The forest did not return to normal.
Not completely.
Even after the enemies withdrew, even after the echoes of movement faded into stillness, something remained—an imprint in the flow that refused to settle back into its natural rhythm.
Karna stood where the last exchange had ended, his posture relaxed on the surface, but his awareness still extended, still listening, still tracing the faint disturbances left behind like footprints that could not be seen with the eyes.
Duryodhana stretched his arm once, rolling his shoulder with a low exhale, the weight of his mace shifting slightly as he rested it across his back.
"…They're getting annoying," he muttered, though there was no real frustration in his tone—only a growing intensity.
Karna didn't respond immediately.
Because he was not thinking about irritation.
He was thinking about pattern.
"They're not trying to win," Karna said after a moment.
Duryodhana glanced at him. "Then what are they doing?"
