The silence that followed Anal's revelation was heavier than the mountain they had just escaped. The dagger's cold whisper still echoed in his mind, a serpent's promise of a trap waiting to be sprung. He could feel Neel's gaze on him, worried, expectant. Waiting for a reaction, for fear, for something.
Anal gave him nothing.
He straightened up, his face a mask of stoic calm. The trembling from the psychic assault was forced down, locked away behind walls of discipline. He was the Crown Prince of Tejgarh, and princes did not falter.
"They're waiting," Anal said, his voice flat and devoid of the horror he had felt moments ago. "The Ashram is a trap."
Neel watched him, a flicker of confusion in his blue eyes. "Then... what do we do? We can't go back. The Gurukul isn't safe. My uncle's men..."
"We go forward," Anal interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. He stood, brushing the dirt from his robes with sharp, efficient motions. "It is the only logical path. We know their intention. That is an advantage. An unknown trap is dangerous. A known one is a tactical problem."
He began walking, not towards the path that would lead to the main road, but deeper into the untamed heart of the forest, eastwards. "We will not take the expected route. We will go through the wilderness. It will be harder, but it will afford us the element of surprise."
Neel scrambled to his feet, falling into step beside him. "Anal, wait. Are you sure? The Whispering Woods are... unpredictable. Even the hunters from the local villages avoid the deep parts."
"All the better," Anal replied, not looking at him. "If the locals avoid it, so will the Conclave's scouts." His mind was already mapping their route, calculating risks, suppressing the part of him that screamed at the intimacy of being utterly dependent on this boy, this keeper. "We need water. Find a stream."
It was an order, not a request. Neel's jaw tightened slightly, but he nodded, closing his eyes to focus. After a moment, he pointed slightly north. "There. A small one, about half a mile."
They walked in silence, the only sounds their footsteps on the damp undergrowth and the distant calls of unknown creatures. The forest grew denser, the canopy so thick it blotted out the stars. Anal led with a relentless pace, his focus entirely on the path ahead, on survival. He could feel Neel's occasional glances, sense the unasked questions hanging in the air between them. He ignored them.
When they found the stream, Anal knelt, drinking deeply from his cupped hands. The water was cold and clean. He refilled his waterskin with methodical precision.
"Your control in the temple," Neel said suddenly, his voice quiet against the babble of the stream. "It was... impressive. After the Catalyst."
Anal's movements didn't falter. "It was necessary." He did not thank him for the chant. To thank him would be to acknowledge the vulnerability, the loss of control. It would be to acknowledge that he needed Neel. And that was a truth he was not ready to face.
Neel sighed, a soft, frustrated sound. "Anal, we almost died. We're walking into a trap. We can't just... not talk."
"What is there to talk about?" Anal finally looked at him, his amber eyes cool and distant in the gloom. "The facts are clear. We have a destination. We have enemies. We have a mission. Conversation is an unnecessary expenditure of energy."
"It's not about expenditure of energy!" Neel's composure cracked, his voice rising. "It's about... about what happened! That chant... I've never felt power like that from you. It was like staring into the sun. And you... you listened to me. For a moment, it felt like we were..."
"Like we were what?" Anal cut him off, his voice sharp as a blade. "Partners? Friends?" He stood up, turning to face Neel fully. "Let us be clear, Prince of Neelgarh. You are here because of a vow. I am here because of a curse. Our paths have converged out of necessity, not choice. Do not mistake tactical cooperation for camaraderie."
The words were meant to push him away, to rebuild the walls that had crumbled in the temple's heat. He saw them land, saw the flash of hurt in Neel's eyes before it was masked by a defensive coolness of his own.
"Of course," Neel said, his tone now as formal as Anal's. "My mistake. I was merely assessing our operational compatibility."
"See that it does not happen again," Anal said, turning away. The dismissal was final.
But as he turned, his foot caught on a hidden root, slick with moss. He stumbled, his balance lost on the steep, muddy bank of the stream. For a heart-stopping second, he felt himself pitching backwards towards the sharp rocks that lined the watercourse.
A hand shot out, grabbing his arm with a firm, steady grip. Neel's grasp was sure, his body bracing against Anal's weight, pulling him back from the edge.
Time froze. Anal was acutely aware of the warmth of Neel's hand through his sleeve, the solid strength in the grip, the proximity of their bodies. His heart hammered against his ribs, a traitorous rhythm of shock and something else, something he refused to name. His eyes, wide with the sudden fall, locked with Neel's. In the deep blue, he saw not mockery, but a flicker of that same unspoken connection that had haunted him from the beginning.
Just as quickly, Anal wrenched his arm back, breaking the contact as if burned. "I had it under control," he snapped, the lie tasting bitter.
Neel simply looked at him, his expression unreadable. "Clearly," he said, his voice soft.
Before Anal could form another cutting retort, a low, guttural growl rumbled from the darkness of the trees behind them. It was a sound that spoke of immense size and primal hunger. As one, they turned, their argument forgotten, to face the new, very real threat that now emerged from the shadows—a massive, sleek-furred panther, its eyes glowing like embers in the dark, its muscles coiled to spring.
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