The Arrow's Whisper
The Archery Fields, Before Dawn
Mist clung to the long grass, swallowing sound. The world was grey and hushed, waiting for the sun.
Thwip. Thud.
A single arrow, shot from the deepest shadows of the bamboo grove, buried itself in the center of the farthest target. A perfect shot. Impossible light. Perfect silence.
Agnivrat lowered the bow, the curve of dark wood still humming in his hands. He'd been here for an hour. His fingers were numb with cold, his breath a pale ghost in the air. He liked this time—the emptiness, the quiet, the way the world held its breath. Here, there was no heat but his own. No expectations. No blue robes in his peripheral vision.
Thwip. Thud.
Another arrow, a finger's width from the first. He nocked a third.
A sloshing, clumsy sound broke the silence. Then a low, cheerful humming.
Agni didn't need to turn. His shoulders tensed, a familiar heat prickling under his skin.
Neervrah emerged from the mist by the well, two overflowing buckets of water swinging from a yoke across his shoulders. He'd drawn the dawn water duty—a punishment for something, no doubt. Water slopped over the rims with every step, darkening the path.
He saw Agni and stopped humming. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. He set the buckets down with a grunt and stretched, his back cracking audibly.
"Couldn't sleep, Fire-Prince? Or just practicing how to be even more perfect?"
Agni ignored him, drawing the bowstring back to his ear. The world narrowed to the target, the feel of the fletching against his cheek, the slow exhale—
"You're leaning into it too much."
Agni's exhale hitched. The arrow loosed, flying wide and thudding into the earth just shy of the target.
He slowly turned his head. Neer was leaning against the well, arms crossed, head tilted.
"What?"
"Your stance. You're putting your shoulder into it like it's a sword fight. Archery's not about force. It's about release." Neer pushed off the well and walked over. He moved into Agni's space without hesitation, reaching out.
Agni stiffened. "Don't—"
Cool, damp fingers brushed his left shoulder, then his right, adjusting his posture with a few light taps. "Here. And here. You're all tension. No wonder your shots go wild when you're distracted."
The touch was clinical. Brief. But it left a trail of cool sensation on Agni's skin that fought against the warmth blooming beneath it. Neer's scent—wet earth and something faintly green—filled the space between them.
"Since when are you an archery master?" Agni's voice was tighter than he intended.
"Since I paid attention to something other than rules." Neer stepped back, his eyes scanning Agni's form. "Try it."
It was a challenge. Agni nocked another arrow. He adjusted his stance, easing the tension from his shoulders. He drew.
"Your breath," Neer murmured, his voice close. "You're holding it. Breathe with the draw. In… and out…"
Agni breathed in. The bow felt different. Lighter. The target seemed clearer, sharper in the grey light.
He released.
Thwip. THUNK.
The arrow struck dead center, splitting one of his earlier shots down the middle with a sound of splintering wood.
Silence, deeper than before.
Agni lowered the bow, staring at the target. He hadn't aimed. He'd just… released.
"See?" Neer's voice was soft, almost surprised. "It's easier when you're not fighting yourself."
Before Agni could respond, Neer had hoisted his buckets again. "Don't get used to it. I have a date with the kitchen floor and a scrub brush." He walked away, the buckets sloshing, his humming starting up again—a tuneless, happy sound that faded into the mist.
Agni stood alone, the bow now cold in his hands. The perfect shot felt like a theft. A gift from a source he didn't understand.
---
Later That Morning - Formal Training
The mist had burned away, replaced by a harsh, teaching sun. Rows of students stood at the firing line, Acharya Shatrunjay pacing behind them like a panther.
"The arrow is an extension of your will!" his voice boomed. "If your mind is clouded, your arrow is blind. Dharaaya! Stop trembling! You are earth, not a leaf in the wind!"
Dharaaya flinched, her next arrow going wide. Beside her, Vaayansh shot a perfect bullseye without seeming to try, his expression serene. Dharaaya's cheeks flushed.
"Neervrah! Your draw is lazy! Power without precision is noise!"
Neer, who had been aiming with a dramatic, swooping motion, rolled his eyes but corrected his form. His arrow flew straight and fast, embedding itself just outside the center ring.
"Better! Agniveer! Demonstrate."
All eyes turned to him. This was his domain. Discipline. Perfection.
Agni stepped forward. He felt the weight of the audience. He nocked, drew, found his anchor point. He saw the target. But for a flashing second, he saw Neer's fingers tapping his shoulder in the dawn mist. Breathe with the draw.
He released.
The arrow flew true. But at the last second, a sudden, hot gust of wind—Vaayansh, shifting his stance—caught the fletching. The arrow veered, striking the very edge of the target and hanging there, pathetic.
A stunned silence.
Acharya Shatrunjay's face was stone. "Distracted, Agniveer? By what? The wind is part of the field. You must account for everything."
"Yes, Acharya." The words were ash. He felt Vaayansh's apologetic glance, Dharaaya's sympathetic wince. And he felt, burning hotter than shame, Neer's gaze on the back of his neck.
"Again."
Agni shot again. And again. Each shot was technically perfect. Each hit the center. But they were mechanical. Soulless. The magic of the dawn shot was gone, buried under the weight of watching eyes and his own simmering frustration.
During a break, as students gulped water in the shade, Neer sidled up to him.
"You think too much," Neer said, taking a long drink from a dipper.
"I think enough," Agni snapped. "Unlike some."
Neer's smile didn't reach his eyes. "That's the problem. You're up here," he tapped his own temple, "when you need to be here." He tapped his chest, just over his heart. The damp spot from the dipper darkened his blue tunic. "The dawn archer was better. He wasn't trying to prove anything."
"He wasn't being watched."
"He was," Neer said softly, his blue eyes holding Agni's. "By me." He dropped the dipper back into the water pot with a splash and walked away, leaving Agni standing there, the sun suddenly too hot, his skin too tight.
---
The Forest's Edge - Late Afternoon
Agni took his frustration to the woods, to the heavy bag of sand hung from a thick branch for strength training. Punch. Kick. The thud of impact was a satisfying punishment. Thud. For the missed shot. Thud. For the Acharya's disapproval. Thud. For the infuriating, confusing coolness that lingered on his shoulder.
He didn't hear her approach.
"You'll break your hands before you break that bag."
He spun, fist still raised. Dharaaya stood a few paces away, her arms full of medicinal herbs. She looked tired, her usually bright eyes shadowed.
"What do you want?"
"Just passing by." She shifted the bundle. "You and Neer… you were arguing at the range."
"We weren't arguing."
"You're always arguing. Even when you're not speaking." She stepped closer, her voice dropping. "Be careful, Agni. People are starting to talk. The Acharyas notice everything."
"Let them talk." He turned back to the bag.
"It's not just talk. Akash was watching you this morning. By the well."
Agni's fist froze mid-air. Akash. The quiet one. The watcher. A chill that had nothing to do with water went down his spine. "So?"
"So, nothing." Dharaaya sighed. "Just… the energy around you two is strange. It pulls things in. Makes the air feel heavy. My plants," she gestured to the herbs, "they wilted this morning near the archery field. Like they'd been parched and drowned at the same time."
She gave him one last, worried look and melted back into the trees.
Agni stood alone, the sweat cooling on his skin. He looked at his hands. At the faint, almost invisible steam rising from his knuckles.
Parched and drowned at the same time.
He looked toward the Gurukul, its thatched roofs golden in the late sun. From this distance, he could just make out a lone figure sitting perfectly still on the roof of the highest cottage—Acharya Vishrayan's cottage. A sentinel, watching over his charges.
Watching him.
A shadow moved at the edge of the forest—tall, silent. Akash. He simply stood there for a moment, his gaze meeting Agni's across the clearing. Then he gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod, turned, and was gone.
The message was clear: You are seen.
The comfortable solitude of the Gurukul was gone. The rules he'd hidden behind felt thin, transparent. He wasn't just a student practicing in the dawn mist anymore.
He was a element out of balance, and the world was beginning to notice.
---
END OF CHAPTER 4