The morning sun rose like a burning disc over the horizon, casting long shadows across the valley where Veer's people had made camp.
Three great bonfires marked their victories—each fire representing a tribe united under Veer's banner. Yet the fires seemed small compared to the towering mountains ahead, dark and jagged like sleeping titans. Their peaks were dusted with snow even now, though the valley below was warm.
The next tribe—the Vardaan—lived beyond those mountains.
Veer stood before the camp, gazing at the path ahead. Beside him, Rahi adjusted her bowstring, ever ready. Aarav polished his blade nearby, humming an old battle song. The mood among the warriors was one of cautious excitement.
But Veer's heart was heavy.
He could feel it—the mountains were not welcoming. They loomed like ancient judges, daring him to pass. He understood that conquering the next tribe would not be as simple as swinging a sword or making a rousing speech. It would take something deeper.
A bond.
A promise.
And perhaps… a sacrifice.
"Ready the men," Veer said quietly.
Rahi nodded and disappeared into the camp.
As Veer turned, an old man approached—one of the elders from the second tribe he had united.
"Veer," the elder said, bowing low, "the Vardaan are proud. They respect strength, yes, but honor even more. If you seek them, you must offer them something greater than words."
"What do they honor most?" Veer asked.
The elder smiled sadly. "A vow. A vow spoken before the mountains. A vow that cannot be broken."
Veer looked once more at the looming peaks.
"I will give them what they respect," he said.
The march to the mountains began at noon.
Hundreds followed Veer now—former enemies turned brothers and sisters. The sound of drums and chanting rose with them, a low rumble that seemed to answer the growl of the earth beneath their feet.
The path grew steeper.
The air thinned.
The trees gave way to sheer rock faces and narrow paths where one wrong step meant death. The mountains tested them with every breath, every aching muscle, every stone that slid underfoot.
Veer marched at the front, never slowing, never looking back.
He knew that leadership was not about standing above—it was about enduring with them. Bleeding with them. Facing the same hardships, and still walking forward.
At last, they reached a plateau where the air was so thin it burned the lungs.
There, waiting for them, was a figure.
A man as broad as a bull, clad in furs and bearing a hammer the size of a man's torso. His skin was dark from the sun, his hair bound in thick cords. His eyes, sharp as eagle talons, studied Veer.
Behind him stood warriors of the Vardaan tribe, each bearing tattoos of mountains and storms on their skin.
"You seek us," the mountain man said, voice echoing across the stone.
"I do," Veer replied.
The man laughed, a sound like rolling thunder. "Many seek. Few are worthy. Why should the Vardaan bend knee to a boy?"
Veer stepped forward, unarmed.
"I do not ask you to bend the knee," he said, voice clear, carrying across the plateau. "I ask you to stand beside me."
A murmur ran through the Vardaan warriors.
The mountain chief narrowed his eyes. "Words are wind. Meaningless. If you seek our allegiance, you must vow it to the mountains themselves. Here. Now."
Veer nodded. "I will."
The chief slammed his hammer into the ground, causing a deep vibration through the stone.
"Then swear your vow, Veer of the Lowlands."
Veer dropped to one knee.
He placed his palm flat against the cold stone, feeling its ancient strength.
He closed his eyes, and in his mind, he called out—not to any god of war, but to Lord Shiva, the Great Destroyer, the Endless Stillness.
"Grant me the strength to keep my word, to build not for myself, but for all who trust me."
Then, he spoke aloud.
"I vow upon these mountains, upon the bones of the earth, and before all that watch unseen:
I will not seek to rule with chains, but with trust.
I will not take, but build.
I will not abandon the weak, nor forsake the strong.
If ever I break this vow, may the mountains themselves crush me beneath their weight."
The words echoed.
The sky darkened for a moment, as if the very heavens acknowledged the vow.
The mountain chief studied him in silence.
Then, slowly, he knelt as well.
"Rise, Veer," he said. "Son of the Mountains. Brother of the Storm."
One by one, the Vardaan warriors knelt.
Not out of fear.
Out of respect.
Veer rose, feeling a new weight settle on his shoulders. A good weight. The weight of trust earned, not taken.
> [System Update: Vardaan Tribe Joined. Total Tribes United: 4/9]
[New Skill Unlocked: Oath of Stone – When a promise is made before witnesses, allies' loyalty is reinforced, reducing chances of betrayal by 50%.]
The system's voice was a whisper beneath the roar of the moment.
Veer turned to his people—all his people now—and raised his hand high.
Cheers erupted.
The sound rolled down the mountains like an avalanche, shaking the very roots of the earth.
That night, they made camp on the plateau.
The fires burned high against the dark sky, and songs rose to join the stars. Warriors from all tribes sat together, trading stories, sharing food and laughter.
Veer sat apart for a while, watching.
He thought of the path ahead.
Five tribes remained.
Each would have their own trials. Their own wounds. Their own hopes and fears.
He would have to earn each one, as he had earned the Vardaan.
And beyond even that…
There were whispers.
Rumors that a shadow was moving among the tribes not yet united—a man or force who sought to gather them by fear, not hope. A dark mirror of Veer's own dream.
He clenched his fist.
He would face it.
He would face all of it.
Because he had sworn it.
Not just to the mountains.
But to the spirits of his parents, whose lives had been taken too soon.
To Lord Shiva, who had given him the breath of life again.
And to himself.
A king was not born.
He was forged—one promise at a time.