What! Someone walked out of this alive? Shakuni turned to observe the hardened footprints on the soft earth left by the eruption. Was it an animal? No…only two legs. But such enormous prints. Sudden fear flooded his soul as he saw the trail lead in an unmistakable north-eastern direction.

‘Whatever it was,’ Shakuni said, his face pale, ‘it is long gone. No point attempting to find it.’

‘Unless, of course, it has stopped to find us,’ Sahadev remarked. Reaching down, he snatched the sword from the burnt body, but dropped it with a jolt as the hot blade singed his hand. In a whiff of dust and smoke, the ruin of Kalyavan’s body crumbled to ash before their eyes, leaving no trace on earth of the warrior who it was said no man born in this Age could kill.

‘Guess the prophecy was false after all,’ Sahadev said, inspecting his raw palm, but Shakuni wasn’t listening. He was confused. If Kalyavan was dead and Mathura destroyed, who won?

KRISHNA dreamed of Mathura. A bygone dream. A city of fantasy scarcely touched by the past. A city of dreamers and alchemists. A city where even the wind carried the memory of revolution, magic and flutes, and cobbled lanes meandered like creeks. Of a city where women wielded swords, coin-counters ruled, where griffins flew in the air, and every month saw a new carnival, making the whole place seem like a theatre. A theatre he ran as the unseen puppeteer behind the screen.

His head throbbed as he woke with an aching jolt. One knee was drawn up awkwardly towards his chest, the other trapped under something hard. After groaning attempts to move, he gave up. Where was he?

‘Krish…Krishna…’

Krishna twisted around as best he could, and managed to open his eyes in narrow slits. Nothingness.

‘Krishna…’

That voice...Satyaki. What is he doing here? I must call to him…assuage his fears. Where is everyone? Where is Balram? Satyabhama…where is Satya?

He opened his eyes. Finding himself buried under a pile of rubble, he pushed at it with weary hands, cursing breathlessly at no one in particular. Light seeped in. Frantically, he enlarged the opening. He dragged himself out and collapsed on the street, drained by the effort. His ears listened for enemy sounds through his laboured breathing. There were none.

He remembered Satyaki, and turned back to pull him out. Krishna put his head against Satyaki’s chest, and then pumped it. Satyaki gasped and coughed out dirt. He lay curled in the way of an unborn babe, drawing gulps of fresh air into his lungs. He would live.

Krishna fell back on the ground, coughing hard. He just lay there, staring up at the sky, which was a pale shade of blue, almost white. Clean and pure. No trailing fireballs. No smoke. No falling ash. Just pristine blue.

Krishna laughed. Kalyavan. Greeks. Blazebane. Airavats. Muchuk Und. All dead.