Vikramadithyan -

When dawn broke, the poet rose. He left the throne as he had found it—empty. But the nymphs bowed to him, because he understood the final lesson of Vikramadithyan:

The poet, without ambition, sat down. And for a moment, the ruins transformed. The air smelled of jasmine and justice. The poet felt a vision—not of conquests, but of a court where the poorest farmer could call the king by his name. Where a king’s true wealth was measured not in gold, but in the sleepless nights he spent solving a single widow’s grievance. Vikramadithyan

“Who are you?” they asked.