The infirmary was steeped in a suffocating silence, broken only by the sound of soft sobs and quiet despair.

The air hung heavy, as though the universe itself had turned its back on the Kuruvanshi family.

The once-proud warriors who had faced death a thousand times now stood broken, hollowed out by a loss that cut deeper than any sword.

Draupadi lay motionless on the cold stone slab, her vibrant spirit snuffed out like a candle, leaving behind only the husk of what she had been.

Her skin, now pale and gray, stood in stark contrast to the dim flicker of the torches that cast long, trembling shadows across the walls.

Mata Kunti knelt beside her, her face buried in her hands.

Her body shook as silent sobs wracked her, each one a painful echo of the child she had lost. "My daughter... I can't... I can't lose you again," she whispered, her voice barely a breath in the thick air.

Duryodhan stood at a distance, his towering form rigid with grief.

His chest heaved with controlled breath, trying and failing to hold back the tide of sorrow that threatened to drown him.

His voice was raw when he finally spoke. "I have seen war. I have seen death take so much, but not her. Not like this. This was not her fate."

He kneeled at her feet, holding her feet between his hands as he sobbed, his forehead touching her toes. "I beg you Draupadi, come back. You have been my one friend, don't abandon me like this please."

He sobbed louder, his shoulders shooking with each cry that seemed to tear from his soul.

Pauravi kneeled beside him, wrapping her arms around his, pulling his head in her chest, but her eyes tracing the features of the young girl who had crossed the threshold of this house as a young bride but sorrow was all she had recieved.

Tears traced down her cheeks.

Words burned her throat, to say something, anything. Yet her grief was so profound it burned.

Karn, who stood with his fists clenched, his knuckles white. His usually radiant features, seemed dull in the dim light, as though the sorrow had drained even the shine from his soul. "She was stronger than this. She was fire. And now..." His words trailed off, unable to finish the thought as his gaze settled on Draupadi's still form, the memories of their shared friendship now haunting him.

Her easy smiles, assuring nods.

He missed everything.

She was a good friend. And he had lost her too.

Gandhari, blindfolded and leaning against Dhritrashtra, trembled. "The heavens are cruel," she murmured, her voice heavy with centuries of sorrow. "How much more will they take from us?"

Bhanumati held onto her daughter, her tears silent but unrelenting.

The void in her chest was wide and festering, agony tearing her chest.

"We're losing her," Bhanumati choked out. "We're losing Draupadi again."

Her hollow, agonised words though whispered, rippled a new wave of grief through the room.

Dhara's knees buckled, she could no longer hold the weight of reality. Once where she had gained and lost her friend again.

Her knees hit the floor, pain shooting up them, yet she barely noticed it.

She was numb.

Her head rested back on the wall, while she just silently stared at her friend's unnaturally pale face.

She looked beautiful as always.

There were no tears in Dhara's eyes, no cries, no sobs.

There was an unusual silence, a numbness. Icy cold that froze her from inside out.

Bhism stood at the back, his face turned toward the ground. He had seen too much death, too much loss, but this felt different-like a wound the world itself couldn't bear to heal.

The sorrow seeped into the walls, making the very air feel heavy, oppressive, as if time itself had paused to mourn.

The Pandavas-her husbands, stood frozen around Draupadi's body.

Each one wore the weight of grief differently, but the devastation was the same.

They had faced countless battles, stared death in the eye more times than they could count, yet this-this was a blow none of them were prepared for.

Arjun's fists were balled tight, trembling with anger and disbelief.

His jaw clenched as he stared at her, his mind racing through memories-the sound of her laughter, the warmth of her embrace. "She can't be gone," he muttered under his breath. "She can't be."

Bheem paced the room like a caged animal, the floor trembling beneath his weight with every step.

His face was set in a mask of fury, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "This isn't real. She can't leave us like this," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "Not her."

Nakul stood beside her, his hand hovering over her lifeless form, too afraid to touch her.

His lips trembled as he tried to form words but couldn't. It was as if his entire being had been hollowed out, leaving only the aching void of her absence.

Yudhisthir stood at the foot of the bed, his hand gripping the edge tightly.

His eyes were glazed, faraway, as though he was standing on the edge of a precipice, trying not to fall.

His voice, when it came, was soft but edged with a grief that cut through the silence. "She deserved more than this... She deserved better."

Sehdev had been quiet all this time, his face pale, his eyes locked on Draupadi's still body.

His hands trembled as he slowly approached her, every step feeling like it might shatter him into a thousand pieces.

His brothers' grief was loud, palpable-but his was different.

It was quiet, a deep, unrelenting pain that constricted his chest until he could barely breathe.

She had died because of him last time. He couldn't do much.

Would he let her go again? Could he?

He knelt by her side, his fingers brushing her cold cheek.

The touch sent a shiver through him, a reminder of the warmth she no longer possessed.

His voice, when it finally came, was a whisper, a plea to the universe that felt futile even as the words left his lips.

"No."

"No, you're not dying on me," he whispered, the words trembling in the air.

His thumb traced the outline of her face, as if memorizing her features one last time.

"You hear me? You're not leaving me. I lost you once... I can't do it again."

His heart thundered in his chest as he lowered his head, pressing his forehead to hers.

Desperation clawed at him, fierce and unforgiving.

He had lived for three years thinking she was gone, only to get her back-and now, the idea of losing her again tore something deep inside him. It was a pain that couldn't be described, a wound that wouldn't heal.

"I can't live in a world without you," he breathed, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "I won't."

Sehdev knew the risk he was about to take.

He knew it could cost him everything.

But without her, there was nothing worth living for.

The thought of a life without her was unbearable.

He would rather die trying to save her than live with the knowledge that he had done nothing.

Closing his eyes, he reached deep within himself, summoning the ancient magic that few dared to use.

It was an art older than time, a forbidden practice that had been lost to the world, known only to those willing to sacrifice everything.

It required more than just strength-it required a piece of your soul, a merging of life forces that could kill as easily as it could heal.

His aura began to glow, soft at first-a gentle, golden light that shimmered at his fingertips.

Slowly, it expanded, growing brighter, more vibrant, until it enveloped Draupadi's body in a cocoon of warmth and light.

He felt his life force merging with hers, their energies intertwining like the threads of a delicate tapestry.

The process was painful, excruciating even, as his energy flowed into her, pushing against the darkness that had claimed her.

Her body had already begun to shut down, the slow and irreversible process of death creeping through her veins.

But he pushed harder, forcing his energy into her heart, willing it to beat again.

His entire being strained as he worked, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

His aura, normally so vibrant, began to dim as exhaustion clawed at him, pulling him closer to the edge of unconsciousness.

But he couldn't stop. Not yet.

He pushed through the exhaustion, the tiredness, that seeped in his soul, as his body warned him.

You can't do this. It will kill you.

Yet, when had he ever rebeled? Never. Would he stop today? Not by a long chance.

He never had something that worthed enough to rebel.

But now he did.

He had a woman he loved more than his own life, so what did it matter that in the process of saving her he had to lose himself.

He gave and gave and he gave.

Just when he thought he could go no further, when his body was willing to give up.

A lone tear traced down his cheek, he had failed her once again.

He felt his loss deep in his gut, he could feel his body shut down.

An acceptance resonated deep in his bones, that at least he would be with her, if not in this realm, than the next.

Just as the thought had hit him, a surge of energy jolted through him.

He gasped, his eyes snapping open in shock.

His body was flooding with new vibrant aura, that interwoven around his as easily as one could breath and as protectively as only an older brother could.

He wasn't alone.

"That's right, idiot. You aren't alone." Yudhisthir growled, when he had seen Sehdev use the ancient magic, terror had shot through his veins, especially when he saw that, he was about to lose his brother.

"Let me get her back safe once, I'll tear a new one in you after that, for pulling that dumb stunt without telling us."

Nakul's voice rumbled with a protective fury for his wife and brother.

His hand was on Draupadi's chest, his emerald-green aura merging with Sehdev's, weaving together in a seamless pattern.

"You're not leaving us, Drau," Nakul whispered, his voice fierce despite the tremor in it. "Not now."

Arjun was next, his golden aura blazing like the sun. "Fight, Drau. You've fought harder battles than this," he muttered, his jaw clenched with determination.

Bheem's deep red aura flared to life, wrapping around her like a shield. "We're not letting you go," he growled. "Not this time."

Yudhisthir, calm and steady as always, placed his hand on her forehead, his soft blue aura blending with the others. "Come back to us, Drau," he whispered. "We're not whole without you."

He took each strand of his brothers' colourful auras and weaved them together, forming something powerful.

They let their aura chakras sync with the universe, the wave of energy that shot throw them had their jaws clenching.

The blast of such unrestrained and wild magic nearly had them stop breathing, yet they were determined.

They let their wills bend and mold the aura, it was like restraining something huge and wild, and taming that aura into something more calm and healing, before transferring it to their wife.

The five of them stood united, their auras intertwining, taming the wild energy of the nature, that tore into their aura chakras, shooting agony down to their bones.

But they didn't stop.

They couldn't.

The price was Draupadi's life.

And they couldn't lose that.

It was a magic so ancient, so powerful, that the very air around them had come alive.

A wave of Marvel and astonishment had washed over the room. As they watched the very air shine with brilliant tapestry of energy.

Those strands hummed and thrashed like a living being.

Angry and Furious as they entered the bodies of the Pandavas, and calm and soothing when the Pandavas flowed the same energy down to their wife.

The room grew brighter, the flickering torches dwarfed by the glow of their combined power.

Wind howled through the room, an unseen tornado wrecking havoc.

The awe of the family slowly turned into horror, realisation slammed into them of what they were doing.

A terrified scream rose through Kunti's throat, as she lunged ahead, her words frantic. "Stop! You'll kill yourselves!"

Gandhari turned her face toward the source of the light, her hands trembling. "This isn't natural," she murmured, her voice tinged with dread. "They're tampering with forces they can't control."

Dhritrashtra's hands clenched, his knuckles white. "They'll lose everything."

He tried to move ahead but the magic slammed in his chest,sending him flying back.

But the Pandavas didn't stop.

They pushed harder, pouring every ounce of their energy into Draupadi's body, their auras weaving into her soul, knitting her shattered essence back together.

It was a delicate process, one that required not only strength but absolute precision.

The fabric of their souls became hers, each strand binding them to her in ways that defied the laws of nature.

Pain radiated through Sehdev's body, his muscles trembling as he fought against the pull of the universe.

His mind screamed at his body to stop, but he couldn't.

Not when her life hung in the balance. Every breath felt like it could be his last, and yet, he pushed further, deeper, weaving the strands of his soul into hers.

His vision blurred, the edges darkening as exhaustion threatened to consume him.

Beside him, Nakul staggered, his legs buckling beneath him as he groaned in pain.

"This... this wasn't supposed to be like this," he whispered, sweat pouring down his face. His aura flickered but held strong, refusing to fade. "Come back, Draupadi. Please."

Arjun's jaw was clenched tight, his breathing ragged. "We've fought the gods themselves for less," he muttered, his golden aura blazing like fire, mingling with the others. "I'll fight the universe if I have to. We won't let you go."

Bheem let out a low growl, his red aura surging with a fierce determination. Blood dripped from the gash on his side where Draupadi had injured him, but he paid it no mind. "You've always been a warrior, Draupadi. Fight for us. Fight for yourself."

Yudhisthir, though quiet, was the anchor, his calm presence a steady force in the storm of their combined grief and fury.

His blue aura pulsed gently, wrapping around Draupadi like a soothing balm. "We need you," he whispered, his voice trembling as tears pooled in his eyes. "I need you."

The auras twisted and twined together, forming a radiant cocoon around Draupadi.

The energy in the room intensified, the very air crackling with raw power.

The brothers, despite their exhaustion and bleeding wounds, didn't waver. Each one poured everything they had into her, refusing to give up, even as their bodies screamed in protest.

The universe, sensing the unnatural forces at play, pushed back.

The air around them grew heavy, oppressive, as if trying to crush them under the weight of the cosmic order.

The torches flickered violently, the flames nearly snuffed out by the invisible force that now swirled through the room like a tempest.

Outside the circle of light, the Kuruvanshi family watched in horror. Gandhari gripped Dhritrashtra's arm tightly, her knuckles white beneath her wrappings.

"They'll destroy themselves," she murmured, her voice tight with fear. "They're defying the will of the gods."

Duryodhan, his fists trembling, took a step forward. "Stop them!" he barked, his voice hoarse with desperation. "They'll die if they keep this up."

But none of them dared interfere, they couldn't, they knew one mistake on their end and instead of helping each of them would be dead.

There was a power in that room, a force so ancient and raw that it frightened even the most hardened warriors. It was as if the world itself was watching, waiting to see if the Pandavas could defy fate.

Kunti, tears streaming down her face, fell to her knees, her hands clasped in prayer. "Don't take them from me," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Not all of them."

Karn wrapped his arms around his mother, hugging her tight, she clung to him crying her heart out, screaming and shouting.

He held her.

Helplessness weighed his body, he hated himself. The protective instinct to save his brothers was overwhelming.

It clawed at his chest and yet all he could do was stand and watch.

The strain was too much. Sehdev's body shuddered violently, his legs giving out beneath him.

He collapsed to his knees, his aura flickering dangerously as he fought to stay conscious. His head drooped forward, his chest heaving with shallow breaths.

"Drau..." he gasped, his vision blurring. "I...am...sorry."

But just as his aura began to fade, a soft, familiar warmth flooded through him.

It was like a lifeline, pulling him back from the brink of oblivion.

"You're not alone, brother," Arjun said through gritted teeth, his golden aura burning brighter. "We're with you."

Nakul's trembling hand reached out, brushing Sehdev's shoulder. "We finish this together," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He met his twin's eyes, his were hard with determination. "You hear me, we finish this together." He repeated again.

Yudhisthir's calm, steady presence washed over them, his blue aura surging with renewed strength. "Hold on," he murmured, his voice like a soothing balm. "We're almost there."

The surge of energy was overwhelming, the combined power of all five brothers merging into a single, unstoppable force.

The fabric of their souls intertwined with Draupadi's, knitting her back together piece by fragile piece. Her wounds, both physical and spiritual, began to heal, though the effort nearly broke them.

The room seemed to pulse with life, the radiant cocoon of light surrounding Draupadi glowing so brightly that it was almost blinding.

The universe itself screamed in protest, pushing back against the unnatural act with all its might.

The walls trembled, the very ground beneath them shaking as if the world was on the verge of shattering.

But the Pandavas refused to relent.

Their love, their grief, their desperation-it fueled them, kept them standing even when their bodies were on the verge of collapse.

"We're not losing you," Bheem growled through gritted teeth. His voice was raw, every word laced with agony.

"You hear me, Draupadi? We're not losing you!"

The fabric of Draupadi's soul, once frayed and broken, was now almost whole.

The light around her body shimmered, flickering with life, as if her very essence was on the verge of returning.

But the strain was too much for the brothers. One by one, they began to falter.

Nakul was the first to collapse, his aura flickering and fading as he fell to the ground, unconscious.

Arjun followed, his golden light dimming as his body slumped to the floor.

Bheem swayed on his feet before dropping heavily to his knees, his red aura dissipating into the air.

Sehdev, barely conscious, felt his body give out, the last of his strength leaving him.

He fell forward, his hand still resting on Draupadi's chest, his aura flickering like a dying flame.

Yudhisthir, the last to fall, knelt beside Draupadi, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

His blue aura shimmered one last time before fading away, leaving only the dim glow of their combined power surrounding her.

For a moment, there was silence.

The room, once filled with the crackling energy of their auras, was now quiet, save for the ragged breathing of the five brothers lying unconscious on the floor.

The family watched in horror, too afraid to move, too afraid to hope. The air was thick with tension, the weight of the universe pressing down on them, waiting to see if the impossible had been achieved.

And then, slowly, painfully, Draupadi's chest rose.

A soft, shallow breath.

Her fingers twitched.

Her eyes fluttered open.

She was alive.

But at what cost?

***

Do Vote and Comment!

***