Rohan, teeth gritted, reined Agni to a trot. They reformed: Agni in front as scout, Gajantak as shield, Nabhachari above as eyes.
For the first hour, chaos reigned. Rohan urged Agni into a gallop, leaving Meera and Bheem behind. But as he rounded a corner, a black-sap tendril lashed out and slashed Agni’s flank. Instantly, Rohan gasped—a deep cut opened on his own arm. Agni stumbled. And far behind, Meera felt her left leg go numb, while Bheem’s Gajantak shuddered as if struck by a hammer. vahan samanvay
“To ride together,” she said, “you must hurt together. When one bleeds, all bleed. When one tires, all slow. When one doubts, the Labyrinth will feast.” Rohan, teeth gritted, reined Agni to a trot
, a scarred young outcast, rode Agni , a Dhwaja Horse—half flesh, half brass, its mane a cascade of burning oil. Agni was prideful, fast, and prone to rage. It had thrown three riders before Rohan. Rohan urged Agni into a gallop, leaving Meera
They landed on the far side, skidding, burning, bleeding. Gajantak lost a wheel. Agni lost its brass shin guard. Nabhachari tore a sail. But they were across.
But the crystal pulsed. And they realized: the pain was shared, but so was the courage. Meera’s calm flowed into Rohan’s panic. Bheem’s steady heartbeat slowed Agni’s racing pulse. Rohan’s fierce will gave Nabhachari sharpness in its glide.