Midnight draped the training yard in Hastinapura with a thick, velvety darkness, the sky a deep abyss unbroken by moon or stars. A single torch flickered at the yard's edge, its flame sputtering in the cool breeze, casting long, wavering shadows across the packed earth. Wooden targets stood scattered in the gloom—discs painted red, barely visible beyond the torch's faint reach—waiting silent and still. The air was crisp and quiet, tinged with the scent of smoke and straw, a mystical hush settling over the space, ready to unveil the princes' inner light.
Drona stood near the torch, his lean frame bathed in its dim glow, his tattered white robes shimmering faintly against the dark. His gray hair was tied back, and his dark eyes gleamed with a sage-like intensity as he faced the Kuru princes. In one hand, he held his staff, its tip resting on the ground; the other clutched a small clay pot, its surface etched with runes, glowing faintly with an inner warmth. The princes gathered around him, their tunics rustling softly, their breaths puffing in the chill as they peered into the shadowed yard, bows in hand.
Bhima rocked on his heels, his massive frame a hulking shadow in the torchlight, his broad grin flashing wide as he rubbed his hands together. "Midnight, guru?" he said, his voice booming through the stillness, startling a night bird into a brief chirp. "This is eerie! We sneaking around or shooting something spooky?"
Drona turned to him, his expression calm but unyielding, his voice weaving through the dark with steady force. "Shooting, Bhima," he said, his tone deep and firm, hushing the yard for a moment. "With a twist. Tonight, your arrows carry prana." He lifted the pot, dipping his fingers inside to draw out a shimmering paste, and smeared it on an arrow's tip, making it glow a soft gold. "They'll light the dark. Hit the targets. Your spirit shapes the glow."
Bhima's grin widened, his eyes glinting with delight as he laughed loud, the sound bouncing off the walls. "Glowing arrows?" he said, his tone bright and eager, grabbing his bow with a grunt. "That's magic! I'll light up the whole yard! Let's see it, guru!"
"See it and aim," Drona replied, his voice dry and patient, handing him the pot. "One shot each turn. Start when I say."
Yudhishthira stepped closer, his neat tunic catching the torch's flicker as he tilted his head, his face warm with curiosity. "Prana in arrows," he said, his voice gentle and thoughtful, rubbing his chin. "That's deep, guru. Does it show something about us?"
"Everything," Drona said, his gaze settling on Yudhishthira with a flicker of warmth, his tone firm. "Your essence flows into it. Five targets out there. Let it shine."
Arjuna moved up beside him, his lean form quiet and still, his sandals silent on the earth as he gripped his bow. His tunic shimmered faintly, his breath steady, and his dark eyes locked on the pot with a calm wonder. "Spirit in the shot," he said, his voice soft but thrilled, glancing at Drona. "I like this, guru. Can we start?"
"Soon," Drona said, his tone warm and steady, dipping another arrow in the paste. "Take one. Feel it first."
Duryodhana strode forward, his chin high, his dark hair blending into the night as he gripped his bow tight. "Glow or not," he said, his voice low and edged with a grumble, his brow furrowing slightly. "I'll hit them. This better not be some trick."
"No trick," Drona replied, his tone stern and sharp, meeting Duryodhana's scowl in the torchlight. "Truth. Show yours. Begin."
The princes spread out, their footsteps fading into the dark, the yard a sea of shadows pierced by their breaths and the creak of wood. Bhima lumbered forward, his massive hands smearing the paste on an arrow, its glow a wild, flickering yellow as he nocked it. "Here we go!" he shouted, his voice ringing loud, shattering the quiet. He aimed into the gloom, his muscles bulging, and fired with a grunt. The arrow streaked through the dark, a bright blur that veered wide, thudding into the earth with a dull thump, its light winking out. "Ha!" he said, his tone bright and unbothered, laughing loud. "Missed! But it lit up like a fire! Ring it again, guru!"
"Steady it, Bhima," Drona called, his voice steady and firm, stepping closer. "Focus the glow, not just the shot."
"Focus?" Bhima said, chuckling as he smeared another, its light flaring erratic. "I'm focused on shining! Watch this!" He fired again, the arrow sailing off, illuminating a wall before fading, and he flopped onto a bench, laughing louder. "This is wild! I'm a walking torch!"
"Torches don't hit," Drona said, his tone dry but kind, shaking his head. "Targets do. Sit there."
Arjuna dipped his arrow in the paste, his fingers steady as the tip blazed a pure, radiant gold, bright enough to cast shadows of its own. He drew his bow, his breath slow and even, and aimed into the dark. "Feel it," he murmured, his voice soft and lost to the night, loosing his shot. The arrow streaked through the gloom, a dazzling trail of light, striking a disc with a clean thud, its glow lingering on the target. He smiled faintly, nocking another, and fired again, the second shot blazing brighter, hitting true. "Two," he said, his tone soft and calm, turning to Drona's silhouette.
Drona's eyes widened, his voice warm with awe as he stepped forward. "Two?" he said, his tone lifting slightly, a rare spark in his calm. "That light's pure, Arjuna. Your spirit's dazzling. More."
Yudhishthira smeared his arrow, its glow a soft, steady silver, warm and gentle like moonlight on water. He drew his bow, his brow furrowed in thought, and aimed carefully. "Calm," he murmured, his voice gentle and low, loosing his shot. The arrow traced a quiet arc, hitting a disc with a soft thud, its light pulsing steady and sure. He smiled faintly, nocking another, and fired again, striking true. "Two," he said, his tone warm and steady, brushing his hands together.
"Good," Drona said, his pride clear, nodding at him in the torchlight. "That's strength, Yudhishthira. Quiet and true."
Duryodhana dipped his arrow, his fingers rough as the tip flickered a dark, smoldering red, sharp and restless like a coal in ash. He drew his bow, his jaw clenched, and aimed into the night. "Mine," he muttered, his voice a growl, loosing his shot. The arrow streaked through the dark, a jagged trail of crimson, grazing a disc's edge before fading. He scowled, nocking another, and fired again, this one hitting shallow, its glow pulsing fierce and unsteady. "One," he said, his tone low and sharp, glaring into the gloom.
"Fierce," Drona replied, his tone stern and steady, stepping toward him. "But unsteady, Duryodhana. Channel it."
"Channel?" Duryodhana said, his smirk faint but bitter, his voice sharp as he nocked again. "It's strong enough." He fired once more, the arrow hitting a second disc, its dark light flaring briefly.
The yard pulsed with their efforts, the darkness alive with trails of light—Bhima's wild flares, Arjuna's radiant streaks, Yudhishthira's soft beams, Duryodhana's smoldering arcs. Bhima sprawled on his bench, his chest heaving, his laugh echoing as he waved his bow. "Nothing yet, guru!" he said, his voice loud and cheerful, smearing another arrow for fun. "But I'm lighting the night! That's my score, right?"
"No," Drona said, his tone dry but fond, stepping over. "Targets, Bhima. Watch now."
Arjuna struck three more discs, his arrows blazing bright, their light dazzling as they pinned each mark with a clean thud. "Five," he said, his voice soft and sure, stepping back to Drona with a nod. "It's like they're alive."
"Alive?" Drona said, his awe clear, his staff tapping the ground as he met him. "That's your soul, Arjuna. Pure and bright."
Yudhishthira hit one more, his arrow glowing steady silver, its thud quiet but firm. "Three," he said, his voice gentle and pleased, lowering his bow. "It feels right."
"Right it is," Drona said, his tone warm and approving, smiling at him. "Your calm shines."
Duryodhana struck another, his arrow flickering dark red, sticking shallow in a third disc, and he trudged back, his scowl deep. "Three," he said, his voice low and sharp, kicking at the dirt. "Good enough."
"Good, not great," Drona replied, his tone stern and firm, meeting Duryodhana's glare. "Your fire's strong, but wild."
The torch sputtered low, its light fading as the trial stretched on, the yard a canvas of glowing trails. Bhima sat up, his grin wide as he waved a glowing arrow. "No hits!" he said, his voice loud and teasing, laughing through the dark. "But I've got the best show! Look at this shine!"
"Shine's not winning," Drona said, his tone patient and amused, shaking his head. "Hits are. Rest now."
Drona called them in, his voice ringing clear through the night, his staff tapping once, twice. "Enough," he said, his tone warm and final, the darkness settling. "Arjuna, five, blazing bright. Yudhishthira, three, steady glow. Duryodhana, three, fierce flicker. Bhima, none."
Bhima laughed, hauling himself up, his chest heaving as he brushed dirt from his tunic. "None's my tally!" he said, his voice loud and cheerful, grinning wide. "But I've got the wildest light! That's my prize, huh?"
"Wild's not a prize," Drona said, his tone dry but fond, shaking his head. "Skill is. You'll get there."
Arjuna set his bow down, his breath steady, his smile warm and quiet. "It's strange, guru," he said, his voice soft and honest, glancing at the glowing discs. "Felt like part of me went with them."
"It did," Drona replied, his pride clear, clapping Arjuna's shoulder. "That's your spirit, Arjuna. Dazzling."
Yudhishthira brushed his hands, his expression warm and thoughtful. "Three's good," he said, his voice gentle and steady, nodding at Arjuna. "Yours lit the night."
"Yours held it," Arjuna said, his tone calm and friendly, smiling back. "Steady's strong."
Duryodhana crossed his arms, his scowl dark, his voice low and sharp. "Three's fine," he said, glaring at Arjuna's discs. "Mine's got power. That's what counts."
"Power needs aim," Drona said, his tone stern and firm, meeting Duryodhana's glare. "Yours flickers. Tame it."