The road stretched far beyond the training grounds, cutting through dry earth and sparse vegetation, carrying with it the quiet rhythm of a world that was slowly changing.
Karna walked ahead, his pace steady and unhurried, yet every step carried a silent awareness that had not been there before. The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the parched ground, and every pebble, every swaying blade of grass, seemed to hum with subtle motion. The wind brushed past him, but it no longer felt like just wind—it carried direction, movement, intent. Even now, the flow lingered at the edge of his senses, not fully active, but never truly gone.
Duryodhana walked beside him, resting his mace casually over his shoulder, though his eyes were anything but relaxed. He had noticed it since morning—Karna was different again. Not stronger in the obvious sense, not faster in visible movement, but something deeper had shifted. Something fundamental.
