They did not stay long.
There were no rituals.
No sacred vows spoken.
No formal acceptance into some hidden order.
Only direction.
Clear.
Simple.
Unavoidable.
And once it was given—
The path did not wait.
It moved forward.
The hidden hall faded behind them.
Not physically at first—
But perceptually.
Its presence lingered in memory, in awareness…
But when they turned back—
There was nothing.
No entrance.
No structure.
No trace.
As if it had never existed at all.
Duryodhana glanced once over his shoulder.
Only once.
Then he looked ahead again.
Because whatever that place was—
It did not belong to the world they walked in.
And whatever came next—
Would not allow hesitation.
The road stretched eastward.
Narrow.
Uneven.
Less traveled.
The kind of path that existed not for travelers—
But for those who knew where they were going.
The land around them slowly shifted as they walked.
From open plains brushed by wind—
