That evening passed quietly, and by the next morning, Karna stepped out of the palace alone.
The sky was still soft with early light as he made his way toward the Somnath Temple, a grand shrine standing near the shores, where the ocean's voice never truly faded. The path carried the scent of salt and stone, the sound of waves crashing steadily against the land, a rhythm that seemed both restless and eternal.
The temple rose ahead, its structure solid and ancient, its presence anchored deeply into both land and faith.
Karna entered without announcement.
Without escort.
Inside, the air cooled, the stone beneath his feet holding the night's lingering chill. Bells rang at intervals, their tones spreading through the halls in waves, while devotees moved in quiet devotion.
He completed his Surya Arghya first, standing where the rising sun's light touched the temple courtyard, lifting water in his palms, offering it with the same precision and stillness he always carried.
