Sleep came easy after the long day in the city—but morning came faster.

  Surya woke before sunrise, the old rhythm of discipline tugging him from bed even though he wasn’t required to report anywhere. The palace was quiet, its corridors lit only by dim oil lamps. He washed, dressed in training clothes, tied his hair, and stepped out into the crisp dawn air.

  The training grounds of Indraprastha lay to the east of the palace—a vast courtyard of sand, stone platforms, dummies, weapon racks, and open fields where soldiers drilled from morning to dusk. Even from a distance he could hear the familiar sounds: the rhythmic clash of metal, the grunt of exertion, the barked orders of instructors.

  His feet carried him forward almost unconsciously.

  He had spent half his life in this place.

  Half learning.

  Half failing.

  Half rising again.

  He smiled faintly at the memories.

  When he stepped through the archway, he found the grounds already alive with movement. Rows of royal guards practiced synchronized spear drills. Archers drew and released in steady rhythm. A group of palace warriors sparred barehanded, their footwork precise.

  Then—

  “There he is!”

  Meera came jogging over, stretching her arms above her head. “I knew you’d be here. You can’t resist training even after a break.”

  “Could say the same for you.”

  She smirked. “Who said I wanted a break?”

  Virat appeared next, hair still messy from sleep, rubbing his eyes. “I heard clanging… thought something was happening. Should’ve known it was just you two lunatics.”

  “You could’ve stayed in bed,” Surya said dryly.

  Virat shrugged. “You think I’ll let you get stronger while I sleep? Absolutely not.”

  Dharan followed, carrying a wooden practice mallet that looked small in his massive hand. Varun wandered in behind him, half-distracted by a flock of birds overhead. Pratap arrived last, spear polished, posture sharp.

  “Seems we’re all drawn to the same place,” Surya said.

  Dharan nodded. “A warrior’s rest is in work.”

  Meera rolled her eyes. “Please don’t turn into Vashrya.”

  They began lightly—stretching, footwork, breathing. Even in the calm dawn, Surya could feel the change in all of them.

  Dharan’s movements were smoother than before, grounded and deliberate.

  Meera’s speed had sharpened into something like lightning.

  Varun’s steps were quieter, almost invisible between motions.

  Pratap’s discipline was sharper than ever; every stance perfect.

  Virat… had grown terrifyingly fast.

  Surya watched them each, impressed.

  They had all grown—changed, shaped by halls of mantra they couldn’t use but whose teachings they absorbed. By battles survived. By walking beside him.

  Surya exhaled, feeling his own strength settle in his limbs. Kashi had changed him too. The elements stirred beneath his skin—Fire’s simmer, Water’s flow, Wind’s whisper. Earth’s quiet strength lay deeper still.

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  He felt… balanced.

  A new version of himself.

  The sun rose higher. Servants began setting buckets of water by the training posts. Off-duty soldiers drifted in, curious.

  “Pair up!” Meera called suddenly. “First spar of the morning!”

  She pointed at Surya. “You. With me.”

  Surya raised a brow. “Aggressive so early?”

  “Aggressive always.”

  Virat groaned. “If those two start, they’ll tear the ground again.”

  Dharan grinned. “Better than tearing each other.”

  Pratap and Varun paired off at the far end—Pratap’s precise spearwork against Varun’s slippery movements. Dharan practiced two-on-one drills with spare guards.

  Surya and Meera circled each other in the center.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Always.”

  The spar began.

  Meera struck first—fast, a blur of motion. Surya dodged, pivoted, and countered. She twisted mid-step, blocked, and slammed her elbow near his shoulder. He ducked, swept her leg, and she hopped lightly, springing off his shoulder and flipping backward.

  Her grin widened. “Not bad!”

  “Likewise.”

  She lunged again—this time with surprising precision. Surya caught her wrist, redirected, and spun her momentum into a gentle throw.

  She landed on her feet.

  Everyone watching murmured.

  Virat, from behind, shouted, “Stop showing off, both of you!”

  Meera barked a laugh and tried a sweeping kick. Surya twisted in the air, landed, and swept back. Their motions synced—two warriors who trusted each other completely.

  At one point, Surya almost used Wind to accelerate—

  —but caught himself.

  He needed to measure his strength. The world didn’t know the full extent of what Kashi had taught him.

  Meera noticed something in his restraint. She didn’t comment. She simply smirked.

  Then she suddenly lunged—

  And Surya mirrored her motion perfectly.

  A soft silence followed as their fists stopped inches from each other’s heads.

  The spar ended with a draw.

  Gasps and quiet cheers broke around them.

  “You’ve improved,” Surya said.

  “You’ve grown weirdly calm,” she countered. “I don’t hate it.”

  Virat stepped into the center next, rolling his shoulders.

  “Surya,” he called. “Me next.”

  Surya blinked. “Now?”

  “Yes,” Virat said with a strange seriousness. “You and me.”

  Meera’s grin widened wickedly. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

  Dharan muttered, “Try not to break the training ground.”

  Pratap and Varun paused their spar to watch.

  Surya stepped into the circle.

  Virat lowered into stance.

  No teasing.

  No laughter.

  Just two warriors—old rivals, newly equal—meeting again.

  Surya remembered their duel in the Rangashala.

  Virat had underestimated him back then.

  This time, Virat’s aura was sharp, steady, deadly focused.

  “I’ve trained hard,” Virat said. “Harder than ever. And I want to see… how much the gap has closed.”

  Surya met his gaze. “Then come.”

  Virat moved.

  And Surya immediately felt it.

  Not just strength.

  Not just speed.

  But precision.

  Virat’s footwork was Garuda-forged.

  His grip—stable and refined.

  His presence—balanced, centered.

  He had grown.

  Truly grown.

  Surya blocked, stepped, countered. Virat redirected, rolled, and struck again. Their movements collided like flint to steel—sparks but no fire, competition without malice.

  Surya was not giving full strength.

  Virat did not need him to.

  What he needed—what he wanted—was acknowledgment.

  After a sharp exchange, Virat forced Surya back a single step.

  Gasps.

  Even Surya blinked.

  He smiled.

  Virat grinned back breathlessly.

  Then Surya ended it with a deft sweep and a controlled pin.

  But the point had been made.

  Virat stood, brushing dust from his arm. “I’m getting closer.”

  Surya nodded. “You are.”

  Meera clapped. “About time!”

  The group continued sparring.

  Rotations changed.

  Sweat poured.

  Laughter rose.

  And on the balcony above, unseen by most, Maharaja Veerajit watched.

  His eyes held quiet analysis.

  Quiet pride.

  Quiet fear.

  They were young.

  Too young for the burdens ahead.

  But they grew quickly—faster than he had expected.

  Behind him, Queen Maitreyi whispered, “You see? They are strong.”

  “Yes,” Veerajit said quietly. “And they will need to be even stronger.”

  He lingered a moment longer before turning away.

  Below, Surya felt something—like being watched—but did not look up.

  He only tightened his stance and prepared for the next drill.

  The day went on with sweat, struggle, and steel.

  And Surya understood something he hadn’t before:

  He was no longer the only one growing.

  His companions were rising beside him.

  And together, they were becoming something formidable.