Dhritarashtra stormed into the throne room, his boots pounding the marble, his dark tunic flapping with every furious stride, his scowl a tight knot after the merchant's wild claim of Pandu's abandoned camp. The place was a riot—nobles shouting over each other, their silks tangling as they jostled, torches flaring high on the walls, the air thick with speculation and the weight of Pandu's silence. Vidura followed, his plain tunic steady amid the chaos, his dark eyes scanning the crowd, while Gandhari slipped in behind, her indigo sari a quiet shadow, her blindfold pale as she stayed near the throne. Satyavati entered last, her silver hair glinting, her sharp gaze cutting through the mess, the court teetering on the edge of panic.
A noble in crimson silk, stocky and loud, shoved to the front, his voice booming over the din. "He's gone—camp's empty, no heirs, nothing! Pandu's fled or fallen, and we're left holding the bag!" He waved a meaty hand, his eyes wild with certainty, the nobles behind him erupting in a clamor of agreement, their shouts bouncing off the stone. Dhritarashtra's staff slammed the floor, a sharp crack that cut through the noise, his fierce voice roaring out. "Gone? He's dodged me again—slipped off, and they'll call it clever while I'm stuck here!" His blind eyes blazed, his shoulders heaving, his resentment surging like a flood ready to break.
Vidura stepped forward, his voice firm and clear, slicing through the chaos like a steady hand on a reins. "Rumors aren't proof—wait for the riders. We don't know what's real yet, my lord." His hands folded behind him, his dark eyes calm, his words a solid thread in the unraveling mess. The crimson noble spun on him, his loud voice sharp. "Wait? The camp's dead—tents empty, fires out! He's either run or rotting, and we're the fools waiting!" The crowd's shouts grew wilder, heads turning, the torches casting frantic shadows over their flushed faces.
Dhritarashtra's staff swung down again, this time splintering with a loud snap, the broken end skittering across the floor, his snarl raw and jagged. "Fools? I'm the fool—king of nothing while they mourn him like a hero!" His fingers clenched the shattered stump, his tunic creasing as he lurched forward, his bitterness hitting a fever pitch, his voice shaking with fury. Gandhari moved quick, her hand catching his arm, her voice soft but steady. "You're king of us, my lord—hold on, they'll see it." Her sari shimmered in the torchlight, her calm a thin brace against his breaking storm.
Satyavati pushed through the crowd, her sharp eyes flashing, her voice low and commanding. "Enough shouting—Pandu's camp means nothing till we know. Vidura's right—wait." She planted herself near the throne, her silks rustling, her gaze sweeping the nobles like a whip. A wiry noble in sapphire silk, his voice sly and high, piped up. "Know? The merchant saw it—empty! He's left us, and we're still taxing merchants to death for it!" The nobles behind him laughed, a bitter edge to it, the air buzzing with their growing confusion and scorn.
Vidura raised a hand, his voice firm, cutting through the noise. "Saw what? An empty camp's not a story—it's a question. Riders will answer it, not this racket." His dark eyes stayed steady, his words a lifeline amid the swirling rumors, his calm holding like a thread stretched tight. Dhritarashtra tossed the broken staff aside, the clatter loud, his fierce voice a ragged growl. "Answer it? They don't want answers—they want him, dead or alive, and I'm the one they'll bury for it!" His blind eyes glinted, his hands flexing, his resentment a fire burning out of control.
Gandhari's grip tightened, her soft voice steady, almost pleading. "They'll want us, my lord—our sons will turn their eyes here. Hold steady." Her blindfold hid her face, but her words carried a quiet strength, a shield against his spiraling rage. The crimson noble snorted, his loud voice booming again. "Sons? We've heard that—Pandu's queens are empty too, and they're still betting on him!" The crowd's shouts flared, a mix of jeers and panic, the torches flaring brighter as the throne room tipped closer to mayhem.
Satyavati's sharp voice rose, her hands on her hips, her tone hard. "Betting on a ghost—stop it, all of you! Vidura's riders will sort this, not your noise." Her silver hair caught the light, her presence a firm wall against the court's fracturing edge. A noble in emerald silk, his voice bold but shaky, called out. "Sort it? He's gone—camp's a ruin! What's left to sort?" The murmurs turned frantic, hands waving, the air thick with wild guesses and the weight of Pandu's absence pressing down.
Vidura's voice cut through again, firm and steady, a rock in the flood. "What's left is truth, my lord—riders find it, not rumors. We wait, or we break." His dark eyes swept the room, his calm a fragile hold on the chaos, his hands still folded as he stood tall. Dhritarashtra's fists clenched, his fierce voice low and raw, trembling with fury. "Break? I'm breaking—every day he's gone, they hate me more, and he wins without lifting a finger!" His shoulders slumped, his blind eyes wide, his resentment a fever burning through him, the court teetering on the brink.
Gandhari stepped closer, her hand firm on his arm, her soft voice steady. "He's not winning, my lord—you are, here with us. They'll see it soon." Her sari brushed the floor, her calm a quiet anchor as the nobles' shouts swirled around them. The sapphire noble smirked, his sly voice high. "Soon? We're drowning in taxes, and he's a mystery—they'll pick the mystery every time!" The crowd's noise spiked, a chaotic roar, the torches flaring as if feeding off their panic.
Satyavati clapped her hands, a sharp crack that silenced the room for a moment, her sharp voice loud and clear. "Order—now! Riders' reports, that's what we wait for—no more of this mess!" She pointed at Vidura, her silver hair glinting, her gaze hard as she turned to the nobles. "Whispers of doom don't rule here—facts do. Quiet down!" The crimson noble muttered, his loud voice low. "Facts? Camp's empty—that's fact enough." The murmurs flared again, wilder now, spreading unchecked, the throne room a tangle of confusion and fear as Vidura's steady thread strained against Dhritarashtra's breaking poin