The fire from the blood oath ceremony still smoldered as the tribes dispersed to their camps, voices filled with newfound pride. For the first time in centuries, they believed they were no longer divided fragments but a single body bound by Veer's vision.
But destiny never waits for unity to ripen. It tests it in its rawest form.
The test came before the next sunrise.
The night had been still, unnervingly still. Even the crickets had fallen silent. Veer sat outside his tent, sharpening his blade, eyes watching the faint silver crescent of the moon. His instincts gnawed at him—something in the air felt wrong. Too quiet. Too heavy.
Then it came.
A horn sounded in the distance, deep and unnatural, unlike the tribal drums or signals. It was shrill, metallic, and carried the echo of death. The warriors stirred in their sleep. Veer rose instantly.
"Warriors, to arms!" his voice thundered across the camp.
Before the echoes could fade, the first flaming arrow hissed through the air and struck a tent, setting it ablaze. Screams erupted as shadows poured from the treeline—armored soldiers of the empire. Their steel glimmered red in the firelight, their movements precise and ruthless.
The empire had not waited for Veer to march—they had struck first.
Chaos rippled through the tribal camp. The Serpent Tribe warriors scrambled for their spears, the Bear Tribe roared as they charged without armor, and the Hawk Tribe leapt into action with deadly precision. Yet, for all their bravery, many were cut down before they could even form ranks.
Veer didn't hesitate. He leapt onto a rock, sword flashing in the flames, his voice cutting through the panic like a blade.
"Form the circle! Defend the fire!"
His words carried weight, and the chiefs responded. The warriors fell back, rallying around the sacred fire where the blood oath had been taken only hours before. There, shoulder to shoulder, they raised their shields and spears.
The empire's commander rode forward, clad in black armor with a crimson plume on his helm. His face was hidden, but his voice boomed with cruel amusement.
"So, the tribes of the wilderness think themselves united? How quaint. Tonight, I will scatter your ashes back into the dust where you belong."
Veer's eyes blazed. He raised his sword high, blood from the oath still staining its hilt. "You will not break us. Not tonight. Not ever."
The commander sneered and raised his arm. "Kill them all."
The battle erupted.
Steel clashed with steel, screams mingled with war cries, and the once-sacred field turned crimson with blood. The Serpent Tribe fought with uncanny agility, weaving through the enemy like shadows, daggers sinking into exposed throats. The Bear Tribe formed the front line, their massive frames absorbing blow after blow, their axes crushing shields like twigs. The Hawk Tribe loosed arrows from behind the circle, their aim so deadly that every arrow found its mark.
But the empire's soldiers were no ordinary foes. Trained, disciplined, armored—they moved as one, pressing relentlessly, never breaking ranks. Every time a tribal warrior fell, another imperial spear found a new victim.
Veer plunged into the thick of the fight, his blade a blur of silver. He cut down three soldiers in a single arc, then spun to shield a young boy from the Deer Tribe who had stumbled. "Stand, warrior!" Veer barked, lifting the boy to his feet. "Tonight, you fight for more than your life—you fight for every life that comes after!"
The boy's eyes widened with fire, and he raised his spear again.
Yet Veer knew they were on the edge. The empire's numbers were overwhelming, and their discipline unshakable. If something didn't change, the circle would break.
Then, from the shadows of the treeline, a howl erupted.
The Wolf Tribe, late to the oath, had arrived. Their warriors burst into the field with painted faces and blades gleaming in the moonlight. They struck the empire's flank with savage ferocity, tearing into their lines like a storm unleashed.
The imperial commander snarled, his formation breaking for the first time. Veer seized the moment.
"To me!" he roared. "With me!"
He charged, his sword blazing in the firelight, cutting through the wavering imperial soldiers like a force of nature. The chiefs followed, each like a god of war in their own right—the Bear chief crushing helmets, the Serpent matriarch striking throats with precision, the Hawk elder firing arrows even in close quarters.
The tide began to turn. The tribes, now bound by blood and battle, fought not as nine, but as one. Every man and woman seemed to carry not only their own strength but the strength of all their kin.
The imperial commander found himself face-to-face with Veer. Their blades clashed with a thunderous crack. Sparks flew as they exchanged blow after blow, neither yielding.
"You are strong, boy," the commander growled, his voice muffled by his helm. "But strength alone does not win wars. Discipline does. Order does."
Veer's eyes burned like twin suns. "Then tonight, learn what chaos united feels like."
With a surge of raw power, Veer struck the commander's blade aside and drove his sword into the man's chest. The armor cracked, the plume toppled, and the commander fell to his knees, blood pouring from his mouth.
The imperial soldiers faltered at the sight. Their leader slain, their lines crumbled. The tribes roared and pressed forward, driving the enemy back into the darkness from which they came.
At last, silence fell. The field was a graveyard of bodies and broken weapons, the fire still crackling at the center.
The warriors, bloodied and weary, raised their weapons and let out a roar that shook the heavens. For the first time, they had fought together as one—and won.
But Veer stood amidst the carnage, his face grim. He knew this was only the beginning. The empire had tested them, probing their strength. Next time, they would not send a commander—they would send an army.
The blood oath had been tested by fire and steel—and it had held. But Veer also knew something darker: unity had been born not in peace, but in blood. And blood always demanded more.