MAHABHARAT: Reborn as a younger brother of Krishna with a system

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The air in Agasthya's chamber felt thicker.

As if the very stone was listening.

He re-read the scroll about the fire-born girl. The ink had dried—but the words felt alive. They tugged at the edge of memory like a dream he hadn't yet earned back.

> "Five lines of war," he muttered.

The words weren't metaphor.

They were architecture.

Draupadi wasn't just a girl.

She was a node in the fate-web—one where too many threads converged.

And convergence meant war.

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He activated the obsidian circle embedded in the center of the floor—a gift from a now-extinct sect in Gandhara.

> "Call Six, Seven, and Nine," he said into the stone.

Across the empire, his agents felt the signal stir beneath their feet.

By dusk, three hooded figures stood before him.

"New mission," Agasthya said. "Do not interfere. Do not approach. Only watch."

He handed them each a copy of the scroll fragment.

"Daughter of Drupada. The girl born of fire. She will grow in court. In luxury. And eventually—in flames."

Nine asked, "What is she?"

Agasthya paused.

"Something even the gods can't define."

---

Krishna found him later in the strategy hall, still staring at his map.

"She will change everything," Krishna said without greeting.

Agasthya didn't look up. "You knew she was coming."

"I didn't know she'd be beautiful," Krishna said, smiling faintly. "That complicates everything."

Agasthya raised an eyebrow. "You think that matters?"

"I think men will think it matters. That's more dangerous than truth."

A silence stretched.

Then Krishna spoke again—quietly.

"I'm inviting the wandering sages. From Pushkara, Gandhamadana, and Badri. Something's shifting."

Agasthya nodded.

Krishna leaned closer.

"You felt it?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

Agasthya's voice dropped.

> "As if someone opened a door they didn't know was locked."

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The sages arrived two nights later.

Old, silent, worn from walking—but still sharp.

They met in the temple carved into the western cliff.

Krishna presided in calm joy.

Agasthya sat in still intensity.

Each sage brought a different warning:

"The stars are fighting each other in their sleep."

"Curses are rising through forgotten soil."

"The Devas have gone quiet. That is not peace. That is waiting."

Agasthya listened.

Took no notes.

But recorded every word in his mind.

When the circle fell into hush, one final sage—blind and toothless—spoke:

> "Draupadi is not born to love. She is born to split."

The silence after that was unbearable.

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Back in his chamber, Agasthya stood by the high window.

Below, Dwaraka breathed like a sleeping lion.

He touched the edge of his sword.

And whispered:

> "Then I must become the blade that doesn't cut… until it has to."

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