The night had finally passed, though the world it left behind was no longer the same. The once vibrant courtyard of the Rathore clan—where laughter had echoed, where children's footsteps had filled the stone with life—was now reduced to smoldering ruins. The air still carried the scent of ash, burnt wood, and dried blood. Smoke trailed toward the heavens as if the heavens themselves bore witness to the tragedy.
Arjun stood silently among the wreckage, his small hands trembling, his eyes wide with emptiness. He was only a child, yet the weight pressing down on his chest felt far older. The festival night had begun with dancing, with colors, with sweets and firecrackers. But it had ended in screams.
He remembered the sharp clash of steel, the shadows of invaders leaping over the boundary walls, the way his elder brother Veer had grabbed a spear with bare hands, shouting for the younger ones to hide. Arjun remembered his grandfather, the clan leader, summoning a terrifying energy—his white hair glowing faintly under the moonlight, his voice like thunder—before the forbidden technique consumed him. The attackers had fled after that, but the price had been carved into the ground forever.
"Arjun…" A faint voice broke through the fog of memory.
It was his sister Meera. She was older than him by a few years, her forehead wrapped in a blood-soaked cloth. Her hands were shaking, but her eyes refused to let tears fall. "Come. Don't stand there. We need to check on Father."
Arjun's lips parted, but no words came. His throat burned. Slowly, he followed her across the cracked stones and broken torches until they reached what remained of the main hall.
Inside, several survivors had gathered. His father, Rajan Rathore, sat against a shattered pillar, his arm bound tightly with cloth. His body bore deep cuts, his face was pale, but his eyes were steady. Around him, a few uncles, cousins, and wounded warriors breathed heavily, their pride wounded even more than their bodies.
Rajan looked at his children as they entered. His voice, though hoarse, still carried authority. "You are safe. That is what matters."
Safe. The word felt hollow to Arjun. Safe meant nothing when so many had vanished in a single night.
Meera knelt beside her father, carefully adjusting his bandages. "The enemy… who were they? Why did they attack during the festival?"
Rajan closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, his gaze hardened. "They were mercenaries, but not ordinary ones. They carried the insignia of the Black Serpent Sect."
The survivors muttered among themselves. The name carried weight, fear, and hatred. The Black Serpent Sect was a shadowy faction that had long opposed the Rathore clan. Greedy, ruthless, and known to dabble in forbidden arts, they had been waiting for a moment of weakness.
"But Grandfather stopped them," one cousin whispered, as if clinging to the memory. "He unleashed… something… and they fled."
Rajan's face darkened. "He sacrificed everything. The forbidden energy consumed his life force. It was not victory—it was survival. They will return, stronger, and now we must carry the burden of his sacrifice."
Silence fell. The only sound was the crackle of embers outside.
Arjun's fists clenched. He remembered that moment vividly. His grandfather, Devendra Rathore, had placed a hand on his shoulder before vanishing into the storm of energy. His eyes had been full of sorrow, but also of hope. As if he knew something.
"Why me?" Arjun whispered suddenly, surprising even himself. All heads turned to him. "Grandfather… he looked at me before he… before he—" His voice cracked, but he forced the words out. "Why me? I'm just a child. I can't fight. I couldn't save anyone."
The room grew heavy. Rajan's gaze softened. "Arjun. Sometimes, fate chooses not the strongest, but the one who must grow. Your time will come."
"But I don't want it!" Arjun shouted, his voice breaking through the stillness. His chest heaved, his small frame trembling. "I don't want to fight! I don't want to carry this burden!"
The elders looked away. Some pitied him, others judged him silently. Yet Rajan only sighed, his pain evident. "You will understand one day."
---
The following days blurred together. Funerals were held under the rising sun. Pyres burned across the hilltop as chants of farewell echoed. Children cried, mothers wailed, and warriors swore vengeance. The Rathore clan was bruised but not broken.
Arjun, however, remained distant. His sister tried to comfort him, his cousins tried to distract him, but his heart carried a strange weight. Sometimes, in the quiet of night, he felt a warmth deep within his chest—a pulse, faint but undeniable. Something stirred inside him, something that frightened him more than the invaders.
On the seventh day after the attack, Arjun wandered alone to the riverbank. The waters shimmered under the moonlight, carrying away the ashes of those who had been lost. He knelt, picking up a smooth stone, tossing it into the stream. The splash rippled outward, but the ache inside remained still.
That was when he heard footsteps.
"Arjun."
It was Veer, his elder brother. His arm was still bandaged, but his spirit had not dimmed. He sat beside Arjun, watching the river. For a long moment, neither spoke.
Finally, Veer broke the silence. "I know what you're thinking. That you're weak. That you failed. But you're wrong."
Arjun shook his head. "I froze, Veer. I couldn't move when they attacked. I just… stood there."
Veer smiled faintly, though his eyes held sorrow. "You're a child. Do you expect yourself to fight like Father or Grandfather? Courage doesn't come in a single night. It grows. One day, you'll understand."
Arjun's eyes glistened. "But what if I never do?"
Veer turned to him fully. "Then I'll carry you until you can. That's what brothers are for."
The words pierced Arjun's heart, not with pain but with warmth. He leaned against his brother, feeling the steady beat of his heart. For a brief moment, he felt safe again.
But fate had its own path.
---
Months passed. The clan rebuilt slowly, though scars lingered. Children trained harder, warriors guarded the borders day and night. Arjun studied with the others, but his body lagged, his spirit faltered. Yet deep inside, that strange pulse grew stronger.
It happened first during training. The instructor shouted for the children to strike wooden dummies. Arjun swung weakly, his arms trembling. The other boys laughed. Anger burned in him, and suddenly—the dummy cracked, splintering down the middle, though his strike had been feeble. Gasps filled the courtyard. Arjun stared at his own hands, horrified.
"What… what was that?" he whispered.
The instructor frowned, uncertain. "Power. Raw and uncontrolled. But where did it come from?"
Rumors spread. Some said he was blessed. Others whispered cursed. Arjun avoided everyone, retreating into silence.
It was that same night when his destiny finally stirred awake.
---
He had wandered outside the clan walls, restless, when the voice came. Not from the air, not from any human—it echoed directly within his mind.
[Awakening sequence initiated.]
Arjun froze. His eyes darted around the empty forest. "Who's there? Show yourself!"
[Designation: Arjun Rathore. Bloodline resonance confirmed. System initialization in progress.]
Cold sweat drenched his skin. The voice was mechanical, emotionless, unlike anything he had ever heard.
"What are you?" he whispered.
[The Burning Oath System has chosen you. Survival protocol engaged. Power integration commencing.]
Suddenly, his chest seared with heat. He fell to his knees, clutching at himself as if fire burned beneath his ribs. His vision blurred. Images flashed before his eyes—his grandfather's gaze, the flames of the pyres, the screams of his clan.
The voice continued.
[You are the vessel of a legacy hidden even from your kin. Two paths lie before you: accept and awaken, or resist and perish.]
Arjun gasped, his voice raw. "I don't understand! Why me?!"
Silence answered him for a moment. Then the voice spoke again.
[Because your blood carries the ember of a power older than your clan, older than the Black Serpent Sect. Because within you burns a fire that will either save this world… or reduce it to ashes.]
Arjun collapsed, his consciousness slipping. The last thing he heard before darkness claimed him was the voice.
[The oath has been set. Rise, Arjun Rathore. Your trial begins now.]
When dawn rose the next morning, the boy who returned to the clan was not the same. His eyes held a faint glow, his aura trembling with something no one could explain. His journey had begun, though he had yet to realize that the weight he carried was far beyond anything he could imagine.
And in the shadows, far beyond the borders, the Black Serpent Sect had already begun preparing their return.