The Sacred Valley still smoldered from the Trial of the First Flame. Smoke hung in the air, mingling with the scent of charred wood and ash. Veer's skin bore the marks of fire, but his stance was unshaken, his spirit burning brighter than ever.
Whispers spread through the gathered tribes—some of awe, others of suspicion. He had passed the first test, but the chiefs were not convinced yet. Courage alone was not enough to bind warriors to a single banner. They wanted to see strength—raw, undeniable strength.
It was Raghu again, the Iron Wolf chieftain, who raised his axe and thundered, "Fire does not choose a king. Steel does. Let the boy face a blade and prove if his courage has teeth. If he cannot stand against one of our champions, then his talk of unity is nothing more than air."
The crowd roared, some pounding their weapons on shields. Blood trials had always been the way of the tribes. Words could stir, but steel decided fate.
From among the Iron Wolves stepped forth a warrior named Gorrak. He was massive—towering like a mountain, his body wrapped in chains and wolf pelts. His eyes glowed with feral hunger. Scars crisscrossed his torso, each one a tale of victory. He carried a curved blade nearly as tall as Veer himself.
"Let him taste the bite of wolves," Gorrak growled. His voice rumbled like a growl from the depths of a beast's throat.
The circle widened. Warriors pounded their feet, creating a rhythm like a heartbeat echoing through the valley. The duel had begun.
Veer stepped into the circle with calm measured breaths. He carried only his simple sword—the same blade he had forged with his own hands years ago in the blacksmith's hut. Compared to Gorrak's monstrous weapon, it looked almost fragile.
Yet Veer's grip was steady, his gaze unwavering.
Vakya whispered in his mind, a low hum like a drumbeat.
"Do not meet strength with strength. Flow, adapt, turn their weight into their fall. A king bends storms until they break themselves."
Gorrak lunged first. His blade came down with terrifying force, splitting the earth where Veer had stood a heartbeat before. Dust flew. Veer rolled to the side, his body quick, his eyes sharp.
The crowd gasped. Gorrak roared, swinging again, the air howling as the blade cut through it. Veer ducked, sidestepped, his movements precise, like water slipping between rocks.
Every strike shook the ground. Every miss fed Gorrak's fury.
But Veer remained calm. His sword flashed, striking at Gorrak's arms, his ribs, his legs—not to kill, but to remind him that even giants could bleed. Each cut was small, but together they painted Gorrak's body in crimson streaks.
The crowd's cheers turned into a stunned silence. This was no ordinary duel of brute force. This was a dance—Veer's light steps weaving around Gorrak's heavy strikes, his blade whispering against flesh while the champion's sword found only air.
Meera clenched her fists at the edge of the circle, whispering, "Come on, Veer… don't let him corner you."
Bhairav growled under his breath. "The boy fights like a river against a rock. The river always wins—but not without time. And time is what he doesn't have."
Indeed, Veer could feel the weight pressing on him. His muscles burned, his skin stung from the fire trial, and Gorrak's relentless fury gave him no pause. If he slipped even once, that monstrous blade would end him.
And then it came—Gorrak feinted left, then swung from the right with lightning speed. Veer barely raised his sword in time, and the impact hurled him across the circle, his back crashing against a stone pillar. Pain flared through his body, his chest heaving.
The crowd erupted in roars. Some cried out for his fall, others urged him to rise.
Blood dripped from Veer's lip as he struggled to his feet. Gorrak laughed, wiping his own wounds. "You're fast, boy. But speed cannot save you forever. I will crush your bones and scatter your dream with them!"
Veer's chest rose and fell. His vision blurred for a moment. But then, he thought of his parents, lost to disaster. Of the children of Ashoka village who looked at him with hope. Of the tribes who needed something greater than endless bloodshed.
And within him, Vakya's voice returned—firmer, clearer.
"A king is not the strongest warrior. A king is the one who turns his enemy's strength into his own."
Veer's eyes sharpened. His grip tightened on his sword. He whispered to himself, "Then let him break himself."
When Gorrak charged again, Veer did not retreat. He stepped forward, meeting him halfway. Their blades clashed, sparks flying, the sound echoing like thunder through the valley.
But this time, Veer did not resist the force. He twisted, redirecting the momentum, guiding Gorrak's massive swing past him. The warrior stumbled, his weight carrying him too far.
In that heartbeat, Veer struck. His blade cut deep across Gorrak's thigh. The giant roared in pain, staggering.
Before he could recover, Veer struck again—an upward slash that knocked the massive blade from Gorrak's hands, sending it crashing into the dirt.
Silence fell. Gorrak dropped to one knee, blood streaming from his wounds, his chest heaving. Veer stood above him, his own body trembling from exhaustion, his sword pointed at the champion's throat.
For a moment, time froze. Veer could end it. One thrust, and Gorrak would be gone. The tribes would cheer his victory.
But instead, Veer lowered his blade.
The crowd gasped. Even Gorrak stared in shock.
Veer's voice rang clear, steady, carrying through the valley. "This is not a battle to kill brothers. This is a trial to prove a dream. If I kill every warrior who doubts me, who will be left to unite? I do not seek your death, Gorrak. I seek your strength—standing beside me, not beneath me."
The silence stretched. And then, slowly, Gorrak bowed his head. His voice, hoarse but honest, rumbled through the air. "You fight with the heart of a wolf… but with the soul of something greater. From this day, my blade is yours."
The crowd erupted—not just with cheers, but with awe. For in sparing his foe, Veer had won more than a trial. He had won respect.
The other chiefs exchanged glances, their eyes heavy with new calculations. The boy was no longer just an orphan who survived fire and steel. He was becoming something they had not expected.
He was becoming a leader.