The gold of the crown pressed against my forehead like a question I had no answer for.
Thud… thud… thud…
My footsteps echoed through the stone corridors of the palace of Hastinapura. I had walked through dust and thorns, slept under stars with no name, drawn arrows from broken quivers. And now… I walked like a king.
But inside?
A storm.
I closed my eyes, standing alone in the chamber Duryodhanan had gifted me. Velvet drapes danced in the wind. Perfumed air. Glistening silver trays of food untouched. My fingers hovered over the golden bow resting by my bedside.
"Why?" I whispered. "Why would a prince do this for me?"
A knock.
Knock. Knock.
I turned.
Duryodhanan entered, grinning like he had won a war. "Still not used to silk pillows, Karna?"
I smiled faintly. "I don't know how to sleep on clouds."
He laughed, loud and full.
"Come," he said. "The city is talking about you. I thought you'd enjoy that."
"They're talking about the charioteer's son who dared step into a royal arena."
"They're talking," he said firmly, stepping closer, "about the warrior who stood taller than princes."
His words struck deep.
"I don't know how to repay this," I murmured.
Duryodhanan's smile softened. "You don't need to repay anything. I saw injustice. And I acted."
"But I'm not of royal blood—"
"Then I've made you one. The kingdom of Anga is yours. You rule now, Karna. Stand tall."
I looked at him, truly looked.
Where others saw my birth, he saw my fire. Where others mocked, he raised.
"Why did you help me?" I asked.
He shrugged. "You're like me."
"Like you?"
"Yes. We both live in the shadows of great names. I am not the eldest prince. I am not the most loved. But I know strength when I see it."
His eyes burned. "And I want you beside me, when I rule this kingdom."
I knelt, tears pressing at my lashes. "Then you have me, Duryodhana. My bow. My blood. My soul. Until the end of my days."
He placed a hand on my shoulder. "Then rise, King Karna."
---
That night, the palace lit with celebration. But I, I returned to my little home in the outskirts, where my mother Radha waited.
The door creaked open.
"Creak…"
She turned, saw the golden crown on my head — and dropped the vessel she was holding.
"Clang!"
"Karna… my son… what have you done?" Her voice was a mix of awe and fear.
"I've been crowned King of Anga," I said softly.
Her eyes filled with tears. "King? But… how?"
"I stepped into the arena," I said, placing the bow down, "and the world stepped on me. But Duryodhanan lifted me up."
She ran to me, held my face in her hands. "They will never forget where you came from."
"I don't want them to," I said. "Let them remember. Let them see what a sutaputra can become."
My father entered, silent, his eyes unreadable.
"You stood against them?" he asked.
"Yes."
"And they laughed?"
"They did."
He nodded. "Then you have truly become a man."
I bowed before them. "But I will never forget that I was born in your home."
---
In the days that followed, I met Duryodhanan often. He was fire and ambition. We trained together, ate together, walked through royal gardens whispering dreams of tomorrow.
Once, as we watched the sunset from the palace walls, he asked, "Do you ever wonder who your real parents are?"
I flinched.
"Sometimes," I admitted.
"Would you want to know?"
I looked at the sky. "No. Not if they abandoned me."
He nodded. "Then let me be your brother. And you, mine."
And from that day, we were not just friends.
We were more.
We were bound — by fate, by fire, by defiance.