Chapter 9: The Murmurs of War

Kurukshetra – The Pandava Camp

The fires of war had not yet died. The battlefield of Kurukshetra, soaked in blood and dust, stood in eerie silence as the armies recovered from the unexplainable invasion.

Arjuna sat beside Krishna, his mind still unsettled.

"Madhava," he said softly, gripping the Gandiva bow. "Who were those warriors? What kind of metal beasts did they summon?"

Krishna smiled, his gaze far away. "They were men of an age yet to come. An age where dharma is blurred by the greed for power. Their world is filled with machines, yet their souls are empty."

Bhima, still enraged by the encounter, slammed his fist against the ground. "They were cowards, hiding behind their iron chariots, using weapons that required no skill! Where is the honor in such warfare?"

Krishna chuckled. "Oh, Bhima, do not mistake strength for righteousness. Those men were warriors in their own way, just as you are. But their war is different… and more dangerous."

Sahadeva, the wisest of the Pandavas, spoke cautiously. "Madhava, will they return?"

Krishna's eyes gleamed. "Perhaps not by choice. But when fate is disturbed, it has a way of pulling men back to where they belong."

A sudden gust of wind swept through the camp, and in the far distance, the great sage Vyasa stood atop a hill, his robes fluttering in the wind. His face was grim.

"The balance of time is shaking," he warned. "The battle of Kurukshetra is only one piece of a much larger war."