The sun had begun its slow descent behind the distant hills.
Its golden light fell across the training ground like molten honey.
Shadows stretched long and thin, merging with dust clouds stirred by earlier drills.
The air smelled faintly of sweat, dry earth, and the metallic tang of weapons.
The intensity of the morning had softened now.
Repetition had ended.
Practice had become application.
Today was different.
Today was a test.
Groups were called forward.
Pairs formed quickly, some students eager, some nervous, and some trembling.
The dust shifted underfoot as feet scuffed the earth.
The clink of swords and maces punctuated the murmurs.
Excitement mingled with fear.
Duryodhana stood in the front line.
Mace in hand.
Muscles coiled.
But his breath was calm.
His eyes were sharp.
No anger burned there.
No pride or arrogance.
Instead, a quiet awareness hummed beneath his skin.
He was ready.
But not in the usual way.
