The early morning air carried the lingering chill of the night as Surya stepped into the training grounds. The golden hues of dawn barely crested the horizon, casting long shadows across the open space where the scent of damp earth and aged stone filled the air.

  It was quiet—only the faint sound of footsteps and the occasional clang of steel breaking the stillness. But Surya could feel it.

  The eyes.

  Some were merely observing, some carried admiration, and others… doubt. The duel with Virat had changed something.

  He had proven himself, yet in doing so, he had drawn more attention than he would have liked. Even now, he could feel the weight of silent scrutiny, some from his fellow trainees, others from the veterans watching from a distance.

  It was an unspoken reality of a kshatriya’s path—strength commanded respect, but it also invited challenges.

  Surya tightened his grip around the hilt of his wooden practice sword. It didn’t matter. He was here for one reason—to get stronger.

  And Senapati Rudra was about to ensure he did.

  The General’s Trial

  “Prince Surya,” Rudra’s deep voice cut through the morning stillness like a blade, his eyes sharp, unreadable.

  Surya straightened. “Yes, Senapati.”

  The towering general stepped forward, his presence alone enough to quiet even the most restless trainees. He did not speak in excess, nor did he waste words. What he did say carried the weight of years spent in battle.

  “Strength without discipline is a weakness,” Rudra began, pacing slowly around Surya. “Your duel with Virat showed promise, but there was hesitation in your movements. A moment’s doubt can mean death in real combat.”

  Surya nodded, keeping his expression firm.

  Rudra stopped and gestured to the open space before them. “We begin.”

  No more words. No wasted explanations.

  Only action.

  Surya took his stance, feet firmly planted. Before he could even settle, Rudra moved.

  A blur.

  Surya barely had time to react before a wooden staff came sweeping toward him. He stepped back, bringing up his sword just in time to block. The impact sent a jarring vibration through his arms.

  Fast!

  Rudra pressed forward, his strikes relentless. Each movement was precise, economical—no wasted energy, no unnecessary force. Every time Surya tried to counter, the general had already moved to his next attack.

  A feint. A sudden pivot. A downward strike—

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Surya staggered back as the staff stopped just inches from his shoulder.

  “Dead.”

  The word was simple. Final.

  But Rudra wasn’t finished.

  Again.

  And again.

  Each time, Surya lasted a few seconds longer, adjusting, adapting—but it wasn’t enough.

  Rudra’s experience was overwhelming, his ability to read Surya’s movements near impossible to counter.

  Surya gritted his teeth. He had faced Virat, had stood his ground, but here—here he was nothing more than a student before a true master.

  Yet, strangely, it didn’t feel like defeat.

  It felt like sharpening steel.

  He could feel it—every failure carved a lesson into his bones. His body remembered the angles, the patterns.

  His mind raced, recalculating.

  He refused to fall easily.

  And then—

  A spark.

  In the heat of the exchange, Surya instinctively shifted his weight, angling his blade in a way that forced Rudra to adjust. It wasn’t much, but for the first time, the general paused for half a breath before striking again.

  It was fleeting, but it was there.

  Rudra stepped back. “Good,” he said simply. Then, with a nod, he turned away, signaling the end of the session.

  Surya exhaled, realizing just how hard his heart was pounding. His body ached, but a fire had been lit inside him.

  He would return.

  And next time, he would last longer.

  The Watchful Eyes

  As Surya wiped the sweat from his brow, he noticed something—

  A presence.

  Across the courtyard, leaning against one of the stone pillars, stood Maharaja Veerajit.

  His father.

  The king’s gaze was unreadable, but his very presence spoke volumes.

  He had been watching.

  Not just Surya’s performance, but something deeper.

  And he wasn’t the only one.

  Among the scattered observers were some of the court officials, noble sons training to become warriors, and even a few seasoned veterans. A few of them murmured in hushed tones. Some nodded in approval. Others narrowed their eyes.

  Surya felt an odd sensation settle in his chest.

  This was no longer just about proving himself in a duel.

  It was about something bigger.

  And that meant expectations.

  He exhaled slowly, steadying his thoughts. He had no intention of crumbling under them.

  The Queen’s Concern

  Later that evening, as the palace corridors were bathed in the soft glow of torches, Surya found himself summoned to his mother’s chambers.

  Maharani Maitreyi was seated by the open balcony, the moonlight casting a gentle glow across her features. She was not dressed in the regal finery of court but in a simple silk robe, her long hair unadorned—a mother rather than a queen.

  She gestured for him to sit beside her.

  “You push yourself too hard,” she said, her voice carrying both warmth and worry.

  Surya gave a small smile. “That is what is expected of a kshatriya, is it not?”

  Maitreyi sighed, looking at him as only a mother could—seeing beyond the prince, beyond the warrior, to the boy who had once run through these halls carefree.

  “You were always stubborn,” she said, shaking her head. “Even when you were small, you never accepted falling behind.”

  Surya looked away for a moment.

  The memories she spoke of…

  They belonged to him. And yet, they didn’t.

  Fragments. Echoes of another’s life.

  Sometimes, they felt real. Other times, like whispers of a dream.

  Maitreyi reached out, placing a hand on his. “Surya, you have nothing to prove to anyone.”

  He met her gaze. “Don’t I?”

  A silence stretched between them. Not tense, but heavy with unspoken truths.

  Finally, she sighed, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead as she had when he was a child. “Just promise me one thing.”

  Surya waited.

  “Do not lose yourself in the expectations of others.”

  Something in her words struck deeper than he expected.

  For a moment, he almost wanted to say something—to explain what he truly felt, the uncertainty of his own identity. But he stopped himself.

  Instead, he gave a small nod.

  “I promise.”

  And though the words left his lips, a quiet part of him wondered—

  Could he keep such a promise?

  The Resolution

  As Surya left his mother’s chambers and walked through the quiet halls of the palace, his mind lingered on the events of the day.

  The eyes that watched him. The expectations. The weight of his own growing power.

  The path ahead was long, uncertain.

  But he was not afraid.

  He would train harder. Grow stronger.

  And one day, he would carve his own destiny—whether it was written in the stars or not.