The morning sun spilled golden light across Sundargarh, breathing new life into its battered walls and wounded warriors. Yet even as the village healed and strengthened its defenses, Veer knew that time was slipping through his fingers like sand.
The enemy was gathering.
And if he wished to survive what was coming, he needed more than courage and steel.
He needed wisdom.
It was this thought that drew Veer to the edge of the great forest known as Mrigavan—a sprawling, ancient wood rumored to be as old as the gods themselves. Within its depths, legend spoke of a hermit. A sage whose knowledge could tip the scales of fate.
No one knew the path.
No map could guide him.
Only those deemed worthy could find the Sage of Silent Waters.
And so, without fanfare, Veer set out alone.
The forest welcomed him with a solemn, almost sacred stillness.
Towering trees arched high above, their leaves whispering secrets to each other. Strange birds sang songs no man had names for. The air was thick with the scent of moss, wet earth, and ancient memory.
Veer walked for hours, deeper and deeper, guided only by instinct—and perhaps something more.
The Vakya System remained silent, as if even it dared not speak in this hallowed place.
Eventually, Veer came upon a river.
Its waters were so clear they mirrored the sky perfectly, and it flowed with such tranquility that it seemed almost not to move at all.
On the opposite bank sat an old man.
His hair was white as snow, his skin weathered by countless suns, and his robes were simple linen, stained with the dust of a thousand pilgrimages.
He was meditating, his back straight, his hands resting lightly upon his knees.
Veer hesitated, then stepped forward.
As he did, the old man opened his eyes.
They were the color of the sky before a storm—deep, ancient, and knowing.
"You have come far, child of two worlds," the sage said, his voice a soft rumble.
Veer bowed deeply.
"I seek wisdom," he said plainly.
The sage smiled, a small, almost sorrowful smile.
"All seek wisdom. Few are willing to pay its price."
Veer met his gaze without flinching.
"I will pay whatever is needed."
The old man studied him for a long moment, then motioned for him to cross.
Veer stepped into the water.
It was icy cold, seeping into his bones, dragging at his strength with every step. But he pressed forward, fighting the invisible current until he reached the other side.
The sage rose, surprisingly agile for one so old.
"Before wisdom is given," he said, "you must pass three trials."
Veer nodded.
"I am ready."
The first trial was simple in form but brutal in spirit.
The sage led Veer to a clearing where an enormous boulder sat, half-buried in the earth.
"Move it," the sage said.
Veer blinked.
It was impossible. The stone was the size of a small house.
Still, he tried.
He pushed until his muscles screamed, until his breath came in ragged gasps, until blood leaked from his torn palms.
But the boulder did not move.
Finally, collapsing onto the grass, Veer looked up at the sage.
"I cannot," he said bitterly.
The sage nodded approvingly.
"Good. The first lesson: Know your limits, so you may overcome them. Pride blinds the fool; humility strengthens the wise."
Veer's chest heaved. He drank in the lesson like a man dying of thirst.
The second trial tested his spirit.
The sage handed him a bowl filled to the brim with water.
"You must walk from this riverbank," he said, "to the ancient banyan tree atop the hill yonder—without spilling a single drop."
It sounded simple.
It was not.
The path was treacherous, riddled with stones and hidden roots. Worse, phantoms rose from the trees—visions of Veer's past.
He saw the burning village of his childhood.
He heard his mother's scream, felt his father's blood on his hands.
He saw the faces of the friends he had failed to save, the innocents lost in the battles he had fought.
Each memory was a blade, slicing at his soul, trying to shatter his focus.
Tears blurred his vision, but he clenched his teeth and pressed on, step by trembling step.
When he reached the banyan tree, the water was still.
The sage appeared beside him, silent as a ghost.
"You have learned the second lesson: Carry your burdens, but do not let them spill into the world. A king must bear pain without breaking."
Veer wiped his face and bowed low.
The third and final trial was the most difficult of all.
The sage brought Veer to the mouth of a dark cave.
Inside, he said, Veer would face himself.
Without hesitation, Veer stepped into the darkness.
Inside, time lost all meaning.
He wandered through black halls and twisting tunnels until he came face to face with a figure seated upon a throne of bones.
It was him.
But not him.
This Veer was older, twisted by ambition and anger. His eyes burned with cruel fire, and a crown of thorns adorned his brow.
"You seek to be a king?" the dark Veer sneered. "You will become a tyrant. You will bring only suffering."
Veer gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.
"No," he said.
"You will betray your friends," the dark self hissed. "You will drown in blood."
Veer closed his eyes.
"I will not."
"You are weak. You are afraid."
Veer opened his eyes—and smiled.
"Yes," he said softly. "I am afraid. But courage is not the absence of fear. It is standing tall in spite of it."
With that, he stepped forward—and the dark Veer shattered like glass.
When he emerged from the cave, the sage was waiting.
Veer's body was battered, his soul bruised, but his spirit was unbroken.
The sage bowed to him.
"You have passed."
He reached into the folds of his robe and produced a small, glowing stone—the color of the morning sky.
"This is the Stone of Silent Waters," he said. "It will strengthen your bond with the Vakya. It will grant you clarity when doubt clouds your heart."
Veer accepted it reverently.
The sage placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Remember, child: True kingship is not found in thrones or crowns. It is found in the hearts of those who trust you."
Veer bowed deeply.
"Thank you, Master."
The sage smiled one last time.
Then, like mist in the morning sun, he faded away.
Veer returned to Sundargarh that night.
A little wiser.
A little stronger.
He stood upon the watchtower, the stone of Silent Waters pulsing softly in his hand.
The war ahead would test him beyond imagination.
But he would not falter.
For he was Veer.
He was the dawn after the longest night.
And he would forge a kingdom not through fear, but through hope.