The morning did not begin with sound.
It began with pressure.
A subtle, almost invisible weight settled across the training grounds, not enough to alarm the body, but enough that every instinct within Karna registered it immediately. It was not an external force pressing down on him—it was something within the flow itself, like the air had grown denser, like the space between movements had tightened.
Karna stood still at the center of the courtyard.
Eyes open.
Breathing steady.
But nothing in him was passive.
Because this—
This was new.
Not unfamiliar.
But refined.
He did not reach for the flow.
He did not focus.
He did not activate anything consciously.
And yet—
He could feel everything.
The shift in wind across the courtyard walls.
The faint movement of dust rising and settling.
The controlled breathing patterns of other students standing far behind him.
Even the slight hesitation in the instructor's stance—
