The forest glowed faintly under the late afternoon sun, its golden rays piercing the dense canopy, painting the ground in shifting patches of light and shadow. Devavrata moved along a narrow trail, the celestial bow a familiar weight in his hands, its runes catching the glow like embers in dusk. The memory of yesterday's reckless hunt weighed on him—Kshema charging blindly after that bear, the rusted spikes of the trap gleaming in the moonlight as they snapped shut, inches from his chest, and Parashurama's silent nod afterward, a flicker of approval in the sage's stern gaze. His fingers brushed the bowstring, worn smooth from days of strain, and the Ganga's pulse thrummed beneath his skin, steady but restless, as though it sensed the tension in the air—thicker now, edged with something unseen.
Parashurama had roused them at noon, his voice a sharp crack through the ashram's quiet. "Group hunt—deer today. Get out there." No reasoning, just the axe slung over his shoulder, its blade catching the light, and a glint in his eyes that hinted at more than he let on. Devavrata led the way now, Aruni and Vikrama flanking him, their steps soft on the mossy earth, while Kshema lagged a few paces behind, his crimson leather a vivid streak against the forest's muted tones.
Kshema's voice broke the stillness, sharp with impatience. "Deer's a soft target after that bear fiasco. I'm itching for something worth my arrow."
Devavrata glanced back, his tone calm but firm. "Bear's still roaming out there somewhere. Keep your eyes on what's in front of us."
Kshema smirked, adjusting the bow across his shoulder with a quick tug. "What's in front is a deer I'll drop before you even draw. You're the one holding me back."
Aruni, clutching his short bow with both hands, spoke up, his voice barely above a whisper. "Deer's enough for me—I don't want another bear chasing us."
"Want's got no say in it," Kshema said, brushing past him with a stride that kicked up dirt. "I hunt what I choose, not what's safe."
Vikrama kept his pace steady, his scarred hand resting on his quiver, eyes scanning the trail ahead. "Hunt clever, Kshema, or you won't hunt at all."
Devavrata caught Vikrama's look, nodding slightly. "Clever's why we're a group. Fan out—Aruni left, Vikrama right. Watch the sides."
The forest thickened around them, its branches knitting a tangled ceiling, the air growing cool and heavy with the scent of damp moss and pine. Devavrata signaled quietly, directing Aruni to the left and Vikrama to the right, their figures blending into the green as they followed the faint hoofprints pressed into the soft earth. He nocked an arrow, his steps measured, the bow's quiet hum syncing with his breath. Kshema stayed near, his bow already drawn, tension rippling through him like a taut string ready to snap.
A sudden snap echoed ahead—crisp, urgent—a deer bursting from the brush, its brown coat flashing as it darted through the trees, hooves pounding the ground. "There it goes!" Aruni shouted, his voice cutting the hush, his arrow loosing too fast—sailing wide, embedding in a gnarled trunk with a dull thud.
"Blast it, kid," Kshema growled, his own shot flying in a blur—grazing the deer's flank, a streak of red against its hide as it veered deeper into the woods. "After it—now!"
Devavrata broke into a run, wind stirring at his call—a subtle gust curling from his breath, guiding his aim as he tracked the deer's frantic path. He loosed—the arrow streaked, clipping its hind leg, slowing its flight with a stumble. "Got a piece—circle around!"
Vikrama swung right, his arrow finding its mark—piercing the deer's neck with a clean, decisive strike, sending it crashing to the ground in a heap of dust and leaves. "Finished," he said, his voice low, calm, as they closed the gap.
Kshema reached the fallen deer first, his bow still taut, a grin spreading across his face as he knelt beside it, blood staining his fingers from the wound. "That's mine—I called the kill."
"Everyone hit," Devavrata said, catching his breath, the wind fading from his hands as he wiped sweat from his brow. "We brought it down together."
Kshema's grin soured, his eyes snapping up. "Together? I'd have had it without your little breeze—don't kid yourself."
Before Devavrata could respond, a high whistle sliced through the air—not the wind's sigh, not a bird's call—an arrow streaking from the trees, its fletching ragged, its tip chipped, aimed straight for Kshema's chest. Devavrata moved fast—wind surging at his command, a quick, sharp gust bending the arrow's path, sending it spinning into the dirt with a heavy thud.
"What in the—" Kshema whirled, bow raised, his eyes darting across the shadowed canopy. "Who's shooting?"
Another arrow came, weaker, wobbling—headed for Devavrata's shoulder. He twisted aside, a flick of wind snapping it into a bush, his heart kicking hard. "Ambush—get cover!"
Aruni scrambled behind a thick oak, his voice trembling. "Where are they coming from?"
Vikrama nocked an arrow, peering up through the leaves. "Up there—two, maybe three. High branches."
Kshema fired into the treetops, his shot wild but fierce, tearing through foliage as leaves fluttered down. "Get out here, you gutless dogs!" A third arrow answered—grazing his arm, slicing through leather to draw a thin line of blood. He swore, clutching the cut, his face twisting with rage. "That's it—I'm going up after them!"
"Wait," Devavrata said, grabbing his arm, wind swirling faintly at his fingertips. "They're trying to pull us apart—stay low."
Kshema jerked free, his glare blazing. "Pull us apart? They're bleeding me—I'll rip them down myself!" Blood trickled down his sleeve, his bow shaking as he gripped it tighter.
A rustle broke the silence—boots scuffing, retreating fast—shadows darting through the trees, lean and tattered, vanishing into the green. Devavrata loosed a wind-shot after them, the gust rattling branches and snapping twigs, but they slipped away, lost to the forest's depths.
Parashurama's voice thundered from behind, shattering the moment. "Stand down!" He strode into the clearing, axe in hand, his broad frame cutting through the fading light—his eyes sweeping the deer, the blood, the stray arrows littering the ground. "Cowards, not worth my axe," he said, his tone rough, brushing it off, but his gaze lingered on the trees, steady and piercing, a storm brewing beneath the calm.
Devavrata lowered his bow, stepping toward him. "Those weren't stray shots—they picked us out."
"Cowards shoot sloppy," Parashurama replied, his voice hard, dismissive. "Leave it—haul that deer back." He turned, axe swinging low by his side, but his stare held the forest, heavy with something unspoken.
Kshema wiped blood from his arm with a grimace, his voice a low snarl. "Sloppy? They tagged me—someone's got a fight coming."
"Someone's been watching," Devavrata said, his mind churning—the trap's spikes, the rustles, now arrows. "Same ones who set that snare?"
Vikrama crouched, picking up one of the fallen arrows—crude, its wood splintered, its tip dulled by age. "Not hunters' work—outcasts, likely. Cheap stuff."
Aruni peeked out, his face pale. "Outcasts? Why'd they go after us?"
"No clue," Kshema snapped, kicking at the deer's flank, his blood dripping into the dirt. "But I'm not waiting to find out—I'll track them next time."
Parashurama's grunt cut through, sharp and final. "Track deer, brat—not phantoms. Move it." He trudged back toward the ashram, his shadow stretching long, leaving them in the dusk-lit clearing.
Devavrata watched him go, the sage's words ringing thin—too quick, too light for a man who'd faced down kings. He bent, lifting the stray arrow—rough, worn, but aimed with intent. "This isn't finished," he said, voice low, certain.
Kshema tied a rag around his graze, his glare hot. "Finished? It's just starting—let them try that again."
Vikrama rose, slinging his bow over his shoulder. "They will—those shots weren't accidents, just off."
Aruni edged closer, his hands still tight on his bow. "Off or not, it spooked me—arrows flying out of nowhere."
"Spooked's okay," Devavrata said, resting a hand on his shoulder, keeping his tone steady. "You stayed put—that's what counts."
They lifted the deer together—Devavrata and Vikrama at the front, gripping the antlers, Kshema and Aruni at the hind legs—their steps heavy as they headed back, dusk settling over the forest like a shroud. Kshema's blood left a faint trail, his silence thick with anger, his eyes flicking to the trees.
"Think it's that Dronaresh?" Vikrama asked, his voice hushed, glancing at Devavrata. "The king Parashurama mentioned?"
"Might be," Devavrata said, the name a stone in his gut—Parashurama's old foe, a broken survivor with a grudge. "Traps, now this—fits."
Kshema huffed, his grip tightening on the deer. "King? Sounds like a scavenger—I'll crush him myself."
"He's coming," Devavrata replied, his tone calm, the Ganga's pulse flaring—a quiet warning he couldn't shake.
The ashram glowed ahead, its torches cutting through the growing dark, the air sharp with evening chill. They dropped the deer near the steps, Kshema shaking out his arm, blood crusting on his sleeve. "Whoever they are," he said, voice low, "they'll pay for this nick."
Aruni sat, breathing hard, his voice steadier now. "Nick or not, I'm just glad we're here."
"Here's safe," Vikrama said, wiping his hands, his eyes on the woods. "For now—they're still watching."
Devavrata nodded, the bow warm against his palm, Parashurama's dismissal looping in his head—not worth my axe. Too simple, too clean for the sage who'd ended bloodlines. He turned to the trees, their shadows deep and still, a rustle stirring—soft, fleeting.
A whisper drifted out, cold and thin, barely audible—"The axe will pay." It faded into the night, leaving Devavrata's pulse sharp, the runes glowing brighter, the hunt twisting into a darker game.