The winds of the north had left their mark on Veer—his eyes sharper, his steps heavier with meaning. But now, the mountains faded behind him, and ahead lay the sea of shifting gold: the Great Desert of Marusthal. Here dwelled the sixth tribe—the Varuni, known as the Waterless Warriors, dwellers of sand and keepers of secrets.
The desert was not just a land. It was a memory. A graveyard for empires.
The sun glared down like a furious god, and yet Veer walked unflinching, his cloak flowing behind him like a banner. Ishaya followed closely, shielding her face with a scarf, her voice dry.
"We've been walking for two days and seen nothing. No signs. No people. Just endless dunes."
"They're watching," Veer said calmly, eyes scanning the horizon.
"How do you know?"
"I can feel it."
He could.
Ever since awakening the Sigil of Sight, his perception had deepened. Not just vision, but intuition—an awareness that curled around his bones like a serpent. The desert wasn't empty. It was watching.
And waiting.
On the third night, as their fire flickered low beneath a crescent moon, the sand whispered.
Veer's eyes snapped open.
Figures emerged from the dunes like phantoms, wrapped in black and beige, faces hidden beneath turbans. They moved in silence—too fast to be mere nomads, too graceful to be brigands.
One of them stepped forward and raised a hand.
"You seek the Varuni," came a woman's voice, deep and echoing behind her veil. "But the desert does not give freely. You must earn the right to be heard."
"I am Veer of the Nine Marks," he replied. "I've come to unite the tribes."
The woman tilted her head. "And what do you offer us, boy of the mountains?"
"Unity. Protection. A future."
She stepped closer. "We are the children of the sun. We do not kneel. We do not beg. We survive. What future can you offer that the desert has not already stolen?"
Veer did not flinch. "One where your strength becomes more than survival. One where your warriors no longer fade into legend."
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she turned.
"Follow. If you survive the trial, we will speak."
They led Veer and Ishaya deeper into the heart of the desert—beyond maps, beyond stars. The sands shimmered unnaturally, and the air itself felt alive, pulsing with heat and mystery.
At dawn, they arrived.
It was not a city.
It was a grave.
Bones the size of trees jutted from dunes like sun-bleached towers. Ancient stone obelisks, half-buried, bore carvings in forgotten tongues. The Varuni capital—Anant-Khaani—was built upon the ruins of a civilization that no longer had a name.
Here, the desert had swallowed time.
Veer was led into a vast amphitheater carved into stone, where dozens of Varuni warriors stood in a ring. At the center stood an old man, bare-chested, his skin like cracked leather. His eyes glowed faintly like embers in a dying flame.
"I am Kaalkesh, Keeper of the Dunes. You wish to claim the sixth sigil. You must endure the Trial of Thirst."
He raised a hand, and two warriors stepped forward, tying a cloth around Veer's eyes.
"No water. No weapons. No sight. Three days beneath the sun. If you live… you are worthy."
Before Ishaya could protest, Veer nodded once.
"I accept."
And the world went dark.
The Trial of Thirst was not merely about survival.
It was about surrender.
Veer wandered the dunes blindly, his senses stripped to their core. The heat burned his skin. His throat became a pit of fire. Time twisted. There was no day, no night—only pain.
But deeper than that… something stirred.
In the silence, memories surfaced.
He saw his mother's hands weaving his hair.
His father's calloused grip lifting him onto his shoulders.
He heard laughter—his own, from a time before ruin.
Then came the voices.
You're not ready. You are a child pretending to be king.
He staggered forward, barefoot over hot stone. Sand filled his ears.
You will fail. The tribes will never kneel. You cannot carry this world.
His knees buckled. His lips bled from dryness.
But then—
A whisper.
Soft. Familiar.
> "Veer."
It was Lord Shiva's voice. Or perhaps just a memory. A hallucination. But it steadied him.
> "You do not walk alone."
A shadow appeared before him.
Tall. Graceful. A man in blue skin, holding a trident of flame and ash.
Shiva.
"Your pain is the fire. Let it shape you. Not break you."
Veer reached toward the vision. And when his hand passed through it, he felt nothing.
But also—everything.
The next step he took was stronger.
And the one after that, even more so.
Until he was walking once more.
On the third sunrise, he collapsed at the edge of the amphitheater.
Eyes still bound. Lips cracked. But standing.
Kaalkesh approached, pouring a single drop of water on Veer's tongue.
"Your thirst did not kill you. Nor did your fear."
He unbound Veer's eyes.
"You are worthy."
The warriors bowed their heads.
The old man opened his palm, revealing a coin-shaped relic glowing with orange and gold. On its face: the symbol of a sun swallowed by a serpent.
"The Sixth Sigil. The mark of endurance."
> [Trial of Thirst Completed.]
[6/9 Tribes Aligned.]
[Title Earned: Sun-Endurer.]
[Ability Gained: Desert's Resilience – Reduces fatigue and increases stamina under extreme conditions. Immune to illusions born of heat or hunger.]
Kaalkesh leaned close.
"Let me give you a warning, child. The desert tests not just your body, but your dreams. Now that you've passed, beware… because dreams often carry the seeds of downfall."
Veer stood tall, though every muscle ached.
He bowed to the Varuni.
"I will not let your strength be forgotten."
And in the distance, for the first time in a century, the sun over Anant-Khaani rose to greet a new ally.