The training resumed.
But it was not the same as before.
The familiar sounds returned.
Wood striking wood.
Footsteps shifting across the hard-packed earth.
Voices issuing sharp instructions.
But beneath it all, lingered something different.
A thought that refused to settle.
A question that had no answer yet.
At the center of it all stood Duryodhana.
His grip on the mace was firm.
Its weight was reassuring, familiar.
His strikes carried power.
His movements were precise.
Yet something had changed.
His focus had shifted inward.
Each swing he made, he watched himself.
Each step he took, he felt it.
For the first time, he was not just fighting.
He was learning from himself.
Nearby, Karna stood quietly, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.
He did not step forward to correct Duryodhana, did not shout advice or critique.
No participation.
No instructions.
Only observation.
As he always had.
But now, Duryodhana began to do the same.
