The morning did not arrive with noise.
No horns.
No urgency.
No sudden call to movement.
And yet—
Something had shifted.
Not in the world itself.
But in how it leaned.
As though everything—wind, ground, silence, distance—had begun inclining toward a single, inevitable direction.
Karna stood at the edge of the training grounds.
Still.
But not idle.
His posture was relaxed, yet rooted, as though his weight had settled not just into the ground beneath him—but into something deeper. Something unseen.
His gaze was not fixed.
It moved—
Not outwardly.
But within.
Taking in everything without choosing a single point to focus on.
Because now—
He did not need to look to see.
The space around him had changed.
Or perhaps—
He had.
The wind passed over his skin.
Light.
Cool.
Unremarkable—
For anyone else.
But for him—
It carried detail.
Layered.
Precise.
It brushed past objects before reaching him. Disturbed edges. Shifted currents. Subtle interruptions in flow.
