The days in the gurukul no longer felt separate.
They blended.
Not because they lacked meaning—
But because each one held the same weight.
The same purpose.
The same demand.
There was no urgency here. No sudden battles. No immediate threats that demanded action. Instead, there was something far more difficult to endure.
Consistency.
Karna stood in the center of the training ground. His feet were bare against the cool earth, the rough surface of the ground pressing into his skin. In his hands, he held a simple wooden staff. Unadorned. Unremarkable. A deliberate choice.
This weapon was not for battle.
It was a tool.
A measure.
A symbol of restraint.
Because here—
Power was not the focus.
Control was.
"Again."
The instructor's voice sliced through the stillness. It held no emotion. No judgment. Just instruction.
Karna moved.
A single step forward.
