The drums of Vajratva echoed like heartbeats across the city.
From every balcony, from every square, people gathered to watch the spectacle. The queen had decreed a trial — though no one could say what crime had been committed. The Marked One was to be tested, and Vajratva's people would bear witness.
Lakshya stood in the center of the Serpent's Arena, a vast stone amphitheater coiled in serpent-carvings. The sun beat down upon him, gilding the wrappings around his palm where the Watchers' mark burned faintly beneath.
Above, in her pavilion, Queen Padmashri watched with the stillness of a predator, her crown gleaming.
---
The Accusation
A herald stepped forward, his voice amplified by conch-shell horns.
"Lakshya of Nandigram, bearer of the Ashen Mark! You stand accused of defiance before crown and court. Of insulting the honor of Vajratva's throne. Of endangering the balance of the realms with your silence!"
The crowd roared — some in outrage, some in curiosity. Children whispered, merchants muttered, priests shook their heads.
Lakshya raised his chin. His voice carried without magic.
"Truth is not insult. Freedom is not crime. If silence offends, it is not mine — it is theirs."
He lifted his palm slightly, and for a moment, the mark glowed faintly, a whisper of the Watchers' presence. The crowd gasped, some shrinking back, others leaning closer.
Padmashri's lips curved faintly.
---
The Trial Declared
The queen rose, her voice silken but sharp.
"Then let silence decide. You claim no chains bind you? Prove it."
She gestured, and from the gates of the arena, a great serpent slithered forth. Its scales shimmered with green and bronze, its eyes glowing with venomous light. Chains of gold wrapped around its body, binding its fangs, but every link strained with its movements.
"The Trial of the Serpent," Padmashri declared. "Defy it, and prove your freedom. Fall, and let silence claim you."
The chains fell away.
The serpent hissed, coils rattling the very stones.
---
The Trial
Lakshya stood unmoving as the beast surged forward, its fangs flashing. The crowd screamed, priests raised charms, soldiers gripped spears — but no aid came.
He whispered, Vardaan.
The system stirred. Shakti flowed into his limbs, fire and storm mingling within. His palm burned as the mark pulsed.
The serpent struck.
Lakshya moved. Faster than thought, he twisted aside, the fangs slamming into stone. With a burst of Shakti, he leapt onto its back, gripping the scales as the beast thrashed.
But raw strength would not win. He could feel it — this was not a trial of death, but of meaning. The serpent was symbol, shadow, test.
He pressed his palm to its scales.
"Silence is not chains," he whispered. "It is choice."
The mark flared. The serpent froze mid-thrash. Its coils loosened, its eyes dimmed. Slowly, it bowed its head to the ground.
The arena was silent.
---
The Verdict
Padmashri rose once more, her smile unreadable.
"The serpent bows. The trial is passed."
The crowd erupted — some in cheers, some in fear. Priests fell to their knees, whispering that the Watchers themselves had judged.
Lakshya stepped off the serpent's back, his breath steady. The mark on his palm glowed faintly, then faded again.
The queen's voice was calm, but her eyes glinted like blades.
"You are free, Lakshya. For now. But remember — even serpents that bow still coil. And coils tighten, given time."
---
The Shadow After
That night, the serpent that had bowed slithered back into its pit, docile yet watchful.
Lakshya returned to his chambers. Bhairav met him with a grim nod. "You made her spectacle into yours. That will cost you more than chains ever could."
Lakshya gazed at his palm. The silence pulsed softly within it, neither praise nor curse, only weight.
He whispered, "If this is your trial, Watchers… then I'll pass every one. Not for crowns. Not for serpents. But for me."
The silence answered with nothing. But nothing, as always, was not empty.
To be continued....