gray eyes steady, his presence a firm nudge against the king's unraveling.
Vidura smoothed the map, his voice calm and clear, pushing back the tide. "Silence is what we've got, my lord—not proof, not plots. We wait, or we chase shadows and break ourselves." His dark eyes held Dhritarashtra's unseen glare, his resolve a quiet force, strained but unshaken. The emerald noble leaned forward, his shaky voice low. "Break? We're breaking now—no word, no heirs—he's left us dangling!" The nobles' whispers grew sharper, their silks shifting, the air thick with a fearful doubt that pressed against Vidura's steady words.
Dhritarashtra's staff thumped again, his bitter voice a fierce growl, trembling with dark certainty. "Dangling? He's cut the rope—betrayed us all, and they'll still love him for it!" His shoulders shook, his blind eyes glinting, his paranoia a fever burning through, the court sinking deeper into shadow. Bhishma's deep voice cut in, firm and low. "Love him or not, we've got no proof—Vidura's holding us together till we do." He clapped a hand on the table, his broad frame steady, his gray eyes sharp as he backed Vidura's calm.
The lamps flickered, their light fading, the chamber's dimness wrapping around the nobles' hushed faces, their eyes wide with growing dread. Vidura stood tall, his voice steady, a lifeline in the dark. "Together's what matters, my lord—silence isn't a knife in your back. We wait, and we hold." His dark eyes stayed firm, his words a fragile thread stretched to its limit, the court's fear pressing hard against him. Dhritarashtra's staff tapped a rapid, angry beat, his bitter voice low and cold. "Hold? They've already let go—Pandu's won, and I'm the fool left standing!" His glare darkened, his envy a heavy shroud, his suspicion peaking as the room teetered on the edge.
The chamber door swung open with a creak, a guard stumbling in, his tunic streaked with dust, his breath short as he bowed low. "My lord—a sage from the west, just arrived!" he panted, his voice rough. "Says cryptic things—hints at Pandu's state, won't speak plain!" Dhritarashtra's scowl twisted, his staff thumping once, his bitter voice a sharp snap. "Hints? He's mocking me now—alive or dead, he's still pulling strings!" Vidura's hand lifted, his dark eyes steady as he turned to the guard, his calm holding while Bhishma's gaze sharpened, the court stirring further under the sage's shadowed veil.