Chapter 2: The Call of Dharma
The Kallathi Hills, just beyond the outskirts of Chozhapuram, loomed in the distance like jagged guardians. Shrouded in a veil of early-morning mist, the hills were sacred ground, a place where ancient warriors of Mayilnadu had once trained in the art of Varma Kalai. The air here was crisp, tinged with the earthy scent of wet leaves and the faint spice of turmeric shrubs growing wild in the valleys.
Arinjaya trudged through the underbrush, his frustration mounting with each step. His boots sank slightly into the damp soil as he pushed aside overgrown ferns. He had been sent to this secluded spot under the pretense of “seeking wisdom,” but no one had told him what—or who—he was supposed to find.
“I don’t have time for this,” he muttered under his breath, brushing a low-hanging branch out of his path. His mind raced with thoughts of Rudrajit’s growing threat. His cousin had already stolen Thandavam Ore, bypassed ancient defenses, and disappeared. Yet here he was, wandering aimlessly in the jungle while the council debated strategies that felt outdated and passive.
“You lack patience.”
The voice came from nowhere, deep and resonant, cutting through the stillness of the forest like a blade. Arinjaya froze, his hand instinctively reaching for the short sword strapped to his waist. He scanned the trees, his pulse quickening.
“Show yourself,” he demanded, his voice steady despite the unease creeping over him.
A figure emerged from the mist, moving with a grace that belied his imposing stature. Clad in a simple saffron dhoti and a dark cloak, the man’s presence was commanding, as if the forest itself had parted to make way for him. His long, matted hair framed a weathered face etched with lines of wisdom and battle. Eyes like molten gold studied Arinjaya with quiet intensity, their gaze piercing and unrelenting.
“I wasn’t hiding,” the man said calmly, stepping closer. “But perhaps you should learn to see before demanding anything.”
“Who are you?” Arinjaya asked, his grip tightening on his sword.
The man raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You’ve come to my domain and you don’t even know who I am? Typical of one born to privilege.”
Arinjaya’s temper flared. “I don’t have time for riddles. If you’re the ‘wisdom’ I was sent to find, then speak plainly. I have a kingdom to protect.”
The man chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “Protect? You? The boy who hides from his crown and cowers in his father’s shadow?”
Arinjaya took a step forward, anger simmering beneath his words. “You know nothing about me.”
“I know everything about you,” the man shot back, his voice hardening. “You are Arinjaya Chola, the reluctant prince. You wear the bloodline of warriors but have never earned it. You carry a blade but have never wielded it with purpose. And now, when your kingdom needs you most, you are lost.”
The words hit like a blow, and for a moment, Arinjaya faltered.
“Who are you?” he repeated, quieter this time.
The man’s expression softened, but only slightly. “I am Agni. A guardian of the old ways. I served your father once, long ago, before you were born.”
Arinjaya blinked. “You… served my father? Rajendra Chola?”
Agni nodded. “He was my king, yes. But he was also my student. I trained him in the ways of Varma Kalai, just as I trained the warriors who fought alongside him in his conquests.” He paused, his gaze narrowing. “And I see now that his wisdom has not passed to you.”
Arinjaya bristled. “I didn’t come here to be insulted.”
“No,” Agni replied, stepping closer until they were nearly face-to-face. “You came here because you have no choice. Your cousin, Rudrajit, is a threat you cannot face as you are now. If you pursue him without understanding your own strength, you will fail. Just as your father would have, had he not learned the lessons I taught him.”
Arinjaya opened his mouth to respond but hesitated. He couldn’t deny the truth in Agni’s words. Rudrajit’s mastery of Varma Kalai had been evident in the reports of his heist, the precision with which he had dispatched the guards. And Arinjaya… he wasn’t ready.
“What do you want from me?” he asked finally, his voice quieter now.
Agni studied him for a long moment before answering. “To teach you. To prepare you. But first, you must decide what kind of leader you want to be. Your father, for all his greatness, was not perfect. He chose conquest over peace, power over humility. And in the end, it cost him. Will you repeat his mistakes, or will you forge your own path?”
“I… don’t know,” Arinjaya admitted, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I’ve never been given the chance to choose.”
Agni’s gaze softened, just slightly. “Then it’s time to change that.”
Without warning, Agni moved, faster than Arinjaya could track. In the blink of an eye, the older man’s hand darted out and struck a pressure point near Arinjaya’s shoulder. Pain exploded through his arm, forcing him to drop his sword.
Arinjaya staggered back, clutching his shoulder. “What the—”
“Lesson one,” Agni interrupted, his tone sharp. “Varma Kalai is not about brute strength or speed. It is about precision. Understanding the human body and its vulnerabilities. You cannot fight Rudrajit without this knowledge.”
Arinjaya scowled but nodded. He flexed his arm, testing its movement as the pain subsided.
Agni gestured toward a nearby clearing. “If you’re ready to stop running, we begin now. Leave behind your doubts, your anger, your fear. Or leave altogether. The choice is yours.”
Arinjaya hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward.
“Good,” Agni said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Then let us see if there’s a White Tiger hidden beneath the boy.”
The clearing Agni had chosen was secluded, surrounded by towering banyan trees whose roots tangled together in ancient knots. The sunlight filtered through the canopy, dappling the forest floor in patches of gold and green. The air was heavy with the earthy scent of moss and the faint sweetness of wild jasmine.
Arinjaya sat cross-legged on a flat stone, sweat trickling down his brow as he struggled to control his breathing. Agni paced in slow, deliberate circles around him, his presence as steady as the forest itself.
“Your father used to fidget like you,” Agni remarked, his voice calm but laced with disapproval. “When I told him to still his body, his mind would race instead. But he learned. Eventually.”
Arinjaya opened his eyes, his frustration evident. “I’m not my father, Agni. Stop comparing me to him.”
“Good,” Agni said, stopping in front of him. “You shouldn’t be your father. You should be better.”
The words landed heavily, but Arinjaya bit back his retort. He focused on his breathing again, trying to push the nagging thoughts from his mind. The doubts. The fears. The echoes of his mother’s disappointment.
“Your father wasn’t perfect, you know,” Agni continued after a long silence. “For all his greatness, for all his victories, Rajendra Chola was a man burdened by his own ambition. And he knew it.”
Arinjaya’s eyes opened again, narrowing at Agni. “What are you talking about?”
Agni folded his arms, his gaze distant as if looking back into the past. “Rajendra was a conqueror. He carried Mayilnadu to heights no one thought possible. But he also knew that power can corrupt, even the noblest of intentions. That’s why he left safeguards in place. For the day when someone like Rudrajit would rise.”
Arinjaya frowned. “What safeguards?”
Agni studied him for a moment before gesturing for him to stand. “Come with me.”
The two made their way deeper into the forest, Agni moving with the practiced ease of someone who belonged to the wilds. Arinjaya followed, his curiosity growing with each step. They eventually came to a small, weathered shrine nestled beneath a sprawling banyan tree. The shrine was simple—a stone pedestal adorned with carvings of a tiger’s face, its mouth open in a silent roar.
“This is the Shrine of the Simha, one of the oldest relics of your family’s lineage,” Agni explained, kneeling before the pedestal. “Few know of its existence, and fewer still know its significance.”
Arinjaya knelt beside him, his gaze fixed on the shrine. “What does this have to do with my father?”
Agni ran his fingers over the carvings, tracing the intricate lines as if unlocking a memory. “Rajendra knew there would come a time when the Chola lineage would face a threat it could not defeat with armies or diplomacy. A time when the kingdom would need a protector—not a king, but a warrior. That’s why he left behind the knowledge of Simhamukha.”
The name sent a chill down Arinjaya’s spine. “Simhamukha,” he repeated. “The White Tiger suit.”
Agni nodded. “A relic of ancient power, forged with the wisdom of Vishwakarma himself. Simhamukha is more than armor—it is a bond, a living connection between the warrior who wears it and the dharma they must uphold. Your father was the last to unlock its secrets. But he never wore it.”
“Why not?” Arinjaya asked, his brow furrowed.
“Because he didn’t believe he was worthy of it,” Agni replied. “He feared the suit would amplify his ambition instead of his virtue. He sealed it away in the depths of Rajarajeshwaram, where only the one destined to wear it could retrieve it.”
Arinjaya stared at the shrine, the weight of his father’s legacy pressing down on him. “And you think that’s me? You think I’m supposed to wear this suit and become some kind of… savior?”
“I don’t think,” Agni said firmly. “I know. The signs are clear. Rudrajit has broken the seals, and the balance of Mayilnadu is crumbling. You are the only one who can reclaim Simhamukha and wield its power to restore order.”
Arinjaya shook his head, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “I don’t even know what I’m doing. I’m not trained, I’m not ready—”
“Stop,” Agni interrupted, his voice sharp. “You think your father was ready when he first stepped onto the battlefield? No one is ever ready. But they learn. And so will you.”
Agni stood and gestured to the shrine. “Place your hand on the tiger’s face.”
“What will that do?” Arinjaya asked hesitantly.
“Your father left behind something for you,” Agni replied. “A message. One only you can unlock.”
Swallowing his doubt, Arinjaya reached out and pressed his hand against the cold stone. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a faint glow began to emanate from the tiger’s eyes, spreading across the carvings like fire coursing through veins.
A soft hum filled the air, followed by a voice that sent shivers down Arinjaya’s spine.
“Arinjaya, my son. If you are hearing this, then the day I feared has come. Rudrajit has betrayed us, and the kingdom is in peril. You must find the strength within yourself to face him. You must reclaim Simhamukha, not as a weapon of war, but as a symbol of balance and justice. The answers you seek lie within Rajarajeshwaram. Trust Agni. He will guide you. And remember… the path of dharma is not always clear, but it is always true.”
The glow faded, and silence returned to the clearing. Arinjaya’s hand fell to his side, trembling slightly.
“He… he knew,” Arinjaya whispered, his voice barely audible.
Agni placed a hand on his shoulder. “Your father was many things, but he was never a fool. He saw the darkness rising long before it took shape. And now, Arinjaya, the mantle falls to you.”
For the first time, Arinjaya felt the enormity of what lay ahead. His father’s voice, his words, had stirred something deep within him—a spark of determination buried beneath years of doubt.
“What do I do next?” he asked quietly.
Agni smiled faintly, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. “You train. The path to Simhamukha begins with mastering yourself. And that, my prince, is the hardest battle of all.”
The fire crackled softly in the clearing, its light casting dancing shadows on the trees surrounding Agni and Arinjaya. The prince sat cross-legged on a woven grass mat, his gaze fixed on the flames as if searching for answers in their shifting patterns. Agni, sitting across from him, was sharpening a long wooden staff with deliberate movements, the rhythmic sound of blade on wood filling the silence between them.
The day’s training had left Arinjaya sore and exhausted, but his mind was too restless to find peace. Agni had drilled him relentlessly, teaching him the foundations of Varma Kalai—the art of precision, breath control, and subtle strikes to vital points. It was nothing like the swordplay or combat drills he’d practiced in the palace. This was an entirely different discipline, one that required him to unlearn everything he thought he knew about fighting.
“You’re distracted,” Agni said without looking up, his voice calm but firm.
Arinjaya frowned, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m just… trying to make sense of it all.”
“Of what?”
“Everything,” Arinjaya replied, his frustration slipping into his voice. “My father’s legacy, Rudrajit’s betrayal, this… role you keep telling me I’m meant to fulfill. It feels like the entire weight of Mayilnadu is on my shoulders, and I don’t even know if I’m strong enough to carry it.”
Agni paused, setting the staff aside and meeting Arinjaya’s gaze. “Strength doesn’t come from certainty, Arinjaya. It comes from the willingness to act, even when you are unsure.”
Arinjaya shook his head. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one expected to live up to the legacy of Rajendra Chola. My father was a warrior, a conqueror. He united kingdoms, built cities, led armies. How am I supposed to follow that? I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure out who I am, and now you’re telling me I need to be him.”
“I never said you need to be him,” Agni corrected. “I said you need to understand what he stood for. Your father’s greatness didn’t come from his victories. It came from his sacrifices.”
Arinjaya’s brow furrowed. “Sacrifices?”
Agni leaned forward, his expression growing serious. “Your father was not a perfect man. He was ambitious, yes, but that ambition often came at a cost. Every kingdom he conquered, every battle he won, came with bloodshed. Innocent lives were lost, and though he expanded Mayilnadu’s borders, he carried the weight of those decisions with him until the day he died.”
Arinjaya looked down, his voice quiet. “He never talked about that.”
“Because he didn’t want you to bear that burden,” Agni said. “But it is a part of the truth. Leadership is not about glory, Arinjaya. It is about sacrifice. It is about making choices that others cannot, even when those choices break your own heart.”
The fire crackled louder for a moment, as if emphasizing Agni’s words.
“Is that what dharma is?” Arinjaya asked after a long silence. “Sacrifice?”
Agni exhaled slowly, his eyes reflecting the flickering firelight. “Dharma is many things. It is the path you walk, the duty you fulfill, the balance you maintain. But most importantly, it is the understanding that your actions have consequences—not just for yourself, but for the world around you. Sacrifice is part of it, yes, but so is courage. Compassion. Wisdom.”
Arinjaya frowned, still unconvinced. “But how do I know if I’m doing the right thing? What if I make the wrong choice? What if I fail?”
Agni picked up a small stick and tossed it into the fire, watching the flames consume it. “You will fail. Many times. That is the nature of being human. But dharma is not about never failing—it’s about how you rise after you fall. It’s about choosing to stand again, even when the odds are against you.”
Arinjaya’s mind raced with questions, but one stood out above the rest. “Do you think Rudrajit believes he’s following his dharma?”
Agni’s expression darkened, and for the first time, a flicker of uncertainty passed over his face. “Perhaps he does. That is the danger of power—it can blind you to the truth. Rudrajit believes he is freeing the world from the secrecy of Mayilnadu, that he is breaking the chains of tradition. But his dharma has been twisted by ambition. He sees himself as a liberator, but his actions will only bring chaos.”
“But what if he’s right?” Arinjaya pressed, his voice rising. “What if Mayilnadu has been hiding for too long? What if the world needs to know about Thandavam Ore?”
“Do you think the world is ready for it?” Agni countered, his tone sharp. “Look around you, Arinjaya. The world is fractured, ruled by greed, war, and exploitation. If the secrets of Thandavam Ore were exposed, how long do you think it would take before it became a weapon of mass destruction? Your ancestors hid Mayilnadu for a reason. Not because they feared the world, but because they understood its flaws.”
Arinjaya fell silent, the weight of Agni’s words settling over him.
“You are not fighting just for Mayilnadu, Arinjaya,” Agni continued. “You are fighting to protect balance. If Rudrajit succeeds, that balance will shatter, and the consequences will ripple far beyond these borders.”
“And if I fail?” Arinjaya asked quietly.
Agni’s gaze softened. “Then the world will fall into chaos. But I don’t believe you will fail.”
“Why not?”
“Because you are asking the right questions,” Agni said with a faint smile. “A true leader is not the one who claims to have all the answers. It is the one who is willing to seek them.”
The fire burned lower as the conversation dwindled into silence. Arinjaya stared into the embers, his mind heavy with thoughts of dharma, legacy, and the choices he would soon have to make. For the first time, he began to realize that this journey wasn’t just about reclaiming a stolen artifact or defeating Rudrajit. It was about discovering who he was—and who he was meant to become.
And that, Arinjaya realized, might be the hardest battle of all.
Night fell over Chozhapuram, cloaking the city in a serene calm that belied the chaos brewing in the shadows. The golden domes of the temples glimmered faintly under the moonlight, while the faint hum of the protective energy fields surrounding the city created a soft, constant rhythm. The streets were quiet now, the bustle of the festival long since faded. Priests recited hymns in the temples, their voices carried by the cool night breeze. Guards patrolled the Velmandapam gates, their torches casting flickering shadows on the ancient carvings of Lord Murugan.
Far above, perched on the hills that overlooked the city, Rudrajit’s mercenaries moved like specters through the darkness. Cloaked in black armor enhanced with stolen Thandavam Ore tech, they blended seamlessly into the landscape. Each mercenary carried weapons infused with the ore’s raw energy, their blades and guns glowing faintly with an otherworldly blue light.
At their center stood Rudrajit, his golden tiger mask catching the faint glimmer of moonlight. He surveyed the city below, his expression hidden but his intent unmistakable. Beside him, Kalki, his towering lieutenant, held a scanner that emitted a low, pulsing beep.
“The energy fields are still active,” Kalki reported, his deep voice barely above a whisper. “The city’s defenses are stronger than we anticipated.”
Rudrajit tilted his head slightly, his tone calm but laced with menace. “We’re not here to conquer Chozhapuram tonight, Kalki. This is a message. A reminder that their walls won’t protect them forever.”
He raised a hand, and the mercenaries stilled, waiting for his command. Rudrajit’s voice cut through the night like a blade.
“Move.”
The group descended the hills with precision, their movements soundless. They reached the outer perimeter of the city, where crystalline pylons powered by Thandavam Ore created the shimmering energy barrier that shielded Chozhapuram from outside forces. The barrier pulsed faintly, a testament to the Chola dynasty’s mastery of blending ancient knowledge with advanced technology.
Kalki crouched near one of the pylons, pulling a small device from his belt. It was a compact disruptor, its design crude but effective. He placed it against the pylon, and the device whirred to life, emitting a high-pitched hum.
Moments later, a section of the barrier flickered and collapsed, leaving a gap just wide enough for the mercenaries to slip through.
“Go,” Rudrajit commanded.
The attack began with a flash of light.
Explosions rocked the northern quarter of the city, sending debris and flames into the air. Buildings crumbled as shockwaves tore through the streets, and the once-quiet night was shattered by the panicked cries of civilians fleeing their homes. The mercenaries moved through the chaos like wraiths, their weapons cutting down guards with lethal precision.
A squad of Mayilnadu’s royal guards scrambled to form a defensive line near the Velmandapam gates, their armor gleaming in the firelight. Captain Kanna, Arinjaya’s childhood friend, led the charge, his spear slicing through the first wave of attackers with practiced skill.
“Hold the line!” Kanna shouted, his voice steady despite the overwhelming odds. “Protect the gates at all costs!”
The guards rallied behind him, their shields locking together in a formation that pushed back the initial assault. But Rudrajit’s mercenaries were relentless, their stolen weapons cutting through the defenses with ease.
Above the fray, Rudrajit stood atop a crumbled statue of Rajendra Chola, his golden tiger mask glowing faintly in the firelight. He watched the chaos unfold with cold detachment, his arms folded across his chest.
“This city is a relic,” he muttered to Kalki, who stood beside him. “Its people cling to the past, to their illusions of safety. But safety is a lie. Power is the only truth.”
Kalki grunted in agreement, his attention fixed on the battle below. “They’re putting up more of a fight than I expected.”
Rudrajit smiled beneath his mask. “Good. Let them struggle. The harder they fight, the clearer it becomes that they are unprepared for what’s coming.”
He turned to Kalki, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Pull the mercenaries back. Let them think they’ve won this skirmish. Their victory will taste sweeter if they believe it was earned.”
As the mercenaries began their retreat, leaving behind a trail of destruction, Captain Kanna and his remaining guards regrouped near the gates. The once-pristine Velmandapam stood in ruins, its golden carvings scorched and broken. The flames cast eerie shadows on the surviving walls, and the air was thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.
Kanna wiped the sweat from his brow, his face grim as he surveyed the scene. “They didn’t come to conquer,” he muttered to himself. “This was a warning.”
Back at Chandrapura Palace, the alarms blared, and Arinjaya stood in the war chamber, staring at the live holographic feed of the devastation. The council members spoke in frantic voices around him, their panic mounting as reports of the attack poured in.
“They breached the barriers!” one shouted.
“The northern quarter is in ruins!” cried another.
Arinjaya’s jaw clenched as he watched the flickering images of his burning city. For the first time, the gravity of his situation became undeniably real. Rudrajit wasn’t just a threat to Mayilnadu’s secrets—he was a threat to its very existence.
Queen Meenakshi’s voice cut through the chaos. “Enough!”
The room fell silent as she turned to Arinjaya, her expression unreadable. “This is what I warned you about. Rudrajit has made his first move. And now, Arinjaya, it’s time for you to make yours.”
Arinjaya met her gaze, the weight of her words sinking into his chest. He looked back at the hologram, his fists tightening at his sides.
“Ready the warriors,” he said quietly, his voice growing steadier with each word. “Rudrajit won’t stop with this attack. The next time he strikes, I’ll be ready for him.”
Meenakshi gave a small nod, but there was no relief in her eyes. “We’ll see if you’re ready, Arinjaya. For all our sakes, I hope you are.”
Far to the north, Rudrajit’s forces regrouped in the shadow of the hills, their weapons glinting faintly in the moonlight. And as the fires of Chozhapuram continued to smolder, the stage was set for the next confrontation.
The fires of Chozhapuram burned long into the night. From the balcony of Chandrapura Palace, Arinjaya could see the faint glow of flames in the northern quarter, their orange light flickering against the dark horizon. The smoke, a thick, ominous column, coiled into the sky like a serpent. Below, in the ruined streets, the cries of the wounded and the commands of royal guards blended into a cacophony that refused to fade.
The weight of the attack sat heavy on Arinjaya’s shoulders. He gripped the edge of the balcony, his knuckles white, his jaw tight. Kanna, his closest friend, had returned just hours ago with grim news of the northern quarter. The defenses had held, but barely. Dozens of guards were dead. Civilians, too. Their homes reduced to rubble, their safety shattered.
Arinjaya stared into the distance, his mind replaying the images from the holographic feed: Rudrajit’s mercenaries cutting through Mayilnadu’s finest soldiers with weapons stolen from his own heritage. The golden domes of Velmandapam desecrated. And then there was Rudrajit himself, standing atop the shattered remains of their ancestor’s statue, a silent mockery of everything Arinjaya was supposed to protect.
Behind him, the soft sound of footsteps drew closer. He didn’t need to turn to know it was Agni. The man’s presence was as steady and unrelenting as the mountain winds.
“Still brooding, I see,” Agni said, his tone carrying a faint edge of humor.
“I’m not brooding,” Arinjaya muttered, though his grip on the balcony said otherwise.
Agni stepped beside him, his gaze fixed on the distant fires. “You blame yourself.”
Arinjaya glanced at him, the accusation sparking a flash of irritation. “Of course I do. How can I not? I’m the heir to this kingdom. This is my responsibility.”
“And yet, you’ve done nothing to claim that responsibility until now,” Agni countered, his voice cutting but not unkind.
Arinjaya looked away, the truth of the words hitting harder than he wanted to admit. “I didn’t ask for this, Agni. Any of it. I didn’t ask to be born into this family or to carry this legacy.”
“Do you think Rudrajit asked to be cast out of it?” Agni’s question landed like a slap. “Do you think the people who lost their homes tonight asked to be victims of his ambition? Life doesn’t give us what we ask for, Arinjaya. It gives us what we must endure.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of the city below filled the silence—the distant shouts of guards, the rumble of carts carrying the wounded to safety.
Finally, Agni turned to face Arinjaya fully, his expression unyielding. “You want to protect this kingdom, don’t you?”
Arinjaya hesitated. The answer should have been simple. But the truth was more complicated.
“I… I don’t know if I can,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “My father was strong. Brave. He built this kingdom with his own hands. But me? I can’t even stand in his shadow without feeling like I’m drowning.”
Agni sighed, shaking his head. “Your father wasn’t born strong, Arinjaya. He was a scared boy, just like you, once. I trained him. I saw his fears, his doubts, his mistakes. But he learned. He grew. And he became the man this kingdom needed him to be.”
He stepped closer, his gaze boring into Arinjaya’s. “You are no different. You have the same blood, the same fire. All you lack is the will to ignite it.”
Arinjaya’s frustration boiled over. “And what if I fail? What if I go after Rudrajit and lose? What if I make things worse?”
Agni didn’t flinch. “Then you fail. Then you fall. But you rise again. That is the path of dharma, Arinjaya. It is not about perfection. It is about persistence. Rudrajit will not stop, and neither can you.”
The words settled over Arinjaya like a heavy weight, but they also brought clarity. He could see now that his reluctance, his doubts—they were luxuries he could no longer afford. People were dying. His people. And Rudrajit wasn’t going to stop until he tore Mayilnadu apart.
“Fine,” Arinjaya said at last, straightening his shoulders. “I’ll do it. I’ll train. I’ll fight. Whatever it takes.”
Agni allowed himself a faint smile, though his tone remained measured. “It will take more than words, Arinjaya. Training in Varma Kalai is not just physical—it is spiritual. It will demand every part of you. Your body. Your mind. Your soul.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Arinjaya repeated, his voice steadier now.
“Good,” Agni said. “Because Rudrajit won’t wait for you to be ready. We start at dawn.”
The two of them stood in silence for a moment longer, the weight of the night pressing down on them both.
“Agni,” Arinjaya said after a while.
“Yes?”
“My father… did he ever doubt himself?”
Agni’s expression softened, his gaze distant. “Every day. But he never let it stop him. That’s what made him great.”
Arinjaya nodded, his mind made up. The fires in the northern quarter still burned, but now, in his heart, another fire had ignited—one of resolve.
Tomorrow, he would begin the journey that would define him. He would reclaim his heritage, his strength, and his kingdom. Not as his father’s shadow, but as himself.