(A/N):
Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.
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After Four months...
Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months.
And for four months—There were no miracles.
No divine weapons. No cosmic events.
Only—Practice. Again. And again.
Devara stood beside Karna
Both holding—Simple bows.
Not Pinakodanda. Not destiny.
Just wooden simple one. And string. Meant for practice. And also a heavier one.
From a distance—Lord Parashurama
Watched. Them practice. In silent.
"...."
Observing every breath they take before drawing the string.
Every stance when they aim. Every mistake they make which could be improved to make their movements and aim comfortable.
Then—A single correction would land on the ears of both Karna and Devara.
"Your shoulder."
"Too tense."
"Let the arrow flow—don't force it."
