The sun hung low over Hastinapura, its golden light spilling across the palace walls, casting long shadows that stretched like fingers toward the Ganga. Devavrata rode through the city gates, the celestial bow slung across his back, its runes dim in the evening glow. Dust clung to his boots from days in the forest, his tunic worn from Parashurama's trials, but he'd come anyway, drawn by a pull he couldn't name. The cliff trial with Kshema lingered in his mind, their fragile truce a thread he didn't fully grasp, but today wasn't about that. Today was about Shantanu.
He dismounted near the palace steps, handing the reins to a guard whose eyes widened at the bow's faint shimmer. The grand hall loomed ahead, its crimson banners swaying in the breeze, and Devavrata climbed the stairs, his steps heavier than usual. Parashurama had pushed him to define himself, not just Ganga's son, not just a warrior, and the glade's quiet song still hummed in his chest. But Shantanu's face, proud yet distant, haunted him. He needed to see it again, to bridge the gap he'd felt since returning.
The hall was quiet, torches flickering along the walls, their light dancing on the stone. Shantanu sat on his throne, his crimson robe frayed at the edges, his silver-streaked hair framing a face worn by time. He looked up as Devavrata entered, his eyes lighting with a flicker of joy that dimmed into something else, wariness, maybe fear.
"Devavrata," Shantanu said, his voice warm but rough, like a riverbed gone dry. "You're back. The forest hasn't claimed you yet."
Devavrata stopped a few paces from the throne, bowing slightly. "Not yet, Father," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Parashurama's a hard teacher, but I'm learning."
Shantanu nodded, leaning forward, his hands gripping the throne's arms. "Learning? I hear tales, arrows bending wind, trials no mortal could face. You're more than I dreamed." He paused, his gaze drifting to the bow. "More than I dared hope."
Devavrata's chest tightened, the words a balm and a barb. "I'm trying to be," he said, stepping closer. "For you, for Hastinapura. But it's… far off, sometimes. You're here, and I'm out there."
Shantanu's smile faltered, his eyes clouding. "Far off," he echoed, his voice softer now. "I see you in glimpses, Ganga's gift, grown tall, fierce. I'm proud, son. But…" He trailed off, looking away, the torchlight catching the lines on his face.
"But what?" Devavrata pressed, his tone steady but searching. "You look at me like I'm a stranger. Why?"
Shantanu sighed, a sound heavy with years. "Not a stranger, a storm. You're more than I dreamed, why do I fear you?" He met Devavrata's gaze, raw and unguarded. "You carry her power, her shadow. I lost her once, I don't know how to hold what she left behind."
Devavrata stilled, the confession cutting deeper than he'd expected. "I'm not her," he said, his voice low, firm. "I'm your son, hers too, but yours. I'm not here to take anything away."
Shantanu's hands trembled, just a flicker, before he steadied them. "I know," he said, forcing a smile. "But you're bigger than this hall, this throne. I see it, and it humbles me." He stood, slow and stiff, and stepped down, closing the gap. "Stay tonight. Tell me of the forest, let me know you."
Devavrata nodded, the knot in his chest easing slightly. "I will," he said, and they sat by a brazier, the fire crackling as he spoke, of Parashurama's gruff lessons, the glade's song, Kshema's stubborn fire. Shantanu listened, his eyes softening, but the distance lingered, a quiet echo Devavrata couldn't bridge in one night.
Dawn broke crisp and clear, the forest calling him back. Devavrata rode out, Shantanu's words, why do I fear you?, ringing in his ears. He reached the training clearing, the Ganga's pulse a steady hum, and found Parashurama waiting, his axe planted in the earth, his grin sly as ever.
"You're late," the sage growled, tossing a quiver at Devavrata's feet. "City soften you up?"
Devavrata caught it, slinging it over his shoulder. "Not soft, just… thinking," he said, his tone quieter. "Saw my father. He's proud, but it's like he doesn't know me."
Parashurama grunted, picking up his bow. "Fathers," he said, his voice rough but warm. "They see you grow, and it scares them, means they're fading. What'd he say?"
"He fears me," Devavrata admitted, nocking an arrow. "Says I'm more than he dreamed, Ganga's shadow, maybe. I don't want that."
Parashurama's eyes narrowed, studying him. "Fear's not your burden, it's his. You're not her echo, river-son. You're you, define it, or he'll keep seeing her." He pointed to a target, a disk swinging in the breeze. "Shoot. Clear your head."
Devavrata drew the bow, its hum steadying him, and loosed, the arrow struck center, a clean thud. "I'm trying," he said, lowering it. "But it's hard, Ganga's gone, he's here, and I'm… caught between."
Parashurama stepped closer, his tone gruff but kind. "Caught's a choice. You're not their bridge, you're your own man. That bow's yours, not hers, not his. What do you want it to be?"
Devavrata paused, the question sinking in. "Strength," he said, his voice firming. "Not just for them, for me. To stand, no matter what."
Parashurama's grin returned, a rare warmth in it. "Good. Hold that, war'll test it soon enough." He turned, barking, "Again!" and Devavrata shot, the arrow splitting the first, the rhythm grounding him.
A shadow moved at the clearing's edge, Kshema, leaning against a tree, his crimson leather dulled by mud. He'd been watching, silent, his bow loose in his hand. "Family woes, river pup?" he called, his tone sharp but less biting. "Sounds rough."
Devavrata lowered his bow, meeting Kshema's gaze. "Rough's one word," he said, a faint smile tugging at him. "Yours any better?"
Kshema smirked, stepping closer. "Father's a stone, praises my brother, tolerates me. Same game, different players." He paused, his smirk fading. "You pulled me up yesterday. Why?"
Devavrata shrugged, wiping sweat from his brow. "Didn't feel like climbing alone. You're stubborn, useful, too, when you're not falling."
Kshema's laugh was short, grudging. "Useful, huh? Don't get soft, I'm still outshooting you." He nocked an arrow, firing at the target, near-center, solid but not Devavrata's split. "Close enough."
Parashurama snorted, his voice cutting in. "Close's for losers, noble's brat. You're both soft today, shoot till you're not." He trudged off, leaving them to it.
Kshema glanced at Devavrata, his eyes flickering, less venom, more curiosity. "Your father fears you, mine forgets me. Funny, isn't it?" He turned, firing again, the shot steady but off.
Devavrata watched, then drew his own bow, loosing a wind-shot that split Kshema's arrow. "Funny," he agreed, his tone light but firm. "But we're more than that, aren't we?"
Kshema's jaw tightened, his gaze lingering on the target. "Maybe," he muttered, slinging his bow over his shoulder. "Keep your wind tricks, I'll catch up." He walked off, his steps slow, a crack in his pride showing.
Devavrata stood alone, the clearing quiet save for the Ganga's whisper. He ran a hand over the bow, Shantanu's echo, why do I fear you?, mingling with Parashurama's push, Kshema's grudging shift. "More than that," he murmured, a vow to himself, to the father he'd reach, the rival he'd steady. The bow hummed, a song of his own, and he shot again, the arrow flying true into the dusk.