The forest draped itself in night, moonlight threading through the branches, casting faint silver pools on the ground. Devavrata stood just beyond the ashram, the celestial bow in his grip, its runes glowing softly in the dark. Yesterday's stillness clung to him, a calm he'd carved out, but the rustle from the grove lingered, Dronaresh's shadow a nagging itch. His fingers tightened, the Ganga's pulse a steady beat, as he peered into the woods.
Kshema stepped out from the shadows, his crimson leather catching the light, bow slung over his shoulder. His smirk was tight, restless, his eyes sharp with a dare. "Night hunt, river-son. Word is there's a bear out there, you up for it?"
Devavrata turned, eyeing him. "A bear? Now?"
"Cold feet?" Kshema said, his voice edged, pushing. "Thought you'd match me, prove it." He adjusted his quiver, closing the gap. "I'm going, with or without you."
Devavrata held his stare, weighing it. "Not about fear, it's late. I'll come."
Kshema's grin flashed, quick and smug. "Good, keep up." He turned, heading into the trees, his stride bold, eager.
Devavrata followed, bow at the ready, the forest swallowing them in its hush, crickets buzzing, leaves shifting, the air thick with earth. Kshema moved fast, a red blur ahead, cutting through the undergrowth. "Bear's near the ridge," he called back, voice low, excited. "I'll take it, alone."
"Your call," Devavrata said, matching his pace, keeping his tone level. "I'm here if it goes sideways."
Kshema huffed, brushing it off. "Sideways? I'll handle it, you'll see." He pressed on, the woods growing dense, branches snagging, roots jutting, moonlight thinning.
Devavrata tracked him, senses sharp, the Ganga's rhythm guiding him through the dark. Kshema's pride was a fire, bright, reckless, the same heat from the duel, the storm. That rustle from yesterday tugged at him, Dronaresh, a test, but this was Kshema's chase now.
A deep growl rolled through the trees, rough and close, a bear, real enough. Kshema stopped, nocking an arrow, his smirk fading to focus. "Got it," he whispered, edging forward, bow taut. "This one's mine."
Devavrata closed in, voice quiet. "Hold up, check the ground first."
"Check?" Kshema shot back, glaring over his shoulder. "It's right there, I'm not waiting." He broke into a sprint, chasing the sound, vanishing into the thicket.
Devavrata swore softly, moving after him, the forest a tangle of shadow and snag. The growl swelled, louder, fiercer, then a glint caught his eye, metal, hidden in the leaves. "Kshema, stop!" he yelled, lunging as spikes, rusted, jagged, sprang from the dirt, aimed at Kshema's chest. He grabbed Kshema's arm, pulling hard, both crashing back as the trap snapped shut, empty, its teeth gleaming.
Kshema hit the ground, gasping, bow slipping from his hand. He stared at the spikes, breath hitching, then up at Devavrata, his glare wide, unsteady. "What was that?"
"Trap," Devavrata said, voice calm, hauling him up. "You didn't spot it, too quick."
Kshema yanked his arm free, staggering to his feet, voice rough but shaky. "I was fine, had the bear!" He grabbed his bow, brushing off dirt, his hands trembling despite the bravado.
Devavrata stayed quiet, bow still in hand, watching him steady himself. The spikes stood out, crude, deliberate, not bear-made, not random. He didn't push, didn't say more, just let Kshema catch his breath.
Kshema glared at the trap, then at Devavrata, his jaw clenched. "I didn't need you, but thanks," he mumbled, the words grudging, raw, a crack in his wall. He turned, gripping his bow tighter, and headed back, pride dented but holding.
Devavrata lingered, staring at the spikes, iron, old, set with intent. Not chance, Dronaresh's spite, maybe, Parashurama's test taking shape. He followed Kshema's trail, the forest still, the growl fading into the night.
A figure stood at the wood's edge, Parashurama, silent, his axe a dark gleam. His eyes met Devavrata's, a slow nod passing between them, approval in the sage's quiet watch. He slipped back into the trees, gone as quick as he'd appeared.
Devavrata reached Kshema near the ashram, the noble's steps slower now, his bow hanging loose. "Tight spot," Devavrata said, keeping it easy, testing.
Kshema didn't look back, his voice low. "Tight's nothing, I'd have made it." His eyes flicked over, shaken but stubborn, doubt buried deep.
"Could've," Devavrata said, leaving it there, no edge. "Bear's still waiting."
Kshema snorted, a faint echo of his usual bite. "Next time, no traps, no help." He pushed ahead, vanishing into the ashram's faint light, his stance rigid, clinging to what he had left.
Devavrata paused at the threshold, the forest dark behind him, the trap's clang still ringing in his ears. He'd pulled Kshema back, reflex, not plan, a thread tied, fragile but there. The Ganga's pulse flowed, calm and sure, a steadiness he'd carried into the chaos.
Aruni stepped out, rubbing sleepy eyes, voice soft. "You're back, hunt go wrong?"
"Went wild," Devavrata said, easing his bow down. "Kshema chased a bear, ran into trouble."
Vikrama appeared behind him, leaning on the wall, torchlight catching his scars. "Heard him come in, sounded off."
"Took a scare," Devavrata replied, his tone even. "He'll bounce back, or not."
Aruni frowned, curious. "You get him out?"
"Pulled him clear," Devavrata said, keeping it short. "Spikes in the dark, someone's work."
Vikrama's eyes narrowed, voice steady. "Spikes? That's no accident, someone's playing."
"Seems so," Devavrata said, the thought settling, Dronaresh, a roach with teeth, testing them step by step. He glanced at the woods, the night thick and quiet.
Aruni hugged his arms, shivering. "Spooky, glad you're both here."
"Same," Devavrata said, a small smile breaking through. "Kshema's tougher than he acts."
Vikrama gave a dry chuckle, quick and low. "Tough's one word, reckless fits too."
Devavrata nodded, the torchlight warm on his face, Kshema's gruff thanks a quiet shift, didn't need you, but the crack showed, a step toward something new. He turned inside, the bow steady in his hands, Parashurama's nod a silent mark.
The night stretched, stars faint overhead, the air calm but heavy. A rustle broke through, soft, sharp, beyond the trees. Devavrata stopped, hand on his bow, the runes flaring, a hum rising, not wind, not beast, a whisper curling in the dark.