The forest woke with dawn's first breath, a faint light threading through the canopy, casting long shadows over the earth. Devavrata stood at the ashram's edge, the celestial bow resting on his shoulder, its runes glinting softly. Yesterday's tension hung in his mind, the dry laugh from the trees, Parashurama's curt mention of Dronaresh, a fallen king too weak to merit his axe. His hands, still sore from Vayu's reins, clenched briefly, the Ganga's pulse a steady hum beneath his skin. He scanned the woods, the air crisp with pine and the promise of a hunt.
Parashurama stepped from the trees, his frame broad and unyielding, the axe at his side a gleam of cold steel. His voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "No straw targets today, river-son. A boar roams the deep woods, you'll hunt it down."
Devavrata turned, his stance firm. "By myself?"
The sage's grin flashed, fierce and knowing. "Not this time. You'll lead." He waved a hand, and two figures emerged, a wiry youth with a short bow, eyes flickering with nerves, and a taller one, lean and weathered, his gaze steady. "Aruni, a farmer's lad. Vikrama, a prince without a kingdom. They follow you."
Aruni edged closer, his voice low and shaky. "I've never hunted a boar before. They're dangerous, aren't they?"
Devavrata met his eyes, his tone calm but solid. "They are, but we'll manage. Stay near me, Aruni."
Vikrama gave a short nod, his words clipped. "I've tracked boar, fast and tough. You're in charge?"
"Yes," Devavrata said, sizing up the prince's quiet strength. "You track. I'll lead. Aruni, watch behind us."
Parashurama's grunt carried a hint of approval. "Fair enough. Bring me tusks by dusk, or don't bother returning." He turned, his voice cutting back. "Noble's son, you're hunting too. Alone."
Kshema strode up, his crimson leather stark in the dim light, bow in hand. "Alone's my way, axe-man. No dragging dead weight." His smirk darted to Devavrata, edged with scorn. "Keep your little band in line, river-son."
Devavrata held his gaze, unflinching. "We'll see whose kill weighs more."
Parashurama's laugh was a low growl, rough and brief. "Get moving, the boar won't wait." He walked off, axe scraping the dirt, leaving them to the forest's embrace.
Devavrata shifted his bow, turning to Aruni and Vikrama. "Head north, boars root in wet ground. Let's go."
Vikrama crouched, brushing a finger over the soil. "Fresh prints here. This direction." He led the way, steps silent, blending into the trees.
Aruni followed, gripping his bow tight. "They've got big tusks, right? My father lost a calf to one once."
"They do," Devavrata said, keeping his voice steady. "Stay alert, they charge hard. We'll handle it."
Aruni swallowed, his shoulders easing slightly. "If you say so."
The woods grew dense, branches snapping at their cloaks, the air thick with damp earth and decay. Vikrama stopped, pointing to a patch of churned mud, deep hoofmarks, fresh and wide. "It's close," he said, voice low. "Hear that grunt?"
A rough snort sounded ahead, heavy and close. Devavrata nocked an arrow, keeping his tone quiet. "Spread out, Vikrama left, Aruni right. I'll bring it into the open."
Vikrama moved smoothly, bow ready. "It'll either run or ram us. Make your shot count."
Aruni hesitated, his breath quick. "What if it comes at me?"
"Fire first," Devavrata said, firm and clear. "I won't let it reach you."
The boar charged from the brush, black and bristled, tusks curved and deadly, a snorting fury. Devavrata loosed, the arrow sinking into its shoulder, slowing its rush. It swung toward Vikrama, who fired, a solid hit to its side, drawing a roar. Aruni flinched, his bow trembling, but Devavrata stepped up, loosing again, the arrow pierced its neck, dropping the beast with a heavy thud.
Vikrama lowered his bow, exhaling. "Good shot. You've done this before."
"By the river," Devavrata said, wiping blood from his fingers. "Mostly deer. You hit well too."
Aruni stared at the boar, voice soft with awe. "We killed it?"
"You stood your ground," Devavrata said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "That's what matters."
Vikrama gave a small, tight smile. "He's raw, but he didn't bolt. That's something."
Aruni looked down, a shy grin breaking through. "Didn't shoot, though."
"You will," Devavrata said, keeping it light. "One step at a time."
They tied the boar's legs to a branch, lifting it together, the weight shared as they headed back. Vikrama spoke up, his tone even. "You're not what I thought, Ganga's son. No airs about you."
Devavrata glanced at him, curious. "Thought I'd be different?"
"More like my father," Vikrama said, adjusting his hold. "He strutted, lost everything. You're solid."
"Solid's what I want," Devavrata replied, Shantanu's distant words flickering in his mind. "Titles don't kill boars."
Aruni piped up, his voice stronger now. "My father says it's grit that keeps the fields going. Same for this?"
"Close enough," Devavrata said, a faint warmth in his tone. "Grit keeps us standing."
The ashram came into view, smoke curling from its fires, the sun sinking low. Parashurama stood waiting, axe planted in the ground, his eyes on their prize. "Tusks," he said, voice rough. "Clean work, river-son's doing?"
"Ours," Devavrata answered, standing tall. "Vikrama found the trail, Aruni held fast."
Parashurama nodded, short and sharp. "Holding's a start. Tracking's proven."
Steps thudded behind, late and heavy. Kshema approached, dragging a larger boar, its hide rough with old scars, tusks thick and jagged, blood streaking his leather. "Late?" he snapped, dropping it at Parashurama's feet. "Bigger's worth it, solo."
Parashurama's eyes narrowed, his voice cold. "Big doesn't win wars, late loses them. Take your nod, noble's son."
Kshema's jaw tightened, his smirk a thin line. "A nod for this? I don't need your pack, river-son." He pushed past Devavrata, his shoulder jarring hard.
Devavrata steadied himself, watching Kshema go. "A pack gets it done," he said, voice clear, testing the air.
Kshema stopped, turning back, his eyes sharp with defiance. "I don't need your pack, river-son. Never will." He strode into the trees, leaving his kill to bleed out in the dirt.
Parashurama lifted his axe, his grin sly. "One hunts alone, one binds strength. See the difference, river-son."
Devavrata gave a small nod, the boar's tusks heavy in his grip. Aruni stepped closer, voice low. "He's mad, isn't he?"
"Proud," Devavrata said, his gaze on Kshema's trail. "I've felt that, doubting everything, leaning on nothing."
Vikrama cleaned his blade, his tone dry. "Pride breaks before it bends."
Devavrata's lips twitched, a shadow of his own past doubts surfacing, nights by the Ganga, alone. Here, though, Aruni's trust and Vikrama's respect took root, small but real. He carried the boar forward, the ashram's glow ahead, the forest's rhythm steady.
Dusk settled, shadows stretching long and dark. A snap broke the quiet, not a twig, not the wind. Devavrata paused, bow shifting in his hand, voice low. "Wait."
Aruni tensed, his whisper quick. "What's that?"
Vikrama nocked an arrow, eyes scanning. "Something's out there, close."
The snap came again, sharper, and a shadow moved, thin, ragged, slipping through the trees. Devavrata's grip tightened, the runes pulsing faintly, and a low rasp echoed, a voice, mocking and bitter, cutting through the gloom.