Ashes of the Immortals: Mahabharata
The wheel of time turns, its spokes woven with the fates of gods and men. Kings rise and fall, warriors clash like storms upon the earth, and the echoes of their battle shall shake the heavens themselves.
They call it war, yet war is but a mirror, reflecting the greed of men, the burden of dharma, and the fire of destiny. The righteous and the wicked march alike, bound by chains they do not see, wielding weapons forged not only of steel, but of belief, of duty, of love and hatred alike.
Blades shall sing, chariots shall roar, and arrows shall rain like fire from the sky. In Kurukshetra, the gods shall descend, the earth shall tremble, and all shall be tested, brother against brother, master against disciple, dharma against desire.
What is victory, O warrior? What is defeat? The river does not halt for a fallen leaf, nor does the sun mourn the night. The battle has already begun, and time shall not wait for those who hesitate.
So choose! Will you stand with righteousness, even as the world turns against you? Will you wield your sword not for glory, but for truth? Will you step forward, knowing that even fate itself trembles before the will of the one who refuses to bow?
The end has come. The beginning is near. And when the last arrow is loosed, when the last chariot falls, when the dust of war settles upon the ages, one truth shall remain:
The names of the fallen may fade, the stories of kings may be forgotten, but he who stands unshaken in the storm, his name shall echo through eternity.