Heat shimmered off the rocks in the quarry's heart, a flat arena carved from stone baking under a noon sun that blazed fierce and unrelenting. The towering walls loomed high, their jagged edges casting faint shadows over the dusty ground, while the air buzzed with the dry scent of earth and iron. A faint wind stirred the grit, swirling it around a cleared circle where red chalk marked the boundaries, trembling with the promise of a clash. The quarry pulsed with raw energy, a crucible ready to forge the princes' wills in a duel of maces and mettle.
Drona stood at the circle's edge, his lean frame steady in the glare, his tattered white robes fluttering faintly as sweat glistened on his brow. His gray hair was tied back tight, and his dark eyes gleamed with a stern, commanding fire as he faced the Kuru princes. In one hand, he held his staff, its tip planted firm in the cracked stone; the other gestured toward the arena, calm but unyielding. The princes gathered around him, their tunics damp with the morning's sweat, their breaths heaving in the heat as they gripped their maces, anticipation sparking in their gazes.
Bhima rocked on his heels, his massive frame towering over the group, his broad grin flashing wide as he swung his mace in a lazy arc, the iron head whistling through the air. "A duel today, guru?" he said, his voice booming across the quarry, loud enough to echo off the walls. "This is my kind of fun! Who's my target? I'll smash them flat!"
Drona turned to him, his expression calm but unyielding, his voice cutting through the heat with steady force. "Not smashing, Bhima," he said, his tone deep and firm, quieting the air for a moment. "Fighting. You'll duel with maces, one on one. Your foe's Duryodhana. Technique over fury. Begin when I call."
Bhima's grin stretched wider, his eyes lighting up as he laughed, the sound rumbling like a rockslide over the stones. "Duryodhana?" he said, his tone bright and eager, pointing his mace at his rival with a grunt. "Perfect! I've been itching to crack that smug face! Let's go, guru!"
"Crack less, strike true," Drona replied, his voice dry and patient, lifting a hand to steady him. "This is skill, not chaos."
Duryodhana strode forward, his chin high, his dark hair glinting in the sun as he gripped his mace with both hands. "Smug face?" he said, his voice low and edged with a growl, his brow furrowing deep. "You'll eat those words, Bhima. I'll put you in the dust first. Guru, say the word."
"Soon," Drona said, his gaze settling on Duryodhana with a flicker of stern warmth, his tone firm. "Step in the circle. Five blows each, or until one yields. Show me control."
Arjuna stepped up beside them, his lean form quiet and still, his sandals scuffing the stone as he watched the arena. His tunic clung with sweat, his breath even, and his dark eyes flicked between Bhima and Duryodhana with a steady focus. "Control," he said, his voice soft but clear, glancing at Drona with a nod. "That's the test, guru. They'll shake the quarry with this."
"They will," Drona said, his tone warm but sharp, meeting Arjuna's gaze. "And you'll watch. Learn from it."
The princes fanned out, their footsteps kicking up dust, the quarry humming with the clank of iron as Bhima and Duryodhana stepped into the circle. Bhima planted his feet wide, his mace raised, his laugh booming as he faced his rival. "Here we go!" he shouted, his voice ringing loud, the air trembling with his energy. "Ready to dance, Duryodhana? I'll lead!"
"Lead yourself to a fall," Duryodhana replied, his voice low and sharp, his smirk tight as he gripped his mace harder. "I'm waiting."
Drona raised his staff, his voice ringing clear over the stones. "Begin," he said, his tone steady and commanding, stepping back to watch.
Bhima lunged forward, his massive frame surging, his mace swinging in a wild arc as he roared. "Take this!" he shouted, his voice loud and fierce, the iron head crashing toward Duryodhana's shoulder. Sparks flew as Duryodhana twisted, his mace meeting Bhima's with a deafening clang, the ground shaking under the blow. Bhima laughed, stepping back, his chest heaving. "Ha!" he said, his tone bright and taunting, swinging again. "Felt that, didn't you?"
"Felt it and blocked it," Duryodhana said, his voice low and gritted, his arms trembling as he parried another wild swing. He countered fast, his mace arcing low toward Bhima's legs, but Bhima leapt back, the iron grazing his tunic with a scrape.
"Too slow!" Bhima said, his laugh booming as he charged again, his mace slamming down with a grunt. Duryodhana sidestepped, the blow cracking the stone beneath, and swung hard, catching Bhima's arm with a glancing thud that staggered him. Bhima stumbled, his grin faltering for a heartbeat, then he straightened, his eyes blazing. "Nice one!" he said, his tone loud and grudging, rubbing his arm. "You've got some fight!"
"More than some," Duryodhana replied, his voice sharp and proud, his smirk widening as he swung again, aiming for Bhima's chest. The mace met Bhima's in midair, sparks flying bright in the heat, and the quarry trembled with the clash.
Drona stepped closer, his voice steady and firm as he raised a hand. "Hold!" he said, his tone cutting through the noise, his staff tapping the ground. "Step back. Breathe."
Bhima lowered his mace, his chest heaving, his grin returning as he wiped sweat from his brow. "Breathe?" he said, his voice loud and teasing, laughing through the dust. "I'm just warming up, guru! That was a good bash!"
"Good bash, bad aim," Drona said, his tone dry but patient, pointing at Bhima's wild stance. "Your swings are wide, Bhima. Tighten them. Strike with purpose."
"Purpose?" Bhima said, chuckling as he flexed his arms, the mace gleaming in his grip. "My purpose is smashing him! I'll get it next time!"
Drona turned to Duryodhana, his voice stern and sharp as he nodded. "And you," he said, his tone steady and firm, meeting Duryodhana's glare. "Your grip's too tense. Loosen it. Let the mace flow."
"Flow?" Duryodhana said, his smirk faint but fierce, his voice low and edged as he adjusted his hold. "It flowed enough to hit him. I'm fine, guru."
"Fine's not enough," Drona replied, his tone warm with challenge, stepping back. "Again. Five blows left."
Bhima planted his feet, his mace raised, his laugh booming as he faced Duryodhana again. "Round two!" he shouted, his voice ringing loud, charging with a grunt. He swung hard, the mace whistling through the air, and Duryodhana blocked it, sparks flying as their irons clashed once more. Bhima pressed forward, his strength surging, and landed a glancing blow on Duryodhana's shoulder, staggering him back.
"Got you!" Bhima said, his tone bright and taunting, stepping back with a grin as Duryodhana winced.
Duryodhana straightened, his scowl dark, his voice low and sharp as he gripped his mace tighter. "Got me?" he said, his tone bitter and fierce, lunging forward. He swung with a cunning twist, the mace arcing fast toward Bhima's side, striking hard with a thud that echoed off the walls. Bhima grunted, his grin fading as he stumbled, his eyes blazing with fire.
"Good one!" Bhima said, his voice loud and grudging, rubbing his side as he straightened. "You're quick, I'll give you that!"
"Quick and better," Duryodhana replied, his smirk sharp and proud, his breath heaving as he raised his mace again.
Drona stepped in, his voice ringing clear as he raised his staff high. "Enough!" he said, his tone steady and commanding, his eyes locked on them both. "Stand down."
Bhima lowered his mace, his chest heaving, his grin wide as he wiped his face with a dusty hand. "That was a blast!" he said, his voice loud and cheerful, laughing through the heat. "We shook the quarry, huh? You're tougher than you look, Duryodhana!"
"Tougher than you think," Duryodhana said, his voice low and sharp, his smirk holding as he brushed dust from his tunic. "I'll prove it next time."
Drona stepped between them, his voice warm with pride as he nodded at Bhima. "You've got power," he said, his tone steady and firm, resting his staff on the ground. "But it's wild, Bhima. Rein it in. Technique over fury."
"Rein it?" Bhima said, chuckling as he flexed his arms, his mace gleaming. "I'll rein it and still smash him! That was fun, guru!"
Drona turned to Duryodhana, his tone stern and approving as he met his gaze. "And you've got skill," he said, his voice warm but sharp. "But your anger tightens you, Duryodhana. Ease it. Let it flow."
"Ease?" Duryodhana said, his smirk faint but fierce, his voice low and edged as he crossed his arms. "I hit him, didn't I? That's what counts."
"Counts for now," Drona replied, his tone patient and firm, stepping back. "Rest. You've both grown."
Arjuna moved closer, his voice soft and steady as he glanced at the cracked stone beneath their feet. "That was big, guru," he said, his tone warm and honest, nodding at Bhima and Duryodhana. "They've got fire. Hard to match."
"Fire needs form," Drona said, his pride clear, smiling faintly at Arjuna. "They'll find it. So will you."
Bhima clapped Duryodhana's shoulder with a thud, his laugh booming as he grinned wide. "Good scrap!" he said, his voice loud and teasing, brushing sweat from his brow. "You're not bad, cousin! I'll get you next time!"
"Next time's mine," Duryodhana said, his voice low and sharp, his smirk twisting as he shrugged off Bhima's hand. "You'll see."