The night air crackled with tension. Veer and his companions had set up camp deep within the darkened woods, far from the eyes of the warlord's scattered men. The firelight flickered softly, throwing long shadows against the trees, making them sway like spirits.
Veer sat cross-legged near the flames, his eyes closed, his breath slow and controlled. Around him, the others rested—Arya quietly sharpening her arrows, Jai polishing his blade, Mira humming a soft healing mantra over Tanu's scraped knee.
But Veer's mind was elsewhere.
Inside, he reached out to Vakya, the divine system that had guided him ever since his lonely childhood turned into a march toward destiny. The voice within stirred, subtle yet powerful, whispering truths Veer had not yet understood.
"Words shape the world," Vakya echoed. "But only those who understand silence command true power."
Veer opened his eyes slowly. Across the fire, Arya caught his gaze.
"You're thinking again," she murmured.
He smiled faintly. "Always."
She set down her bow and stretched her arms. "The others are worried, you know. Every time you go quiet, we wonder if you're about to walk into the next storm."
Veer leaned forward, tossing a small twig into the fire. "We are always walking into storms, Arya." His voice was soft, almost sad. "It's just that sometimes, the storm is already inside."
Arya frowned slightly but said nothing. She knew better than to press when Veer spoke like this.
Suddenly, a rustling broke through the quiet night. Veer shot to his feet, hand on his sword. Jai was already moving, his heavy boots crunching on the forest floor as he scanned the shadows. Mira pulled Tanu close behind her, whispering calming words.
But then, from the trees, emerged a figure Veer hadn't expected.
A woman, cloaked in black, her face hidden behind a silver veil. Her presence radiated power—not brute strength, but something more subtle, more dangerous.
Veer stepped forward, his voice steady. "Who are you?"
The woman's voice was like smoke: "I am called Amara. I bring a warning."
Arya immediately raised her bow. "A warning? Or a trap?"
Amara lifted one slender hand. "The warlord you fought today was just the edge of the blade. His master—the true ruler of these lands—knows about you now. He's sending something far worse."
Veer narrowed his eyes. "And why would you warn us?"
Amara tilted her head slightly, the firelight reflecting in her veil. "Because I've seen the truth behind your name, Veer. You are not just a boy with a sword. You are the one who carries Vakya, the system of words, the weaver of fate."
A ripple of tension moved through the camp. Jai tightened his grip on his blade. Mira's eyes widened. Arya took a slow step toward Veer, her bow still drawn.
"How do you know about Vakya?" Veer demanded.
Amara chuckled softly. "There are older powers at play, boy. You are not the only one touched by the divine. But your light is growing too fast, and the shadows are starting to notice."
Veer felt a chill run down his spine—not from fear, but from the weight of responsibility settling heavier on his shoulders.
Vakya stirred within him, whispering words he barely understood. "Test her."
Veer took a slow breath. "If you know me, then you know I can't just trust your words."
Amara's eyes glittered behind the veil. "Good. Then test me."
Without warning, Veer spoke a single command under his breath: "Reveal."
The air shimmered, and Amara's form flickered—just for a moment, her silhouette rippled, breaking the illusion. Veer's heart thudded in his chest. She wasn't just a messenger. She was a shape-shifter.
But to his surprise, Amara only smiled. "You're learning, Veer. That's why you might survive what comes next."
Before he could stop her, she raised both hands and released a burst of ash-like light into the fire. The flames roared upward, twisting into shapes—warriors, beasts, castles, a kingdom veiled in smoke.
The vision was brief, but Veer understood: this was the war to come.
When the light faded, Amara was already stepping back into the trees. "We will meet again, child of fate," she murmured. "And when we do, choose your words carefully."
And just like that, she was gone.
For a long moment, no one spoke. The forest around them fell silent, as if holding its breath.
Finally, Arya let out a shaky laugh. "Well. That's not terrifying at all."
Veer turned back to the fire, his face calm, but inside, a storm was rising.
Vakya pulsed within him, its voice softer now. "Prepare. You are no longer the hunter. You are being hunted."
Veer clenched his fists. He had come so far—from the orphaned boy scraping for survival, to the leader of a band of rebels, to the wielder of a power even he barely understood.
But now, the path ahead darkened. The true war was beginning.
And Veer knew, as he stared into the whispering flames, that he would need more than power to survive. He would need his friends. His faith. And his unbreakable will.
Tomorrow, they would move. Tomorrow, they would strike.
Tonight, under the watchful gaze of the stars, Veer vowed silently to himself: no matter what shadows came, he would walk through them. For his people. For his destiny.
For the kingdom that awaited him.