The sun had barely risen, yet the Sacred Valley was already alive with the clash of drums and the low hum of anticipation. Warriors and elders from every tribe gathered in a vast circle around the ancient stone formation, their eyes fixed on the center where Veer stood alone.
The night before, whispers had spread like wildfire. Some spoke of Veer's arrogance, others of his bravery. But all agreed on one thing—the boy had challenged fate itself by asking for the trials of the Nine Tribes. And fate was not merciful.
From among the chiefs, Raghu of the Iron Wolves stepped forward first. His arms glistened with war paint, his axe strapped to his back. His presence was like thunder given form. "The boy speaks of unity, but unity is not forged with words—it is forged with fire and blood." He raised a hand, and his warriors roared. "So let the first trial be fire itself."
Two warriors carried forth a large iron brazier filled with wood and oil. They placed it in the center, and flames leapt skyward as it was lit, the fire crackling like hungry beasts. Raghu's voice boomed again. "The Trial of the First Flame. Step through fire, bear its kiss, and prove that you have the courage to endure what others cannot. Only those who respect the flame may hope to lead warriors."
The murmurs spread, some approving, some doubtful. It was an old ritual of the Iron Wolves, meant to scar their young and remind them that pain was the root of strength. To walk through fire and emerge unbroken was to be reborn.
Veer gazed at the blaze. Heat shimmered against his skin, yet his expression did not falter. He had seen fire consume homes, flesh, and hope. He had felt its merciless hunger. But he also knew fire was creation as much as destruction. It lit lamps, cooked meals, and warmed hearts. To him, fire was not just a test—it was a truth.
Eshwari of the River Serpents leaned forward, her sly smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "A fitting trial," she purred. "Let us see if the boy burns or rises."
Raghu bared his teeth. "Step in, orphan. Let the fire decide your worth."
The valley fell silent as Veer approached the brazier. His men—Meera, Bhairav, and the rest—watched with clenched fists, their hearts pounding.
Veer closed his eyes. He thought of his childhood in the ashes, of nights when flames were the only light in his darkness. He thought of Lord Shiva, the eternal ascetic, who bore the fire of destruction in his third eye.
And within his mind, Vakya stirred—the voice of his system, calm and resonant.
"Fire consumes. Fire purifies. Fire transforms. Do not fear it, Veer. Become it."
The words steadied him. He removed his outer tunic, leaving only a cloth wrapped around his waist. The crowd murmured at his scars, each one a story of survival. Without hesitation, he stepped into the flames.
The fire roared, rising around him, embracing him. Heat seared his skin, yet he did not cry out. Instead, he walked slowly, steadily, each step measured, his eyes open, unflinching. His flesh burned, but the pain was not master over him—it was a teacher.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some shielded their eyes, expecting him to fall, to scream, to beg for mercy. But Veer kept walking, his breath even, his body carrying him through the inferno as though he was not merely enduring the fire, but commanding it.
When he emerged from the other side, smoke curled from his skin, and his body bore angry red marks. But he stood tall, his chest rising and falling with strength, not weakness. His gaze swept across the tribes, steady as stone.
The valley erupted. Some cheered, others stared in disbelief. Even Raghu, though unwilling to show respect openly, could not hide the flicker of recognition in his eyes. "Hmph. The fire has spared you. But that is only the first trial. Do not think the wolves will bow so easily."
Veer turned toward him, voice firm. "I do not ask wolves to bow. I ask them to run beside me. Alone, even wolves fall. Together, they become a force that no storm can break."
For the first time, murmurs carried not of doubt, but of possibility.
Eshwari's eyes gleamed, sharper than ever. "Interesting," she whispered to herself. "The boy does not just survive—he makes the fire follow him."
The drums pounded again, signaling the end of the first trial. Veer had endured the First Flame.
But deep within his heart, he knew—this was only the beginning. The trials ahead would not just test his body. They would test his will, his spirit, and his very right to dream of unity.
And somewhere in the shadows of the valley, unseen eyes watched, whispering to the wind. Not all wanted Veer to succeed.