The forest had become home.
For months now, Karna had trained under the unforgiving gaze of Parashurama, the warrior-sage who had once shaped legends—and in another lifetime, cursed one. But this time, Karna had revealed no lies. There were no false stories of being a Brahmin. No arrogance. Only honesty, perseverance, and restraint.
And Parashurama, though hardened by his hatred for Kshatriyas, had begun to respect the boy who never complained, never questioned orders, and never backed down from pain.
---
The morning sun filtered through the leaves as Karna sat cross-legged on a stone, his eyes closed in silent concentration. The wind stirred gently through the trees, carrying the scent of sandalwood and ash. He was not just stronger now — he was centered.
Parashurama approached, his steps light but deliberate. For a long moment, he simply watched.
"You are ready," he said finally.
Karna opened his eyes. He didn't smile, but something in his expression softened. "To fight?"
"To choose," Parashurama replied. "Strength alone is not what makes a warrior. It is knowing when to wield it, and why."
Karna bowed. "Then teach me that final lesson."
---
That day, Parashurama tested Karna not with weapons, but with choices.
He brought Karna to the edge of a cliff, where a wounded deer lay dying, pierced by a hunter's arrow.
"Will you end its pain?" the sage asked.
Karna knelt beside it, touched its side gently. "I will."
He whispered a prayer, not to a god, but to the animal itself. Then, with a single swift motion, he put it to rest. No cruelty. No hesitation.
Parashurama nodded.
Later, they came upon a group of villagers arguing. A man accused another of stealing water from his well during a drought. Both were desperate, both were right in their own way.
"What would you do?" Parashurama asked.
Karna spoke after a long silence. "I would not judge from above. I would listen to both, understand the cause, and ensure the well served more than one man's pride."
That was the lesson.
Not swordplay. Not celestial weapons.
But balance.
---
That night, around the dying embers of their fire, Parashurama broke the silence that had long remained between them.
"I know who you are," he said, voice low.
Karna's breath caught. "Then why train me?"
"Because you did not come seeking power. You came seeking mastery — over yourself."
Parashurama turned to him, eyes unreadable. "But know this, Karna — the world will not accept you so easily. They will fear you. They will name you by the lowest name they can find. And they will whisper lies into history."
Karna said nothing at first. Then: "I will rise anyway."
Parashurama gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "I have taught you all I can. You are no longer a student."
---
The following morning, Karna packed his things in silence. There was no ceremony, no dramatic farewell — only the mutual respect of two warriors who had nothing left to prove to each other.
Before he stepped off the forest path, Parashurama called out, "Beware the poison of pride, Karna. Even the sun casts shadows."
Karna nodded once, then disappeared into the woods, the morning light catching the golden glow of his armor through his robes.
---
He walked alone, but never aimless. His feet turned steadily back toward Hastinapura — the city that had once mocked him, the world that had shut its gates.
But he was not the same boy anymore.
He carried the fire of two lives. The blessings of Surya. And now, the teachings of a man who had once cursed him.
This time, there would be no curse.
Only purpose.