The night was silent, but Veer could feel the weight of countless eyes upon him. The nine tribes had gathered on the riverbank, a vast semicircle of warriors, elders, women, and children, their torches flickering against the darkness. For the first time in history, all tribes stood together—not as rivals, but as witnesses to something greater.
At the center, Veer stood tall, his bare feet pressed into the cool soil of his homeland. The air was thick with expectation. A boy who once had no family, no tribe, no name beyond "orphan," was now about to rise as the leader who would unify them all.
But Veer knew this was no simple coronation. This was a test of worthiness—of destiny.
From the shadows, the voice of Vakya whispered within him.
"The path of kingship is not given; it is earned. Tonight, the tribes do not merely seek a ruler. They seek a protector. They seek a roar that can silence fear and awaken courage. Will you roar, Veer?"
His heart thundered. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. The smell of burning resin from the torches, the murmur of restless tribes, the steady flow of the river—all melted into one symphony. When he opened his eyes, his resolve was as sharp as the blade on his hip.
The eldest chieftain, Dhruvan of the Stone Tribe, stepped forward. His beard was streaked with silver, and his voice carried the authority of centuries.
"Veer, son of no tribe, yet brother to all, you have led us through fire and blood. You have fought when we doubted, and bled when others would have fled. But kingship cannot be claimed by strength alone. Tonight, you must face the Trial of Roar."
A murmur ran through the crowd. Some nodded with reverence, others with unease. The Trial of Roar was an ancient ritual, spoken of only in hushed tones.
"What is this trial?" Veer asked, though his voice held no fear.
Dhruvan's eyes gleamed. "It is not a battle of flesh, but of spirit. A king's roar must be heard not just by men, but by the very world itself. You must step into the Circle of Echoes, where the ancestors watch. There, your soul will be laid bare. If your roar carries the truth of your heart, the tribes will bow to you as King. But if it falters…"
He left the words unfinished. The silence that followed said enough.
Veer's hand instinctively brushed the hilt of his sword, but then fell away. This was not a trial he could fight with steel. This was something deeper.
"Very well," Veer said, his voice calm, unwavering. "I will face this trial."
The tribes parted, forming a wide circle by the river's edge. At its center, the ground shimmered faintly under the torchlight—etched symbols spiraling outward, glowing as though alive. Veer stepped inside. Immediately, the air grew heavier, pressing against his chest. The whispers of the living faded, replaced by the faint hum of unseen voices.
The Circle of Echoes…
Vakya's voice stirred within him. "Here, time bends. You will see what lies buried in your heart. Do not resist it."
Veer closed his eyes.
And suddenly, the world shifted.
He was no longer standing on the riverbank. Instead, he found himself in a vast void, endless and dark. In the distance, shadows moved—familiar yet twisted.
The first shape took form. It was himself—as a boy, ragged and hungry, clutching his knees by the temple ruins.
"You are nothing," the boy whispered, his voice hollow. "An orphan with no bloodline, no past. How can you lead tribes when you cannot even protect yourself?"
The words stabbed into him, but Veer did not flinch. He knelt by the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"I was nothing once. But being nothing gave me the strength to become everything. That pain was my teacher. I will never deny it."
The boy's shadow melted into light.
Then came another form. His enemies—the raiders he had slain. They sneered at him, their bloodstained faces contorted.
"You killed us. You call yourself noble, but your hands are soaked in blood. Is this what a king is?"
Veer's jaw tightened. He looked at his hands, scarred from countless battles.
"Yes," he said firmly. "My hands are stained, but they are stained for my people. I did not kill for greed, or for glory. I killed to protect. If a king fears blood, then his people will drown in it."
The shadows hissed but dissolved.
The void trembled. Then, a final figure appeared—towering, vast, cloaked in darkness. Its face was formless, yet its voice thundered.
"You speak of kingship, but do you truly know what it means? To rule is to sacrifice. To bear the hatred of your enemies—and sometimes, of your own people. Can you endure being loved and hated, praised and cursed, all at once? Can you stand alone, even when your heart breaks?"
The weight of the question crushed against Veer's chest. His knees trembled. But then, deep within him, Vakya's voice rose—not as a whisper, but as a resounding pulse.
"Speak, Veer. Roar with the truth of your soul."
Veer's heart blazed. He threw back his head, and from his lungs came a roar—not of an animal, not of a warrior, but of a man who had embraced every wound, every burden, every dream.
"I AM VEER! I AM THE SON OF THIS LAND! I HAVE KNOWN HUNGER, I HAVE KNOWN LOSS, AND I HAVE KNOWN PAIN. BUT FROM THAT PAIN, I FORGED MY STRENGTH. I DO NOT SEEK TO BE A KING FOR POWER—BUT TO BE THE SHIELD AND THE SWORD OF MY PEOPLE! IF SACRIFICE IS THE PRICE, I WILL PAY IT! IF HATRED IS THE BURDEN, I WILL BEAR IT! I AM NOT JUST ONE TRIBE—I AM ALL TRIBES! AND UNTIL MY LAST BREATH, I WILL ROAR FOR THEM!"
The void shattered like glass.
When Veer opened his eyes, he was back in the circle. His roar still echoed, not just in the air, but in the very earth beneath him. The ground trembled, the river surged as if answering him, and the torches flared higher. The tribes fell silent—awed, breathless. Even the elders who had seen countless winters bowed their heads.
Then, one by one, voices rose.
"VEER! VEER! VEER!"
The chant grew, thundering like a storm. Warriors pounded their spears against the ground, women raised their children to the sky, and elders wept openly. For the first time, the tribes were united—not by fear, not by necessity, but by faith.
Dhruvan stepped forward, his old eyes wet with tears. He placed a crown of woven gold and iron upon Veer's head.
"From this night forth," he declared, his voice breaking with emotion, "you are no longer just Veer. You are Veer, King of the Nine Tribes—the Roar of the Land."
The world seemed to still. The orphan boy was gone. In his place stood a king.
And far above, in the unseen heavens, Vakya whispered with pride:
"The throne is not given. It is earned. And tonight, you have earned it."