The court of Hastinapura still trembled from the remnants of fury when Parashurama turned away, his cloak flaring like a firebrand in a hurricane. With a single nod to Devavrata, he tore open a portal between realms—a crack in reality humming with divine qi and ancient promise.
Devavrata bowed to Shantanu, who stood frozen beneath the dais, memories and dread etched across his face. Then he stepped forward, into the unknown.
They emerged into a world unlike any Devavrata had ever known.
It was a realm carved from beauty and discipline alike—a sanctum where qi flowed not in trickles or veins, but rivers, hurricanes, symphonies. The sky above shimmered with lavender suns and drifting jade moons. Floating isles hung in the air, tethered by vines of starlight. Spirit-beasts walked the cliffs like guardians, their pelts bristling with essence. Trees whispered mantras into the wind. A single mountain rose at the heart of it all—black stone streaked with gold veins, surrounded by lakes of glowing nectar.
"Welcome," Parashurama said, stepping onto a hovering path of radiant stones. "This is Brahmavarta Aranya—my home, my prison, my sanctuary."
Devavrata's breath caught in his throat. "This is a realm of the Celestials."
"A forgotten corner," the master replied. "I built it when the world grew too loud. Here, qi listens. Here, distractions die."
They walked in silence for a while. Birds of flame soared above. Streams of silver water wove between lotus fields that pulsed with life. Trees bore crystalline fruits, and even the insects left trails of light behind them as they flitted through the ether.
"I can feel the spirit in every rock," Devavrata whispered. "Even the air tastes alive."
Parashurama grunted. "Cultivate here long enough and your spirit will start arguing with you too."
Devavrata chuckled, surprised. "Do yours argue often?"
"All the time," the old rishi said dryly. "Especially when I drink."
That made Devavrata laugh out loud. The realm itself seemed to echo his mirth—a soft breeze rustling the glowing leaves, a low chime from unseen wind-bells, as though the place approved.
"You drink, Master?"
"Not often," Parashurama said, eyes twinkling. "But when I do, even the mountains ask me to stop."
They came to a clearing where the radiant stone path descended into a serene courtyard carved into the side of the mountain. Stone lanterns floated in the air, casting a soft amber glow. A waterfall of liquid starlight cascaded beside it, feeding a koi pond filled with fish that shimmered like tiny comets.
"Rest here," Parashurama said, gesturing to a stone bench shaped like a reclining tiger. "You've carried too much weight for someone who hasn't seen war."
Devavrata lowered himself slowly, absorbing the warmth of the stone. "I have not seen war, Master. Only the shadows of it—etched in the faces of men, in the silence of the court, in the warnings of my mother."
Parashurama gave a grunt that hovered between approval and memory.
"That's more than most who've marched with blades drawn. Sometimes the threat of war scars deeper than the thing itself."
He looked out over the shimmering landscape. "But this—" he gestured wide "—this is balance. Harder to win than battles. Easier to lose than your life."
With a weary sigh, he sat beside Devavrata. The stone groaned faintly beneath his old strength.
"I didn't always live like this," Parashurama said. "There was a time I slept in blood-drenched fields and gnawed on bark to stay conscious during austerities."
Devavrata turned, curious. "You were once a prince, weren't you?"
"I was many things," Parashurama said, a glint in his eye. "A prince. A disciple. A madman. And yes—once, a slayer of kings. Too many kings."
Devavrata hesitated, then asked softly, "Do you regret it?"
Parashurama looked up at the lavender sun, lost in thought. "Sometimes. But mostly... I regret not having someone to share the silence with afterward."
They let the quiet stretch for a while.
Eventually, Devavrata asked, "Why take me in?"
"You remind me of someone," Parashurama said, waving it off.
"Your past student?"
"My past self," he said, voice low. "Arrogant. Bright. With a spine forged from pride and a heart wrapped too tightly in dharma. You're better than I was, Devavrata. Or you will be—if you survive me."
Devavrata grinned. "You mean the training?"
"No," Parashurama said, cracking his knuckles. "The puns."
At that moment, a vine serpent with sapphire eyes slithered lazily past, bowing its head to Parashurama as it went. A pair of fire-ravens dropped fruit from above, aiming with uncanny precision at Devavrata's lap.
Parashurama raised an eyebrow. "They like you. That's rare."
Devavrata caught one of the fruits, a pear-shaped gem of qi-pulsing flesh, and took a tentative bite. It burst like sunlight in his mouth—sweet, warm, grounding.
"Spirit-fruit," Parashurama explained. "Accelerates internal clarity. Also causes mild hallucinations if you're not careful."
"...Should I spit it out?"
"Nah," the master said, stretching. "If you see your ancestors dancing in the clouds, tell them I said hello."
Devavrata shook his head, grinning. "You're not what I expected in a master."
Parashurama leaned back, eyes half-closed. "And you're not what I expected in a disciple. You're too polite. Too noble. We'll fix that."
"Is that part of the training?"
"Oh yes," he said. "We start tomorrow. At dawn. With a duel."
"Duel?"
"With me."
Devavrata blinked. "What about forms? Meditation? Qi control?"
"Bah! You've meditated enough in palaces. You've been taught to listen. Now I'll teach you to roar."
He stood and cracked his neck. "Come. Let me show you your quarters. It's next to the screaming bamboo grove. Good for focus."
As they walked further into the heart of the realm—past celestial gardens, elemental springs, and sculptures carved from frozen sound—Devavrata felt something stir deep within his dantian. A pull, a resonance.
This place was not just beautiful. It was sacred. Alive. Watching.
And somewhere within it, Devavrata knew, his path would change. Not just as a warrior. Not just as a cultivator.
But as something more.
Something eternal.