The fracture did not vanish.
It lingered.
Thinner than before, less unstable, but undeniably present—like a scar in the air that refused to heal completely.
The training ground remained cleared, the distant students kept away under strict instruction, and an unusual silence had settled over the Gurukul. Even the wind seemed hesitant to pass through that space.
Karna stood a few steps away from the fracture, his posture relaxed but his awareness fully engaged. He was no longer trying to close it immediately. That instinct—to fix, to restore—had been replaced by something more measured.
Understanding.
Because forcing balance without knowing the cause—
Was no different than breaking it further.
Duryodhana stood to his right, mace resting against his shoulder, eyes fixed on the anomaly with a mixture of irritation and curiosity.
"I don't like it just sitting there," he said, his voice low but firm. "It feels like it's watching."
Karna did not deny it.
"Because it is."
