Dawn in Nandivana did not wake gently.
It roared into life.
Trumpets sounded from the palace towers.
Drums thrummed through the courtyards like thunder.
Priests chanted in the predawn gloom, summoning strength from gods that watched unseen.
Arjun was already awake.
He hadn't slept much — not after the king's icy decree, not after killing a man, not after seeing Tara's eyes harden with duty.
Blade was curled against him, tiny body radiating warmth, but his golden eyes flickered open the instant Arjun stirred.
"You ready?" Arjun whispered.
Blade licked his cheek.
Arjun smiled shakily.
"Good. Because I'm not."
He stood, pulled on simple training garments a servant had left — cotton tunic, loose pants, cloth wraps for wrists and shins.
When he stepped outside, the morning air kissed his skin with cold and promise.
Tara was already waiting.
She leaned against a carved pillar in the courtyard, spear strapped to her back, hair braided neatly, silver circlet gleaming against her brow.
She looked like she belonged in a painting — a warrior princess etched in dawnlight.
But her eyes were tired.
And when they landed on Arjun, something in her expression softened.
"You came early," she said.
Arjun shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."
"Good. The first lesson of battle — sleep is a luxury."
Arjun winced. "Ouch."
Blade hopped beside him, tail stiff like a sword.
Tara smiled faintly at the cub.
"He likes mornings."
"He likes anything where he thinks someone might get hit," Arjun muttered.
Blade barked in enthusiastic agreement.
They walked together toward the training grounds.
The palace opened into a vast arena of packed earth, stone platforms, archery lanes, sparring circles painted in white chalk.
Warriors were already swinging spears, practicing sword forms, shouting cadences.
Every eye turned when Arjun entered.
Whispers rose like wind through dry grass.
"That's him."
"The Ashkiran brat."
"He's cursed."
"No— chosen."
"Princess Tara brought him."
Arjun stiffened.
Tara stepped slightly ahead of him — not enough to block him, but enough that people had to look at her first.
An unspoken shield.
Arjun's chest warmed — embarrassed, grateful, something else tangled in.
Then a voice cut through the murmurs:
"So this is the boy?"
A teenager strode forward — tall, muscular, with a smug smirk carved onto his face.
His armor was polished too perfectly, his hair tied back like he had practiced the look in front of a mirror.
Prince Rudra.
Tara's stepbrother.
His gaze raked over Arjun like he was examining a stray dog.
"You're smaller than I expected," Rudra said loudly.
Tara's voice edged colder.
"Rudra, not now."
"Oh, now is perfect," Rudra chuckled, twirling a spear.
"Father allows a stranger to live in our walls after assassins breach the gate, and I'm not even allowed to inspect the blade they bleed for? Seems unfair."
Arjun swallowed a response.
Tara's tone sharpened.
"He is here as a guest—"
"Not until he proves himself," Rudra cut her off.
"Anyone can hide behind a princess."
Arjun stepped forward, jaw tight.
"I didn't ask her to."
Rudra's smirk widened.
"Oh? And what will you do without her shadow? Fight me with your cub?"
Blade growled — surprisingly deep, not cute.
Rudra laughed.
"Look at that! The mutt thinks he's a tiger."
Arjun felt heat burn through him — anger, but also shame.
He lifted Blade protectively.
Tara moved between them — not touching Arjun, but close enough to feel her steadiness.
"Rudra, enough," she snapped.
Rudra raised his hands innocently.
"Just testing his spirit. Father said he would train. So let him."
He clapped loudly.
"Master Krish!"
From the edge of the field, a lean man with skin weathered by sun and years approached — eyes sharp, posture straight as a blade.
His voice was sandpaper and storm.
"You summoned me, Prince?"
"Train the boy," Rudra ordered.
"And don't hold back."
Krish's eyes flicked to Arjun — measuring.
Not pitying, not mocking — assessing.
"Very well."
Training began brutally.
No introductions.
No warm-up.
No gentle learning curve.
Krish tossed Arjun a wooden staff.
"Stance."
Arjun stood awkwardly.
"No. Stance."
Krish's stick cracked against Arjun's shin.
"Ow—!"
Arjun shifted.
Crack — another hit.
"Your center is open," Krish said flatly.
"Do you wish to offer your spleen to the first enemy politely?"
Arjun gritted his teeth and moved again.
Blade barked protectively.
Tara watched, fists clenched at her sides — wanting to step in, forcing herself not to.
"Again," Krish ordered.
Arjun adjusted.
Krish stared.
"Now we may begin."
And he attacked.
Arjun barely dodged.
Wood slammed into his ribs.
His world flashed white with pain.
He gasped, stumbled, and swung wildly — completely missing.
Krish didn't stop.
Strike.
Parry.
Sweep.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
Arjun hit the dirt a dozen times.
Rudra laughed loudly from the sidelines.
"Ashkiran, huh? Looks like Ashkitten!"
Tara didn't laugh.
Her eyes burned — frustration, sympathy, a stab of worry she killed before anyone could see.
Arjun spat dirt and forced himself up.
He remembered Mumbai.
His mother coughing in the dark.
The empty wallet.
The grinding ache of helplessness.
Never again.
He raised his staff again, trembling.
Krish's lip twitched — approval, microscopic.
"Good. Stand until your legs fail."
He swept low.
Arjun jumped — too slow.
Crack.
His ankle buckled.
Arjun crashed hard.
Blade howled — a sound that crackled with something more than nature.
Golden sparks flickered across his fur — momentary, gone in a heartbeat.
Tara saw — and her breath caught.
Blade was changing.
Krish paused — only briefly — then nodded.
"You have allies," he said.
"But allies die if you cannot stand for yourself."
Arjun forced himself upright again, limbs shaking.
"I'm not done."
"You are," Krish said finally.
"For today."
Arjun blinked — he expected more punishment.
Krish pointed toward Tara.
"Drink. Eat. Heal. Tomorrow, we see if you learned."
Rudra scoffed.
"Pathetic."
Arjun looked up — sweat and dirt streaking his face.
But instead of snapping back, he smiled — tired, stubborn, honest.
"Yeah? Then come here and fight me yourself."
Gasps rippled across the courtyard.
Rudra froze — surprise breaking through his smugness.
Tara's eyes widened — equal parts dread and pride.
Krish actually smiled — a rare sight.
"The cub has claws."
Rudra's smirk returned slowly.
"Careful, boy. One day I might take you up on that."
Tara stepped forward.
"Not today."
Their eyes locked.
Brother and sister.
Fire and stone.
Rudra spat on the ground and stormed off.
When he was gone, Tara knelt beside Arjun.
She pressed a cool cloth to his bruises — her fingers gentle, careful.
"You should have paced yourself," she murmured.
"I don't pace," Arjun muttered.
"I... fall. A lot."
Tara's laugh — small, reluctant — escaped.
Blade curled in Arjun's lap, eyes half-closed, fur glowing faintly with every breath.
Arjun brushed one ear.
"You're changing," he whispered.
Tara nodded slowly.
"He is more than a wolf. Familiars are rare. They bond to power."
Arjun blinked.
"Power? Me?"
Tara's voice softened.
"Not yet. But I think the gods are betting on you."
Arjun stared at her — really stared.
Warrior.
Princess.
Priestess-to-be.
Shield.
Storm.
And yet, right now, she was kneeling on dusty ground, tending his scrapes like he mattered.
His chest tightened — confusing, warm, terrifying.
"Tara," he murmured.
She met his gaze — steady, unreadable, lightning behind clouds.
"Yes?"
He opened his mouth — to thank her, to joke, to confess something he didn't understand—
The ground trembled.
A distant roar split the air — not human, not beast, something in between.
Training stopped.
Birds scattered.
Soldiers seized weapons.
Krish turned toward the northern wall.
"Something has crossed the river," he said quietly.
"And it is coming here."
Arjun's heart spiked.
Tara stood, spear sliding free with a metallic whisper.
"Your training," she said, eyes burning with fierce promise, "starts now."
Blade growled — fur glowing brighter with a golden sheen.
Arjun tightened his grip on the staff.
No fear this time.
Only fire.
To be continued...