The dawn brought no clarity, only the harsh light of a new reality. As Anal dressed for the day's elemental training, the words "prize," "prophecy," and "keeper" echoed in his mind, a chaotic mantra that had replaced his once-orderly thoughts. The world, which had previously been governed by clear rules of duty and discipline, now felt like a shifting chessboard where he was the most important, and most vulnerable, piece.
He walked to the training grounds, the weight of Guru Vrish's revelations a tangible burden on his shoulders. The other disciples were already gathering, their laughter and casual chatter feeling alien and distant. His eyes found Neel immediately. He was standing slightly apart, stretching with a feigned nonchalance that didn't reach his eyes. There were dark circles under them, evidence of a sleepless night that mirrored Anal's own.
Their gazes met across the field. It was not the fiery clash of yesterday, nor the confused connection of their first meeting. This was something new, something heavy and silent—an acknowledgment of the secret world they now shared. Anal saw the tension in Neel's frame, the readiness for another confrontation, for accusations and anger.
But Anal remembered his decision. He gave a single, curt, almost imperceptible nod. It wasn't forgiveness. It wasn't friendship. It was a truce. An acknowledgment that the game had changed.
A flicker of surprise, then wary understanding, passed through Neel's blue eyes. He gave a slight nod in return before turning away, the set of his shoulders relaxing a fraction.
The elemental training began. Acharya Varun instructed them to focus on their inner energy, to feel the core of their power and manifest it. One by one, the disciples complied. Dhara made the earth tremble softly. Vayu summoned a gentle whirlwind that plucked leaves from the trees. Ambar, the quiet prince, caused the air around him to shimmer with a faint, electric charge.
Anal closed his eyes, seeking the familiar heat within. But today, it was different. The "dormant inferno" the Guru had spoken of felt restless, agitated by the turmoil in his heart. When he opened his palms, flames erupted—not the controlled, steady fire he usually produced, but wild, snapping tongues of orange and red that licked hungrily at the air. He tried to rein them in, to focus, but the memory of the serpent dagger, the gravelly voice, the feeling of being a object, fueled the blaze. The flames roared higher, dangerously close to igniting a nearby wooden training post.
A collective gasp went through the disciples. Anal gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead, fighting a losing battle for control.
Suddenly, a cool mist filled the air around him. It was followed by a gentle shower of water, falling only on the raging flames and the scorching heat around his hands. The fire hissed and sputtered, dying down to a manageable flicker. Anal looked up, his chest heaving.
Neel stood a few feet away, his hands outstretched, his expression unreadable. He had used his water element, not in challenge, but in aid. He had controlled it with a precision that spoke of immense focus, cooling the flames without drenching Anal, a perfect, restrained counterbalance.
"Control your breath, Prince Anal," Neel said, his voice neutral, carrying no mockery, no hidden meaning. It was a simple instruction, the kind one disciple might give another. "The fire reflects the spirit. A turbulent spirit breeds a turbulent flame."
It was the same lesson the Acharyas had given a hundred times. But coming from Neel, in the wake of everything, it felt different. It felt like the first lesson of his "true training."
Anal, still catching his breath, gave another nod. "My thanks," he muttered, the words foreign on his tongue.
Neel simply inclined his head and returned to his place.
The rest of the session passed in a blur. Anal managed to produce a steady, controlled flame, his focus sharpened by the near-disaster and Neel's unexpected intervention. He watched Neel from the corner of his eye. The other prince was practicing his own forms, streams of water weaving around his hands like liquid ribbons. There was a grace to it, a deep, fluid strength that Anal had been too blinded by rivalry to appreciate.
When the session ended, the disciples began to disperse. Anal found himself walking beside Neel, their paths converging towards the refectory. The silence between them was thick, but the hostility had evaporated, replaced by a precarious and unspoken understanding.
"You controlled it well," Anal said finally, the words feeling awkward. "The water."
Neel glanced at him, a ghost of his old smirk touching his lips. "And you burn brighter than ever. It seems the night's adventures have... stoked your fire."
It was a risky comment, skirting the edge of their secret. But for the first time, Anal didn't hear mockery in it. He heard an invitation. An offer to speak of it, if he wished.
Before Anal could formulate a response, a frantic voice cut through the morning air.
"Prince Anal! Prince Neel!"
They both turned to see a young, lower-level disciple running towards them, his face pale with fear. He skidded to a halt before them, gasping for breath.
"Acharya Vrish... he demands your presence. Immediately," the boy panted, his eyes wide. "He said... he said it's about the man from the forest. They... they found something. Something he left behind."
"He said it's a message," the disciple whispered, his voice trembling, "and it's addressed to both of you."
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