The stars above Veer pulsed like ancient beacons, glowing in constellations his ancestors had once named but whose meanings had long been forgotten. The ember of the campfire crackled beside him, casting flickers of light across the symbol of the Nine Tribes resting in his open palm.
But his eyes were turned toward the mountains.
The howl of wolves had not faded. It had deepened—grown layered. It wasn't a threat. It was a message.
A summons.
Veer stood slowly. The soft creak of leather and bone echoed in the night. He slipped the tribal symbol into the folds of his cloak, tightened his bracers, and took a deep breath.
"Where are you going?" a child's voice asked behind him.
Veer turned to see little Kavi, the boy who had clung to him ever since the battle at the canyon. His eyes were wide and filled with sleep, but the curiosity within them burned bright.
"There's a voice in the wild," Veer said, crouching to meet his gaze. "One only a few can hear. And when it calls, you don't run. You listen."
Kavi nodded solemnly, though he didn't understand.
Veer tousled the boy's hair. "Stay here. Watch the fire. When I return, I'll bring a new story."
With those final words, Veer turned toward the darkness and vanished into the woods.
The journey through the forest was quieter than Veer expected.
The canopy above swayed gently, letting moonlight pierce through in silver shafts. Owls hooted in the distance, and the underbrush rustled with nocturnal life. Yet the deeper Veer walked, the more time seemed to bend.
The howl came again. Closer now. He could feel it vibrate in his bones, like a heartbeat just beneath the earth.
And then, as if summoned by the rhythm of the wild, the forest opened into a clearing.
At its center stood a lone figure. Cloaked in shadows. Surrounded by wolves.
Their eyes glowed amber, their bodies rippling with lean muscle and fur. But they did not bare teeth. They circled calmly, watching Veer. Judging. Waiting.
The figure stepped forward.
She was tall. Slender. Her face was painted in tribal ink—black streaks down her cheeks and across her forehead. Her eyes were the same color as the wolves'.
"Veer," she said, voice smooth as running water. "The fire that walked through whispering death."
Veer raised an eyebrow. "I don't recall telling anyone I was coming."
"You didn't," she replied. "The land did."
The wolves bowed slightly, ears folding back.
The woman stepped aside, revealing an ancient stone altar behind her. Etched upon it were carvings Veer hadn't seen since childhood—spirals and flames, moons and stars.
She motioned toward it.
"Speak your name," she said.
Veer hesitated. Then stepped forward.
"I am Veer," he said, loud and clear. "Child of none. Survivor of fire. Bearer of Vakya, the system of truth."
The altar glowed faintly.
One of the wolves howled again—shorter this time, more musical.
The woman nodded.
"You are no longer a wanderer," she said. "You've passed into the domain of the Lupatha."
Veer blinked. "The wolf-tribe?"
She smiled. "We were once proud. Now, we are scattered like ash in wind. But your name reached us before your feet did."
She stepped forward and handed him a horn—carved from bone, its tip wrapped in leather, its mouth engraved with old script.
"This belonged to our Seer. He said it would call to the one who could unite the scattered without chains."
"And what if I'm not that person?" Veer asked quietly.
She tilted her head. "Then why does Vakya still answer you?"
As if summoned, a faint pulse of light flickered across Veer's vision:
> [System Alignment Confirmed: Influence Detected – Lupatha Clan. +2 Respect]
[New Trait Unlocked: "Whisper of the Wild" – Increases charisma and detection in forested terrain. Passive tracking abilities enhanced.]
The ground trembled slightly beneath his feet.
Not from fear.
From recognition.
The wolves moved closer, brushing past him—not hostile, but reverent. One licked his hand. Another pressed its head against his thigh.
He let them. He knelt among them. Felt their breath, their loyalty, their sorrow.
They were not beasts. They were family.
And they, too, had lost everything.
That night, Veer sat beneath the stars with the wolf-woman—her name was Rahi. She told stories of old Lupatha, of the sacred mountain where wolves and men once hunted as one. Of the betrayal that fractured them. Of the curse that turned many into beasts, literal and metaphorical.
But she also told of a prophecy.
"One would come," she said softly, "with fire in his eyes and no chain around his neck. He would not command wolves—but walk with them."
She turned to him then.
"You walk like one of us."
Veer didn't speak for a moment. He watched the fire, then whispered, "I never had a pack before."
She smiled. "You do now."
When dawn broke, Veer returned to the camp.
But he wasn't alone.
The wolves followed, silent as mist. Behind them, Rahi and a handful of Lupatha warriors walked, heads held high.
The tribe stirred in awe.
Children ran behind trees. Adults gaped.
Then Veer raised the horn Rahi had given him.
"I walked into the wild last night," he called. "And found a family I didn't know I needed."
He looked back at the wolves.
"They do not follow orders. They follow respect. Unity. Purpose."
He raised the symbol of the Nine Tribes again, letting the morning sun catch its carvings.
"This is not a banner of war. It is a promise. That no tribe will be forgotten. That no voice will be silenced. That the scattered will become one again—not by blood, but by bond."
And then he said something that surprised even himself.
"I will not be king of one people. I will be voice for all."
The camp erupted—not in cheers, but in silence.
The kind of silence that meant reverence. Belief.
And then—
> [System Milestone Achieved – 2 Tribes United: Ranthari + Lupatha]
[System Upgrade Available – Tactical Communication: Beast-Kin Link Enabled (Beta)]
[Your legend grows.]
Veer closed his eyes.
And for a moment, in the dark space behind his vision, he saw something new:
Nine thrones.
Empty.
Waiting.