The battlefield of Kurukshetra was painted with blood and sorrow. The cries of warriors echoed in the desolate plains as the sun began to set. Karna, the valiant son of Surya, lay wounded on the ground. His golden armor, once a symbol of his invincibility, had been stripped away, and the arrow of Arjuna pierced his chest, sealing his fate.

As the light dimmed in his eyes, he felt a strange warmth surround him. The chariot of Krishna appeared before him, its divine glow cutting through the gloom of the battlefield. Krishna stepped down, his serene eyes filled with an unreadable mix of compassion and authority.

"Karna," Krishna spoke softly, yet his voice resonated with the weight of the cosmos. "Your time in this world is over, but your soul carries the burden of many deeds, both noble and sinful. You sought to fulfill your dharma, yet the path you chose was shrouded in ambition and loyalty to adharma."

Karna coughed, blood staining his lips. "Why do you speak to me now, Madhava? I have fought, I have fallen. What more can be said?"

Krishna knelt beside him, placing a hand on Karna's forehead. "Your courage is unmatched, but courage without wisdom often leads to ruin. I offer you a chance to atone, to rise above your past and truly embody the greatness you were destined for. But know this—redemption comes not through power, but through understanding the hearts of others and your own."

Karna's vision blurred as the world around him began to fade. "A chance... to rise again?"

Krishna smiled enigmatically. "In another time, another form, you will find your way. But the choice to rise will always be yours."

And then there was darkness.

---

The blinding white light of hospital fluorescents replaced the dim glow of the battlefield. Karna gasped as he awoke, his body foreign and weak. His chest heaved as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings.

A voice spoke nearby. "Doctor, he's awake!"

Karna turned his head and saw a woman standing by his bedside. Her eyes were swollen with tears, her face lined with worry. She looked familiar yet unfamiliar, her modern attire starkly different from anything Karna had ever seen.

"You're okay," she whispered, clutching his hand. "I thought I lost you."

The doctor entered, a clipboard in hand. "Young man, you're lucky to be alive. The fall from the building should have killed you. It's a miracle you're still here."

Karna frowned, the words alien yet unsettlingly clear. "Fall? Building?" His voice was weaker, softer than he remembered, and his hands... they were small, unscarred by years of battle.

The woman began to sob, holding his hand tightly. "Why, Aryan? Why did you do this to yourself? You're all I have left."

Her words struck him like arrows. Aryan? The name felt foreign yet oddly familiar, as if it were now a part of him. He stared at the reflection in the window beside his bed—a young, gaunt face with hollow eyes.

As her sobs filled the room, Karna felt the weight of Krishna's words return to him: "Redemption comes not through power, but through understanding the hearts of others and your own."

The woman's tears glistened in the sterile hospital light, and Karna realized his journey had just begun