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... my sons!" Mura wailed, hugging Chandragupta’s waist and patting Raja on the head like he was still eight—which, to be fair, is what he looked like. Behind them, Vishnugupta was already halfway up the road, muttering something about "emotions being inefficient baggage."
"Ma," Raja said, grinning, "We’re just going to overthrow a tyrant and rewrite the destiny of Bharat. You make it sound like we’re going off to war."
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