The day we were summoned to the gurukul, there was no ceremony.

  Just the weight of orders. And the silence of decision already made.

  We were given clean tunics, short bdes, and told to bathe—twice. The guards at the gates didn’t look us in the eye, but they stood straighter when we passed.

  That’s how we knew something had changed.

  When Bhishma speaks, even the wind listens.

  The Council Before the GurukulDrona stood on the stone ptform outside the old learning grounds—an open-air hall that had been used by sages before kings even knew how to read.

  To his right stood the Pandavas.To his left, the Kauravas.

  Behind them, a ring of nobles and commanders—including Vidura, seated in stillness with his cane across his p.

  Drona raised his voice, not in anger, but crity.

  “We begin today. Discipline before pride. Control before aggression. And each of you will be matched not only with your brothers, but with warriors beneath you who will aid in drills, sparring, recovery.”There was a stir.

  Duryodhana scoffed aloud.

  “So we get servants?”Drona didn’t flinch.

  “You get support. Whether you deserve it or not.”There were names read aloud.Sons of captains. Stablehands with muscle. Messenger boys who had trained in silence.

  We were not among the first listed.

  Then Bhishma stepped forward.

  “The Pandavas,” he said slowly, “will be assigned new aides—young warriors whose skill has been tested through dust, not lineage. They do not serve. They assist.”He paused, looking past the princes toward the shadows.

  “Avyakta, step forward.”I did.

  “With you—Chaitra, Bhal, Riksha.”We stepped forward, silent, eyes down.

  Vidura shifted slightly in his seat.But he said nothing.

  That was how you knew it mattered.

  Meeting the PandavasWe were led to the training yard where the Pandavas stood quietly, inspecting the practice weapons. Arjuna’s hands ran over a bowstring with the instinct of someone born to it. Bhima rolled his shoulders like a boulder learning to walk. Nakul and Sahadeva stood twin-still. And Yudhishthira—he watched all of us with eyes that didn’t blink too quickly.

  We bowed.

  He frowned.

  “We don’t require guards,” he said. “We are self-sufficient.”I stepped forward calmly.

  “We’re not guards. We’re assigned to assist with training. Drill partners. Recovery support. Sparring bodies.”He hesitated.

  “We train among equals.”“And we remain beneath notice,” I said. “We do not interrupt. We do not speak unless addressed. We are shadows. We remain that way.”He looked at me for a long moment.

  Then nodded once.

  Bhima just grunted.

  Arjuna didn’t look up.

  Drona BeginsTraining started as the sun crossed its first mark in the sky.

  Drona wasted no time.

  He barked positions. Assigned partners. Began formations.

  We were not princes. But we were targets, weights, motionless objects to hit and dodge around.

  The Pandavas adapted fast.

  Bhima struck too hard at first—broke two staffs before Drona made him carry stones for an hour in penance.

  Arjuna was precise from the start. His arrows curved like breath through the air.Drona nodded, once, and everyone saw it.

  The Kauravas noticed.

  Especially Duryodhana.

  Tensions BoilingIt didn’t take long.

  During a sparring session, Bhima knocked Duryodhana ft with a single shoulder-check.

  Laughter echoed.

  Duryodhana’s fists clenched. His face went pale.

  That night, he trained twice as long.Alone.Swinging a blunt sword at a dummy that looked too much like his cousin.

  Riksha saw it.

  So did I.

  Shadows That RememberWe weren’t just watchers.

  We bandaged cuts.Repced arrows.Scrubbed blood from stone.

  And we listened.

  To the grumbles.To the boasts.To the insecurities princes whispered when they thought no one beneath them understood.

  We learned their strengths.

  But more importantly—

  we learned where they would break.