Dhritarashtra swept into the throne room, his boots thudding against the marble, his dark tunic swaying with every taut step, his scowl a tight mask after the guard's report of the western sage. The place was a storm—nobles clustered in frantic knots, their silks tangling as they whispered, torches blazing high on the walls, the air buzzing with fear and the sage's ominous shadow. Vidura followed, his plain tunic a steady mark in the chaos, his dark eyes sharp as he tracked the crowd, while Gandhari slipped in behind, her indigo sari a soft ripple, her blindfold stark against her pale face. Satyavati entered last, her silver hair glinting, her sharp gaze slicing through the noise, the court fracturing under the weight of dread.
The sage stood near the throne, a thin figure in dusty gray robes, his hood low, his hands clasped over a gnarled staff. His voice came out low and rough, a whisper that carried over the din. "The king's road ends in shadow." He paused, his head tilting, his words hanging like smoke, cryptic and heavy. The nobles erupted, their shouts tumbling over each other, their silks flashing as they turned, the torches flaring as if stoked by their panic. A noble in crimson silk, his voice loud and wild, bellowed, "Shadow? He's dead then—Pandu's gone, and we're lost!" The crowd surged, their fear a wave crashing through the room.
Vidura stepped forward, his voice firm and clear, cutting through the uproar like a steady hand on a helm. "We don't know yet—hold fast, my lord. Shadows aren't facts; they're just words." His hands folded behind him, his dark eyes steady, his calm a thin thread stretched tight against the chaos. Dhritarashtra's staff slammed the floor, a sharp crack splitting the marble, his fierce voice roaring out. "He's won, dead or alive—I'm nothing! Shadow or not, they'll crown him for it!" His blind eyes blazed, his shoulders shaking, his envy hitting a jagged peak, his despair loud and raw.
Gandhari moved quick, her hand catching his arm, her voice soft but steady. "You're not nothing, my lord—we're here, and they'll see us." Her sari shimmered in the torchlight, her calm a fragile brace against his shattering rage. The sage tilted his head again, his low voice creeping out, slow and deliberate. "Veiled paths twist—light fades where none seek it." His words coiled around the room, riddles that fueled the nobles' shouts, their faces twisting with confusion and terror, the air thick with their spiraling dread.
Satyavati pushed through the crowd, her sharp eyes flashing, her voice hard and commanding. "Quiet—riddles don't rule us! Vidura, what's he saying?" She planted herself near the throne, her silks rustling, her gaze pinning the sage like a hawk. Vidura turned, his voice firm, his dark eyes cautious. "He's hinting, not telling—Pandu's path's unclear, that's all we've got. We wait, my lord, till it's plain." His words hung steady, a lifeline in the storm, his wisdom stretched thin as the court teetered on panic's edge.
Dhritarashtra's staff cracked the marble again, a splinter flying, his fierce voice a ragged snarl. "Wait? He's beaten me—veiled or shadowed, he's taken them all, and I'm left a shell!" His fingers clenched the staff, his tunic creasing as he lurched forward, his despair a fire burning through, his envy a loud, desperate howl. A wiry noble in sapphire silk, his voice high and shrill, shouted over the noise. "Taken them? He's taken nothing—dead or hiding, he's left us to rot!" The nobles' cries flared, a chaotic roar, the torches casting wild shadows over their frantic faces.
Vidura raised a hand, his voice firm, slicing through the tumult. "Left us or not, we don't know—hold fast, or we fall apart guessing. Riders saw silence, this sage gives riddles—that's not enough." His dark eyes swept the room, his calm a steady thread, holding the court's edge as it trembled. Gandhari's grip tightened, her soft voice steady, almost pleading. "We won't fall, my lord—our sons will rise, and they'll look to you." Her blindfold hid her eyes, her words a quiet anchor as the nobles' panic swirled around them.
The crimson noble shoved forward, his loud voice booming. "Rise? Pandu's shadow's over us—dead or fled, he's still king in their heads!" He waved a fist, his silks flapping, the crowd's shouts spiking, a mix of fear and fury, the throne room a tangle of confusion. Satyavati clapped her hands, a sharp snap that cut the noise for a moment, her sharp voice loud. "Enough—shadows don't crown anyone! Vidura's right—we wait for truth, not tales!" Her silver hair glinted, her gaze hard as she glared at the nobles, her presence a firm wall against their fracturing.
Dhritarashtra's staff thudded again, the marble cracking wider, his fierce voice low and trembling, thick with despair. "Truth? He's won it—alive or dead, they're his, and I'm dust under his feet!" His blind eyes widened, his shoulders slumping, his envy a heavy shroud, his rage collapsing into a raw, broken edge. The sage stepped back, his low voice a final whisper. "Paths veiled hold secrets—seek, or sink." His hood dipped, his staff tapping once, his riddles a spark that set the nobles shouting again, their fear buzzing like a swarm.
Vidura's voice rose, firm and steady, a rock in the flood. "Secrets or not, we stand, my lord—panic breaks us, patience finds us. We've got nothing solid yet." His dark eyes held Dhritarashtra's unseen glare, his calm a lifeline stretched to its limit, the court sinking into fearful doubt. A noble in emerald silk, his voice bold but cracking, yelled out. "Nothing? Camp's gone, sage's here—he's finished, and we're next!" The crowd's cries turned wild, hands waving, the torches flaring as the throne room tipped into full panic.
Gandhari pressed closer, her hand firm on Dhritarashtra's arm, her soft voice steady. "We're not finished, my lord—you're here, and that's enough." Her sari brushed the floor, her calm a quiet shield as the nobles' shouts drowned her out. Satyavati's sharp voice cut through, her hands on her hips. "Stop it—hold your tongues! We wait, that's all—riders, facts, not this!" She pointed at Vidura, her silver hair steady, her gaze fierce as she fought the tide, the court convinced of Pandu's dire fate.
Dhritarashtra sank into the throne, the wood creaking, his broken staff dropping with a clatter, his fierce voice a low, broken mutter. "Enough? He's taken it all—dead or alive, I'm nothing now." His blind eyes stared, his hands limp, his despair a loud echo, his envy at its height as the nobles' panic swelled around him. Vidura stood tall, his voice steady, holding the court's edge. "Nothing's taken till we know, my lord—hold fast, we're still here." His dark eyes stayed firm, his wisdom a thin thread, fraying as the room spun into chaos.
The shouts faded to a tense hum, the nobles falling silent, their silks still, their eyes wide with fear and doubt, the torches burning steady now, casting a harsh light over the fractured court. Dhritarashtra sat slumped, his breath shallow, his scowl gone, replaced by a hollow stare, his envy a heavy weight. Vidura folded his hands, his calm unshaken but stretched thin, the sage's cryptic words lingering like a veil over them all. The throne room held its breath, waiting, the air thick with silence, the sub-arc closing as the next loomed unseen—Kunti's boon in the west, Gandhari's pregnancy in Hastinapura, the truth still veiled.