Yet, despite the outward decorum, there was a subtle rigidity in Achyut's shoulders, a faint tension in the set of his jaw. The tilt of his head and the sharpness in his eyes hinted at something unspoken—an undercurrent of scorn, barely perceptible but present, as if the commander silently weighed the crown prince's scrutiny against his own judgment. He had noticed his superior long time back, mid-battle, and so wanted to win this duel fashionably to impress him. He wanted the yuvraj to see his refined skills.

Adeettiya's gaze met Achyut's, steady and unwavering. The afternoon sun caught the glint of his crown-tinged attire, and every regal step he took into the arena spoke of command and composure. He stopped a few paces from the commander, hands relaxed at his sides, yet his presence filled the space with an undeniable weight.

"Senapati Achyut," Adeettiya said, voice calm, formal, but edged with challenge, "you have proven your skill admirably against a worthy opponent. Now, allow me the honor of testing it against my own."

A subtle murmur rippled through the spectators. Soldiers straightened instinctively, aware that a duel with the crown prince himself was both rare and significant. They would kill to have this opportunity of sparring with him once in their lifetimes. They decided to use this event to witness his skills, and maybe learn something from it.

Achyut's eyes flicked briefly toward Adeettiya, the usual reverence in his stance tempered by that underlying scorn, the faint tension in his posture sharpening. He inclined his head slightly, lips pressed into a thin line. "As you command, Your Highness," he replied, formal, disciplined, every word precise, "I will meet your challenge with the same honor I extend to my duty."

Adeettiya allowed a faint, approving nod, his expression unreadable, regal, yet carrying a spark of controlled anticipation. "Very well," he said simply, stepping fully into the center, "let us see whose skill guides Kalinga's fate today."

The courtyard seemed to hold its breath. Shields rested slightly, spears lowered, and even the wind through the carved arches softened, as though the arena itself acknowledged the gravity of this rare confrontation.

The courtyard fell into a hush as Adeettiya and Achyut squared off. Adeettiya's posture was flawless. Every movement was economical, every breath was controlled. His eyes, sharp and calculating, swept over Achyut's stance, noting the barely perceptible bend of the knees, the weight distribution, and the subtle grip on the spear.

Achyut's own movements were disciplined and precise, honed by years of training and command. He shifted lightly on his feet, spear angled for both attack and defense, every motion deliberate. Yet, despite his skill, there was a tension in the slight overextension of his strikes; a vulnerability Adeettiya's experienced gaze immediately caught.

From her seat, Urvashi's eyes widened slightly. She leaned forward, her fingers lightly gripping the edge of the bench. So this is how strategy looks in motion, she thought, heart quickening at the controlled intensity. Every parry and step seemed like a language of its own, telling a story she had never fully achieved the chance to witness before.

Without unnecessary flourish, Adeettiya advanced. His steps were measured, almost gliding over the stone, each one positioning him for optimal advantage. He did not engage with a flurry of strikes; instead, he waited for the exact moment when Achyut's guard opened, even just for an instant.

A quick feint to the left drew Achyut into a minor adjustment. In that split second, Adeettiya's spear flicked toward the commander's torso; not with force, but with perfect precision. Achyut barely parried, deflecting the point to the side, yet the strike had already tested his balance and reflexes.

Urvashi's breath caught. She had expected a drawn-out contest of strength, but what she saw was something far more elegant. As usual every movement was economical, every strike was intentional. She couldn't help but marvel at how Adeettiya seemed to move like water over stone, powerful yet fluid, a dance of intellect and skill rather than brute force.

Achyut countered, thrusting with a rapid forward motion. Adeettiya shifted almost imperceptibly, stepping aside and letting the spear glance off his shoulder guard. The maneuver was clean, controlled, demonstrating that his intention was not to harm unnecessarily but to expose and measure skill.

In under a minute, the duel reached its climax. Adeettiya observed Achyut's chest rise slightly with exertion, the subtle lean that betrayed his weight distribution. A calculated step forward, a deft flick of the spear, and the point lightly tapped Achyut's side armor at a critical angle, forcing him off balance. Achyut straightened instantly, acknowledging the precision, but the duel's lesson was clear: Adeettiya had dominated without aggression, using minimal movements to achieve maximum effect.

Urvashi exhaled softly, her hands clasped together in awe. He's... unreal, she thought. Not only strong, but every move is so deliberate, so intelligent. I've never seen skill like this. Her heart thrummed with admiration, her eyes following every subtle shift of spear and footwork.

The crowd exhaled collectively. The duel had been short, but every strike, every movement had been a masterclass in strategy and restraint. Adeettiya lowered his spear with calm authority, eyes still on Achyut.

Achyut inclined his head with measured respect, voice controlled but carrying reverence: "Your Highness, your skill is... formidable."

Adeettiya's faint, approving nod carried both challenge and amusement. "And you, Senapati, remain an indispensible asset to Kalinga. Precision and discipline are the virtues that guard a kingdom, not mere strength alone."

Urvashi, still seated, let out a small, yet impressed sigh, that escaped from her lips, her gaze lingering on both men. So the crown prince truly lives up to the legends... she thought, feeling a quiet thrill at witnessing such skill and the commanding presence of the prince in full motion.

The duel ended as swiftly as it had begun, leaving behind an air of awe and subtle tension lingering in the sunlit courtyard.

Adeettiya turned his gaze towards the raised platform where Urvashi had been seated, sunlight glinting off her honey-colored skin and the gentle fall of her braided bun. Even in her relaxed posture, stretched albeit after the duel, she radiated a calm yet striking presence, especially that distant look in her irises, one that seemed to belong simultaneously to this world and some other, unreachable realm.

Achyut and the other soldiers, following Adeettiya's line of sight, froze mid-step. Their eyes met hers, and though they had never seen her before, the recognition was immediate, silent and absolute. She was the woman whispered about in hushed tones across the palace, the center of every rumor, the lady of legend whose arrival was exaggerated to bend time and defy reason. Rumors had painted her in fragments: glimpsed at the temple sanctum, spoken of as a shadow that moved between moments, a figure that emerged without warning, and yet always in perfect composure.

Even as her appearance seemed ordinary at first glance: clad simply, serene, and unassuming, the soldiers' training and intuition read differently. There was something in the way she held herself, the quiet command of her gaze, and the subtle aura of presence that told them this was no ordinary visitor.

"By the gods..." murmured one of the younger officers, almost breathless, the words caught between awe and disbelief.

Achyut's jaw tightened, the action itself almost imperceptible. His disciplined posture betrayed a flicker of incredulity and his eyes felt cold and condescending. Yet he straightened immediately, inclining his head with formal respect, while his sharp eyes never left her. This is... he thought, the lady who transcends time itself, whose very existence has been spoken of as impossible. And yet here she stands, among the odinary. Ironical. A faux....

Adeettiya's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, a quiet acknowledgement of her presence. His voice, low but carrying effortlessly across the courtyard, reached Urvashi: "It seems, Lady Urvashi, that even the soldiers of Kalinga have waited for you. They have heard about the mystery surrounding your arrival and the world to which you belonged."

Urvashi blinked, realizing the attention she had drawn, her surprise reflected in her soft exhale. She had expected to be unnoticed, a visitor in a foreign land, yet the disciplined eyes of warriors and the piercing gaze of the crown prince rested upon her as though she had the right to belong here, both impossible and inevitable at once.

The courtyard, still haphazard and untidy with dust, sweat and blood of the duels, seemed to hold its breath, time itself pausing in the golden afternoon light, as the woman who 'defied' logic now graced the foot-soldiers of Kalinga.

Urvashi rose gracefully from the raised platform, brushing a stray lock of hair that stuck to her sweaty cheek while she descended toward the arena. Each step was measured, poised and graceful, as though she knew exactly the effect her presence carried, though she moved without intention to command it. She did not want to garner unwanted attention.

Achyut and the assembled soldiers straightened at once, their disciplined formation tightening subtly as she approached. Even before she came close, they recognized her—not merely by appearance, but by the faint aura that seemed to precede her, the same whispers of legend that had circulated in hushed tones for months.

As she entered the arena, every soldier instinctively inclined their heads in formal respect. Achyut himself halted his practiced stance, spear resting lightly at his side, and offered a deep, reverent nod. His eyes, sharp and discerning, betrayed both recognition and cautious awe.

"Lady Urvashi," he intoned, voice steady and controlled, yet weighted with formality, "it is an honor to have you among us in Kalinga."

The other soldiers echoed the gesture, bowing slightly, shields lowered but posture unwavering, the clamor of the courtyard's previous energy now softened into an atmosphere of deference. Their hands were folded in a namaskara and eyes were lowered in respect. To be escorted by the Crown Prince himself was no joke.

Adeettiya, standing a step behind her, allowed a faint, approving smile to curve his lips. He observed not just her movement, but the effect she had on the trained warriors around her: ripple of respect, awe, and disciplined admiration. Even in the heart of Kalingan political landscape, in the midst of strategy and standing, her presence commanded quiet veneration without a single word.

Urvashi, startled by the formal reception, yet composed, inclined her head in acknowledgment, a soft smile touching her lips. So this is how the world receives the impossible, she thought, feeling both curiosity and a quiet thrill at the realization. She was special here. But speciality without usefulness was a disadvantage.

Adeettiya noticed the prejudice-filled gaze of his senadhipati's eyes. Those cold, calculating eyes flicked to her—once, twice—measuring and dissecting. The crown prince, noticing the charged silence, allowed it to stretch before breaking it.
"You fought well," he remarked, voice low, threaded with the sharpness of judgment. "Your stance has grown more refined. Not bad."

Achyut dipped his head, though his lips pressed thin. Praise from the prince was a blade; sharp, cutting pride even as it honored.
"Your words are worth more than victory itself, my liege."

"I see." Then Adeettiya retracted his gaze from him to the benches at the periphery of the arena.

Seeing the silent command that the crown prince imposed on him, Achyut barked one final order, sharp and uncompromising, before gesturing the nearest soldier to carry on the discipline. His authority lingered even in absence, like the durability of iron. Soldiers resumed their drills with their shields locking in unison and their spears thrusting with the rhythm of a drumbeat. Then, turning, they strode towards the shaded benches at the edge of the arena.

Adeettiya sat at ease, though his bearing never slipped from princely poise. The faint breeze tugged strands of hair loose, lifting them against the sunlight. Sweat trickled down his back, which he wiped with a cloth provided by one of his men. His gaze, however, was not lost in idle thought. His senapati, sat opposite, his back straight as if carved from stone. His broad shoulders still carried the sweat of his duel; his forearm bore a faint bruise, yet his eyes gleamed unyielding. He did not glance long at Urvashi, though every time his gaze flicked her way it was like a blade pressed to her skin. His thoughts simmered darkly. This woman. No family-name. No kin. Arrives along with foresights of gods and fate, and the court laps it up like milk. I have seen too much blood to drink such tales. She will bring ruin if unchecked. I need to convince his highness somehow...

Urvashi sat quietly beside Adeettiya, hands folded in her lap, posture composed. Her expression betrayed little, yet her thoughts moved as fluidly as the water in the garden fountains they had left behind. How swiftly suspicion rises. His eyes say more than his lips dare. He does not know me, yet he holds me in doubt. Still... it is not new. It is somewhat understandable that men of arms often fear what they cannot pierce with their spears. It's honestly so tiring to keep my guard up all the time. If this were the modern times, he might have been arrested for his scandalous look, she tried joking in her mind.

The silence hung again, but this time it was Urvashi who pierced it, her voice carrying a clarity that seemed oddly out of place in the dust-laden air.
"The field resounds with discipline," she said softly, her gaze traveling to the soldiers who practiced in unison. "Such order... it mirrors the fiery heartbeat of Kalinga itself."

Achyut's eyes hardened. "Order does not spring from the air, lady. Nor from fate, nor from stories sung by wandering bards. It is forged, hammered like steel in fire. By sweat. By blood."

His words, though aimed at the air, carried an unwarrented responsibility meant for her. His voice was iron-wrought, clipped. "My lord, forgive my plainness. But I say this: discipline, not superstition, is what keeps Kalinga strong. Soldiers who look for omens in the sky will stumble when steel meets their breast."

His eyes shifted, just barely, toward Urvashi.