❝ Happy birthday Arjuna. ❞ Laid before the Archer was a cake; a small one really, crafted by Karna's hand. It was nothing grandiose, simple and clean, almost plain. For what more could he give one who was gifted everything?
BREATHFALTERSwhen he hears that voice, torrents of an unforeseenhurricane swirlingin the mist as every part of him yells to strike and be done with it,beleaguer that man who calls himself brother and scorn him foreverything he stands for. He suffers to look up from his book to glare at the man who standsbefore him, only to finally—finally—register the words whisperedto him, incensed him before he can make out their meaning (thatmisunderstanding will continue to carry through this life and thenext );it dawns upon him to finally cast his gaze down at the object infront of him, a tiny thing about the size of his hand. Anddespite its simplicity, the humility and frankness with which it waspresented, something as unoffensive as a cake manages to unwind everybraided coil branched back to his self-control.
❝Whatis the meaning of this—? Why—❞
HE REMINISCENCES those dayswhere he was alone and relished in its company, the one day of theyear when glorious Indra descends from heavens above to wish his boya happy birthday without fail (andoh, how Kiritin smiled! How he felt blessed that the great king onhigh would touch the mortal realm simply to wish him good tidings ),then back to when the entire world fawned over him withinsurmountable riches a Kshatriya like himself would never spend; wasit back then, or even further than that that he understood themeaningless of gold and divine splendor? Is this some form of olive branch and pity that he must suffer Karna’s presence once more? And what of this kindly deed towards his killer? An attempt to make up for the lost time swept away by the river’s bend? He doesn’t understand it. Nails dig deep into clothand skin. A defeated sigh expels from his being. Fate is certainly a cruel-hearted mistress if this is what’s in store for him.
❝…No, this is just like you, isn’t it? A person who is kind even to hisfoes—even to a soul as wretched as mine.❞
RUINEDFROM THE START,yet kind until the very end—few would dare to possess an altruisticsoul like Karna’s who would go so far as to give charity to his greatest enemy ( a saint of charity, someone not even Arjuna can hope to defeat ). And to think that selfsame enemy would be so kind as to bless him for his birth. Indra and the gods were long gone: his family, Krishna, and the myriad of enemies made in his journey are nowhere to be seen; it’s only them now. Helooks to the cake and cannot help but chuckle, for only Karna couldmake something as humble as himself. It frustrates him that he feels so defeated, but he cannot feel the anger that once engulfed his soul in blaze. It pains every inch of his bodyto feint kind words—tolerance even—to his greatest enemy, buttoday—and only today—he feels… lighter.
❝Thank you… Karna. Would you…❞A brief pause as he swallows pride and motions to the seat oppositehim. ❝Wouldyou care to join me in eating this?❞