The morning after the encounter with the shadowed figure was eerily quiet. Veer rose before dawn, his mind still echoing with questions. The camp was hushed, his companions still asleep, their breath misting in the cold air.
Veer stepped away from the camp, following a narrow trail up a rocky ridge. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the weight of his destiny pressed against his shoulders.
When he reached the top, the first rays of sunlight pierced the sky, casting golden light over the valley below. Far in the distance, Veer could see the faint outlines of a fortress — their next destination. But his eyes were drawn to the temple ruins on a nearby peak, where the stone statue of Lord Shiva stood tall despite centuries of decay.
Veer felt a pull. Wordlessly, he made his way there, weaving through broken pillars and shattered idols, until he stood before the towering figure of Mahadev.
He dropped to his knees.
"Lord Shiva," he whispered, voice trembling, "I don't know if what I carry is divine… or a curse."
The silence was deep and ancient. The wind stirred the dust. No vision appeared. No voice thundered from the sky.
But Veer closed his eyes, bowing low, forehead touching the earth.
"I am your devotee. I have followed your path with faith. But now… now my heart is uncertain."
A sudden gust of wind swept through the ruins, and with it, a faint jingling sound.
Veer opened his eyes and saw something glinting in the dirt. He reached down and lifted it carefully — a small, tarnished bell, broken from the temple long ago. As he held it, a strange calm washed over him.
In his mind, the Vakya system stirred.
"You seek meaning where there is none," it said coolly.
But Veer, clutching the bell, whispered back, "No. I seek clarity."
Suddenly, Vakya pulsed with sharp urgency. "Danger approaches."
Veer spun around, senses sharpening instantly.
From the misty edges of the temple ruins, figures emerged — warriors clad in black, faces painted with bone-white markings. The same assassins they had faced before… but more of them now. A small army.
Arya's voice rang out behind him. "Veer!"
She, Jai, and Mira had followed, weapons drawn, eyes wide with alarm.
"They must've tracked us here!" Jai growled, gripping his axe tightly.
Veer's mind raced. Outnumbered, outflanked, and nowhere to retreat.
His gaze flicked to the ruined temple — broken walls, toppled pillars, and the towering statue of Shiva standing silent and watchful.
"We fight here," Veer said, his voice calm but commanding.
Arya notched an arrow. "We can't hold them off forever!"
"We don't need forever," Veer replied. His eyes gleamed with a fierce light. "We need faith."
The assassins charged, blades glinting in the morning sun.
Veer moved first, a blur of steel and determination. His sword met the first attacker with a deafening clang, the force of his strike sending the enemy sprawling.
Arya's arrows flew like lightning, finding their marks with deadly precision. Jai roared and swung his axe in sweeping arcs, forcing back two at once. Mira, darting between broken pillars, struck with her staff, quick and precise.
But the enemy kept coming, wave after wave, circling them tighter.
Veer fought like a man possessed. His every move felt guided — not just by skill, but by something deeper. Every block, every strike, every pivot felt… inevitable.
As if fate itself moved through him.
Suddenly, a sharp cry — Arya had been cornered, her quiver nearly empty.
Veer's eyes blazed. He leapt across the rubble, blocking the assassin's blade inches from Arya's chest. With a roar, he slammed his sword down, breaking the enemy's guard and cutting him down.
"Stay close!" Veer barked.
Their circle tightened, backs against the massive statue of Shiva. The assassins pressed closer, sensing victory.
Then… a strange sound.
The tiny bell in Veer's pocket began to ring softly, though no hand touched it.
The earth trembled.
Veer's eyes widened as he looked up.
The statue of Shiva… it was shifting.
Cracks spread across its ancient surface, and from within the fractures, a faint blue light began to glow.
The assassins faltered, staring in horror and confusion.
Veer felt a deep rumble beneath his feet. His hand tightened on his sword. He didn't understand what was happening — but his heart knew one thing:
This was no curse.
This was a blessing.
With a deafening crack, part of the statue's trident split free, crashing to the ground and sending shockwaves through the temple.
Lightning arced from the broken stone, striking the nearest assassins and hurling them back like ragdolls.
The battlefield went still.
The assassins, eyes wide with terror, began to retreat, stumbling over one another in their panic.
Veer stood tall, chest heaving, the ringing bell still faint in his pocket.
Arya, breathless, whispered, "What… what was that?"
Veer stared up at the broken statue of Lord Shiva, now bathed in dawn's golden light.
He sheathed his sword slowly, voice low but resolute.
"That," he said, "was our answer."
And in his heart, he knew: this path was far from over. But today, for the first time in weeks, his faith was whole again.
The fire inside him burned brighter than ever.