Years unfurled like golden threads from the loom of fate.
By the time Aarav reached his early thirties, Indraprastha had blossomed into a thriving city — wide avenues, towering stone houses, bustling markets filled with traders from distant rivers and lands.
And within this living monument to resilience, Aarav noticed a strange and marvelous thing.
---
Sitting one afternoon beneath the shade of a massive banyan tree, he watched a group of boys and girls wrestling, climbing, studying. His sons and daughters — eighteen in number now, with more coming — moved like young lions, swift and strong.
Their muscles were firm even at young ages.
Their skin glowed with health.
Their minds were sharp, often asking questions even the city elders would struggle to answer.
Meanwhile, the other children of the city, though hardworking and spirited, clearly lacked the same effortless strength and natural brilliance.
Aarav leaned back on the cool stone, stroking his now neatly-trimmed beard, a touch of silver at its edge.
> "So... it seems," he mused aloud, "that the blessings I carry have not died with me. They live on... multiplied."
His wives, seated nearby weaving baskets and gossiping, overheard him.
Radha, teasing as always, called out:
> "Of course! Did you think your strength was only in your arms, husband?"
The women burst into soft laughter.
Aarav chuckled and rose, crossing over to pull Radha gently into his lap, ignoring her squeal.
> "You were part of this miracle too, dear Radha," he whispered against her ear.
Her cheeks flushed as she pushed against his broad chest, only half-heartedly.
---
Romantic interludes became a balm for his restless spirit.
In the evenings, when the sun blazed its last across the city walls, Aarav often stole time to wander among his households — sometimes teaching, sometimes simply enjoying stolen moments of laughter and caresses under the moonlight.
Devika, still his first love, often welcomed him with cups of honeyed wine, warm embraces, and long talks about the city's future.
Suhani would sneak up behind him while he studied maps, pressing herself against his back, whispering mischievous promises into his ear.
And Anika, fierce and untamed, would pull him straight into bed after a sparring session, claiming he "owed" her a reward for losing to her in mock combat.
Aarav, though his body matured and his features carried the marks of time, seemed only to grow more handsome — a man in his prime, strength tempered with wisdom, laughter lines tracing the sides of his mouth, and a piercing gaze that could still melt the boldest hearts.
---
Years passed in this rhythm:
Mornings spent training his children in archery, chariot-craft, farming, and astronomy.
Afternoons in the council chambers, guiding Indraprastha's growing leadership.
Nights lost in romance, music, and tales spun around roaring fires.
His sons grew tall and broad-shouldered; his daughters graceful and brilliant.
He taught them:
> "Strength alone is not greatness. Wisdom must guide the spear. Compassion must temper the sword."
---
One twilight, as he sat teaching his eldest son, Aditya, the patterns of stars for navigation, the boy asked:
> "Father, why are we different? Why do we learn faster? Fight harder?"
Aarav looked toward the heavens, then down at his son with a slow smile.
> "Because, Aditya... the blood that flows in you is a river from the gods themselves. It is your duty to carve its path wisely."
The boy straightened his shoulders with pride.
Somewhere in the distance, music rose—flutes and drums celebrating the approaching spring festival.
And so, year after year, the legend of Aarav and his remarkable children grew — a story whispered across rivers and valleys, over fires and festival songs:
> The man who rose from flood and fire, and whose blood would build a new world.
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End of Chapter 18