The forest buzzed with a restless morning, the air thick with mist that clung to the leaves like a shroud. Devavrata stood at the edge of a cliff, the celestial bow in hand, its runes glinting faintly through the haze. Below, a gorge yawned wide, its depths lost in shadow, the wind howling up from it in sharp, biting gusts. Parashurama had summoned him here at dawn, his gruff "Be ready" still echoing in Devavrata's ears. But he wasn't alone, Kshema stood a few paces off, his crimson leather stark against the gray, his bow gripped tight, his scowl deeper than usual.
Parashurama emerged from the mist, his broad frame a wall of scars and steel, the axe slung over his shoulder. His eyes flicked between them, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "You two," he said, his voice a rough growl, "are a pair of thorns, prickly, stubborn. Time to see if you can work together or just bleed each other dry."
Devavrata raised an eyebrow, glancing at Kshema. "Together?"
Kshema snorted, crossing his arms. "With him? I'd rather shoot blindfolded again."
Parashurama's grin widened, his tone sharp. "You'll wish you were blind when this is done. Look there, " He pointed across the gorge to a jagged cliff-face, where a crimson banner fluttered, tied to a gnarled tree fifty paces up. "Your trial. Get that banner. Bring it back. Both of you."
Devavrata squinted, the wind tugging at his hair. "What's the catch?"
"The catch," Parashurama said, stepping back, "is them." He raised his axe, its edge flashing, and struck the ground. The earth trembled, a low hum rising, and the wind sharpened, swirling into shapes, translucent forms with eyes like storm clouds. Wind spirits, their howls a chorus of menace, spiraled around the banner, guarding it like hounds.
Kshema cursed under his breath, his bow shifting in his grip. "Spirits? You're mad, old man."
"Mad keeps you sharp," Parashurama shot back, planting the axe in the mud. "Move, or I'll toss you both in myself."
Devavrata nodded, slinging his bow over his shoulder. "We climb, then. You ready?"
Kshema's scowl deepened, but he jerked his head. "Don't slow me down, river pup." He started toward the cliff, his steps quick, reckless, and Devavrata followed, the wind's howl growing louder.
The climb began, hands gripping slick stone, boots scraping for footholds. The spirits circled above, their gusts battering the cliff, sending pebbles rattling down. Devavrata moved steady, methodical, testing each hold. Kshema surged ahead, his fingers clawing at the rock, his breath sharp with impatience.
"Slow down," Devavrata called, his voice cutting through the wind. "You'll slip."
Kshema glared back, his hair whipping in the gusts. "Worry about yourself, I don't need your nursemaid act." He lunged for a ledge, his grip faltering as a spirit dove, its howl a blast that tore at his hands. He slipped, boots dangling, a grunt escaping him.
Devavrata lunged, grabbing Kshema's wrist, his own hold straining against the rock. "Told you," he said, his voice tight, pulling Kshema up. "Reckless gets us killed."
Kshema yanked his arm free, his face flushed, eyes blazing. "Don't touch me, I had it!" He scrambled higher, faster, as if to prove it, leaving Devavrata shaking his head.
They neared the banner, the spirits thickening, their gusts a wall of force. Devavrata drew his bow, nocking an arrow, the runes flaring. "Cover me," he said, glancing at Kshema. "I'll clear them."
Kshema smirked, drawing his own bow. "Cover you? Fine, don't miss." He loosed a shot, the arrow streaking through a spirit, dispersing it into mist. Devavrata fired, summoning wind with his shot, the arrow spiraled, scattering two more, their howls fading into the gorge.
They climbed side by side now, arrows flying, spirits thinning. But Kshema pushed ahead again, reaching for the banner, his fingers brushing the crimson cloth. A spirit surged, its gust slamming him back, his footing gone. He fell, a yell ripping from him, arms flailing.
Devavrata dove, snagging Kshema's arm, his own body slamming against the cliff. Pain flared in his shoulder, the rock biting deep, but he held, muscles screaming. "Got you," he grunted, hauling Kshema up to a ledge. "Stay put this time."
Kshema slumped against the stone, breathing hard, his pride cracked. "I… didn't need that," he muttered, but his eyes flicked away, avoiding Devavrata's.
"Sure you didn't," Devavrata said, his tone dry but softer. He drew his bow again, firing a wind-shot that blasted the last spirit clear. The banner fluttered free, and he grabbed it, tucking it into his belt. "Let's go."
The descent was slower, quieter, the wind spirits gone, the gorge a silent maw below. Kshema climbed beside him, his movements steadier, though his scowl lingered. They reached the bottom, boots sinking into the mud, the banner clutched in Devavrata's hand.
Parashurama waited, his axe planted, his grin sly. "Alive, I see," he said, his voice a rumble. "Banner's mine, hand it over."
Devavrata tossed it to him, wiping sweat from his brow. "We got it. Together."
Kshema snorted, brushing dirt from his leather. "Barely. River pup's wind tricks did most of it."
Parashurama's eyes narrowed, stepping closer. "Tricks? I saw you dangling, twice. He saved your hide, noble's brat. Say it."
Kshema's jaw tightened, his fists clenching, but he met Devavrata's gaze, a long, grudging look. "Fine," he said, his voice low, rough. "You're good, damn good. That bow's not all of it." He paused, the admission cutting deeper than he'd meant. "But don't think this changes anything."
Devavrata nodded, his expression calm but searching. "It doesn't have to. You held your own up there, reckless, but sharp. We made it work."
Kshema's smirk flickered, faint and tense. "Work? Barely. I'm not your partner, river pup, just stuck with you." He turned away, his shoulders stiff, the truce hanging thin between them.
Parashurama laughed, a deep, rolling sound. "Stuck's a start. You two are a mess, pride and duty, clawing at each other. But you got the banner." He slung the axe over his shoulder, nodding to Devavrata. "You kept him alive, good. And you, " he jabbed a finger at Kshema, "swallow that ego, or it'll choke you."
Kshema glared, but his retort died as Devavrata spoke, his voice steady, low. "We rise together, or not at all, choose." He held Kshema's gaze, the banner's weight a silent proof between them. "You're more than a shadow, Kshema. Prove it your way."
Kshema froze, the words hitting hard, cracking the shell of his pride. His eyes flickered, anger, doubt, a spark of something else. "Together?" he muttered, almost to himself. "You're a fool, river-son." He turned, trudging into the mist, his bow slung loose, but his steps lacked their usual bite.
Parashurama watched him go, then glanced at Devavrata, his grin sly but warm. "He's a storm, wild, messy. You're steadying him, whether he likes it or not."
Devavrata shrugged, the celestial bow resting in his grip. "He's stubborn, fights himself more than me. But he's got fire."
"Fire's good," Parashurama said, nodding. "If it doesn't burn him out. Rest up, tomorrow's worse." He headed off, leaving Devavrata alone by the cliff.
The mist thickened, the gorge's howl fading to a whisper. Devavrata sat, the banner's crimson edge peeking from his belt, and ran a hand over the bow. Kshema's words, grudging, sharp, echoed alongside his own offer. We rise together. He'd meant it, not just for the trial, but for something bigger, a thread of trust he hadn't expected.
The Ganga's pulse thrummed in the distance, a steady beat, and he thought of the glade, the bow's song. This was different, tangled, rough, but real. Kshema's conflict lingered, a choice unmade, and Devavrata leaned back against the rock, ready for whatever came next.