Chapter 3: The Path of Vital Points
The morning broke over Chozhapuram with streaks of gold and orange spilling across the sky, a deceptive beauty given the destruction that still smoldered in the northern quarter. From the palace gates, Arinjaya, Agni, and Devika prepared to leave the city, their small group outfitted for a journey that could determine the fate of the kingdom.
Arinjaya tightened the straps of his travel pack, his face unreadable as he stared out at the dense Kurinji forests beyond the city’s edge. The air was thick with the hum of cicadas and the occasional cry of a distant bird. Behind him, Devika, clad in practical traveling gear rather than her usual temple dancer’s attire, checked the compact blades strapped to her thighs. Her sharp eyes scanned the perimeter with a mix of wariness and curiosity.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked, her voice low but edged with challenge.
Arinjaya glanced at her. “Didn’t think you’d care if I was.”
Devika smirked. “Oh, I don’t. I just want to know if I’m babysitting a prince or traveling with someone who knows what he’s doing.”
“Depends on the day,” Arinjaya muttered, earning a short laugh from her.
Standing apart from the pair, Agni inspected a worn wooden staff he had taken from the royal armory. His saffron cloak rippled slightly in the breeze as he turned to face them.
“The forests ahead are not friendly,” Agni said, his voice calm but firm. “Rudrajit’s spies will be watching. If you aren’t ready for this, now is the time to speak.”
“No one’s backing out,” Arinjaya said, his tone more confident than he felt.
Agni gave a small nod, his piercing gaze lingering on the young prince. “Good. Then let us see if you can keep up.”
The group descended into the Kurinji forests, the air growing cooler as the dense canopy above swallowed the sunlight. The towering trees, their bark twisted and ancient, loomed like silent sentinels, their gnarled roots snaking across the forest floor. The ground was soft with moss and fallen leaves, muffling their footsteps as they moved deeper into the wilderness.
“Is there a reason we couldn’t take the main roads?” Arinjaya asked after an hour of silence, his voice breaking the oppressive quiet of the forest.
“Subtlety,” Agni replied without turning. “Rudrajit has eyes everywhere. The moment we step onto open roads, they’ll find us.”
“Let them,” Arinjaya muttered under his breath.
Devika, walking just behind him, snorted. “That’ll end well. You’d last about five minutes before they pin you to a tree.”
Arinjaya shot her a glare. “I’m not useless, you know.”
“Not yet,” Agni interjected, his tone sharp enough to end the argument. “But you have a long way to go before you’re ready for what’s coming.”
As the hours passed, the journey grew more grueling. The forest seemed to close in around them, its shadows growing deeper as the sun rose higher. Agni moved with ease, his steps confident and deliberate, as if he knew every inch of the terrain. Devika followed close behind, her movements agile and precise, while Arinjaya struggled to keep pace, his boots catching on roots and loose stones.
“Watch your footing,” Agni called back without looking.
“I’m fine,” Arinjaya replied, irritation creeping into his voice.
Moments later, his foot snagged on an exposed root, and he stumbled forward, catching himself on a nearby tree. Devika bit back a laugh, but the smirk on her face was unmistakable.
“Fine, huh?” she said, raising an eyebrow.
Arinjaya glared at her, brushing dirt from his tunic. “Glad you’re enjoying this.”
“Someone has to,” she quipped, stepping around him with a fluid grace that made his clumsiness even more obvious.
The group pressed on, the weight of the journey growing heavier with each step. The forest’s stillness was unnerving, the usual sounds of wildlife replaced by an almost unnatural silence. Agni’s pace slowed, his eyes scanning the trees with a subtle intensity that set Arinjaya on edge.
“What is it?” Arinjaya asked, his voice low.
“Quiet,” Agni said, raising a hand to halt them.
They stood motionless, the silence pressing down on them like a heavy cloak. Then, faintly, came the sound of rustling leaves—not the soft rustle of the wind, but something deliberate. Something human.
“Spies,” Agni murmured, his grip tightening on his staff.
The attack came swiftly.
From the shadows of the trees, three mercenaries lunged toward the group, their weapons gleaming with the faint blue glow of Thandavam Ore tech. The first swung a blade at Agni, but the old warrior moved like water, stepping aside and striking the man’s wrist with his staff. The weapon clattered to the ground, and with a second blow, Agni sent the attacker sprawling into the dirt.
Devika reacted just as quickly, her twin blades flashing as she parried the strike of a second mercenary. She moved with the grace of a dancer, her feet light and precise as she spun behind her opponent, her blade pressing against his throat in one smooth motion.
Arinjaya barely had time to draw his short sword before the third mercenary lunged at him, a dagger aimed for his chest. He blocked clumsily, the force of the blow sending him staggering back. The mercenary pressed the attack, his movements fast and ruthless.
“Focus!” Agni barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.
Gritting his teeth, Arinjaya steadied himself. He remembered the lessons from the previous day, the emphasis on precision and balance. As the mercenary lunged again, Arinjaya sidestepped, his blade slicing across the man’s arm. It wasn’t a deep wound, but it was enough to disarm him.
The mercenary snarled and swung his fist, but Arinjaya ducked, driving the hilt of his sword into the man’s stomach. The attacker crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain.
When the skirmish ended, the forest was silent once more, save for the ragged breathing of the three mercenaries, now bound and disarmed. Agni stood over them, his expression grim.
“They were scouts,” he said. “Rudrajit knows we’ve left the city.”
Devika wiped her blade on a scrap of cloth, her eyes narrowing. “If they don’t report back, he’ll send more.”
“Let them come,” Arinjaya said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through him.
Agni turned to him, his gaze piercing. “You handled yourself better than I expected, but you’re not ready for a real fight yet. That hesitation could have cost you your life.”
“I’ll do better next time,” Arinjaya said, meeting Agni’s gaze.
“See that you do,” Agni replied. “We’re only at the beginning of this journey, and the path ahead will not forgive weakness.”
As the group moved deeper into the forest, the weight of the battle lingered in the air. For Arinjaya, it was a harsh reminder of the stakes—and the long road he still had to walk.
The Kurinji forests had grown denser, the towering trees closing in around the narrow path as the group pushed deeper into the wilderness. Sunlight barely touched the forest floor now, casting eerie patterns through the tangled canopy. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and moss, but something else lingered—a tension that set Arinjaya on edge.
Agni walked ahead, his steps light and deliberate. Devika moved just behind him, her fingers brushing the hilts of her twin blades every few moments, a subconscious habit honed from years of training. Arinjaya brought up the rear, still replaying the earlier skirmish in his mind. His grip on his sword tightened as he thought of his clumsy performance.
“You’re thinking too much,” Devika murmured over her shoulder.
Arinjaya frowned. “What?”
“Your fight back there,” she said. “You hesitated. That’s why you nearly got stabbed.”
“I didn’t hesitate,” Arinjaya shot back.
Devika smirked but didn’t argue.
Agni, who had been silent until now, suddenly raised his hand, bringing them to a halt.
Arinjaya opened his mouth to question him, but the look on the old warrior’s face silenced him. Agni’s golden eyes scanned the trees, his posture shifting ever so slightly.
“What is it?” Devika whispered.
Agni exhaled slowly. “We’re being hunted.”
The words sent a chill down Arinjaya’s spine. He strained his ears, listening past the rustling leaves, past the distant calls of unseen birds.
And then he heard it.
The whisper of steel. The faint crunch of footsteps on soft earth.
Shadows moved among the trees, shifting unnaturally, circling like predators closing in on prey.
“They know we’re here,” Agni murmured. “They’re waiting for the right moment.”
Arinjaya’s pulse quickened. “Then let’s not give them one.”
The moment he spoke, the forest erupted into motion.
A spear shot through the air, aimed directly at Agni’s head.
In an instant, he moved. Not away from the spear—but toward it.
With a single, fluid motion, Agni twisted his body, allowing the spear to pass within inches of his face before catching it mid-flight. The sheer speed of his reaction left Arinjaya momentarily stunned.
Then, the attackers emerged.
Five mercenaries, clad in dark armor, rushed toward them from the trees. Their weapons—curved swords and short spears—gleamed with the unnatural blue light of Thandavam Ore-infused tech. These weren’t just any of Rudrajit’s men. They were elite warriors.
Arinjaya barely had time to react before the first mercenary lunged at him.
He raised his sword just in time to block a downward strike, the force of the impact sending vibrations up his arm. His opponent was fast—too fast. The mercenary pressed forward, his blade a blur as he aimed for Arinjaya’s exposed side.
Arinjaya twisted, barely avoiding the strike, but his footing faltered on the uneven ground. The mercenary took advantage, driving forward with a savage kick that sent Arinjaya sprawling.
A second attacker moved in for the kill.
Then, everything changed.
Agni struck.
The old warrior moved like a phantom, his body weaving through the chaos with precision that bordered on impossible. He sidestepped the second attacker, his fingers darting forward to press against a spot just beneath the man’s ribs. The mercenary barely had time to react before his body seized up, his muscles locking in place as he collapsed to the ground, paralyzed.
Another enemy lunged from behind, a dagger aimed at Agni’s back. Without turning, Agni twisted his arm at an impossible angle and struck a point on the mercenary’s forearm. The man’s fingers spasmed, his grip loosening just enough for Agni to catch the falling dagger mid-air.
A heartbeat later, he drove his palm into the attacker’s throat, not with brute force, but with pinpoint precision. The man gasped, his body crumpling as if his breath had been stolen from him.
Arinjaya, still on the ground, could only stare.
This was Varma Kalai.
Devika was holding her own against two of the mercenaries, her twin blades moving in a deadly dance. She ducked under a wide swing, her footwork impeccable as she slashed across her attacker’s leg. The mercenary faltered, but the second one pressed in, forcing her back.
Arinjaya forced himself to move. He rolled to the side just as his own opponent thrust his sword into the ground where he had fallen. Taking advantage of the opening, Arinjaya kicked out, sweeping the man’s legs from beneath him.
He didn’t hesitate this time.
Before the mercenary could recover, Arinjaya drove his blade into the ground beside the man’s throat. Not a killing blow—but a clear warning.
The mercenary froze.
The last remaining attacker, seeing his comrades either fallen or incapacitated, turned to flee.
Agni was faster.
In a blur, he closed the distance and struck a single point at the base of the mercenary’s skull. The man collapsed mid-step, unconscious before he even hit the ground.
Silence settled over the forest once more.
Arinjaya pushed himself to his feet, his breathing ragged. He looked around at the fallen mercenaries, his mind still struggling to process what he had just witnessed.
Agni stood calmly, as if nothing had happened. He exhaled softly and rolled his shoulders. “Sloppy,” he muttered to himself.
“Sloppy?!” Arinjaya gaped at him. “You just—how did you—” He gestured wildly at the incapacitated enemies.
Devika, wiping her blade on a cloth, grinned. “Welcome to the world of Varma Kalai, prince.”
Arinjaya turned back to Agni, his disbelief giving way to something deeper—admiration. “How did you do that?”
Agni looked at him, his expression unreadable. “By knowing where to strike.”
Agni knelt beside the unconscious mercenary and pressed two points near his jawline. The man convulsed briefly before his body went limp.
“Pressure points,” Agni explained. “The human body is filled with them—places where energy, prana, flows. Disrupt it in the right way, and you can control a man’s movements. Cut off his breath. Stop his heart.” He rose to his feet, dusting off his hands. “Your cousin knows this well. He’s been trained in Varma Kalai too. And unlike me, he does not use it for restraint.”
Arinjaya swallowed, the reality of the situation settling in.
“If Rudrajit knows what you know…” he hesitated, his throat dry.
Agni nodded. “Then he is just as dangerous as I am. Perhaps more.”
A cold weight settled in Arinjaya’s stomach. He had just seen the full potential of Varma Kalai, and he knew, without a doubt, that he wasn’t ready.
But he would have to be.
Because next time, Rudrajit wouldn’t send mercenaries.
Next time, he would come himself.
By the time the group reached the Kallazhagar Temple, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of fiery orange and deep purple. The temple emerged from the dense forest like a guardian from an ancient myth, its massive stone spires covered in intricate carvings of Tamil deities and celestial warriors. At its peak sat a golden vel—Lord Murugan’s sacred spear—glimmering in the last light of the day.
The temple seemed alive, the chants of unseen priests reverberating through the air like the hum of a great, eternal rhythm. The steps leading to the temple were carved from black granite, worn smooth by centuries of pilgrims who had come seeking its wisdom. Surrounding it was a vast pond, its surface so still that it mirrored the structure perfectly, creating the illusion of a temple both above and below.
Arinjaya paused at the edge of the pond, his breath catching in his chest. The temple exuded an overwhelming presence, its weight pressing down on him like the gaze of a thousand ancestors.
“This is where your journey begins,” Agni said, stepping past him and motioning for him to follow.
The group crossed a narrow stone bridge spanning the pond and climbed the steps to the temple’s entrance. Devika, who had been unusually quiet since the ambush, studied the carvings on the walls with a mixture of awe and unease.
“What is this place?” she asked softly.
“Kallazhagar Temple is not just a shrine,” Agni replied. “It is a proving ground. Only those who pass its trials can claim the wisdom it holds.”
“And if they fail?” Arinjaya asked.
“They don’t leave,” Agni said simply, his tone offering no room for argument.
Arinjaya hesitated, a faint chill running down his spine. But when he looked at Agni, the older man’s steady gaze offered a strange sense of reassurance.
“This isn’t a choice, is it?” Arinjaya asked.
“No,” Agni said, his voice low but firm. “It never was.”
The temple’s interior was even more imposing than its exterior. The walls were lined with yantras—sacred geometric patterns etched in gold—and murals depicting legendary battles between gods and demons. At the center of the hall stood a massive stone altar, surrounded by an unbroken circle of deepam lamps, their flames flickering softly in the still air.
Waiting at the altar was an elder priest, his robes the color of saffron and his head shaved save for a single braid of hair. His face was deeply lined, his expression one of calm authority. He inclined his head as the group approached, his gaze lingering on Arinjaya.
“So,” the priest said, his voice carrying the weight of ages. “The White Tiger has come at last.”
Arinjaya shifted uncomfortably under the man’s scrutiny. “I don’t know about that,” he said, glancing at Agni. “I’m just… here to learn.”
The priest smiled faintly. “Humility. A rare quality for one of your lineage. But learning alone will not make you worthy.”
The priest gestured toward the altar. “To prove yourself, you must pass the trials of Kallazhagar. They will test your body, your mind, and your spirit. If you succeed, the path to your destiny will become clear. If you fail…”
He let the sentence hang, the unspoken consequence enough to make Arinjaya’s stomach tighten.
“Do you accept the trials?” the priest asked, his gaze piercing.
Arinjaya hesitated. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, but he forced himself to meet the priest’s eyes. “I do.”
The priest nodded, satisfied. “Then step forward.”
The first trial began immediately.
The priest led Arinjaya to a circular platform at the far end of the temple, its surface covered in faintly glowing inscriptions. Agni and Devika stood back, their expressions unreadable as the elder explained the rules.
“The first trial is one of endurance,” the priest said. “You will face an illusion—a test of your body’s limits. Move with precision, or you will not survive.”
Before Arinjaya could ask what he meant, the priest raised his hand and muttered a mantra. The inscriptions on the platform flared to life, and the air around Arinjaya shimmered like heat rising from stone.
The world shifted.
One moment, Arinjaya stood in the quiet temple. The next, he was surrounded by a blinding desert, the sun beating down on him with merciless intensity. The sand beneath his feet burned like fire, and the horizon stretched endlessly in every direction.
He stumbled forward, shielding his eyes from the harsh light. “What… what is this?”
A voice echoed in his mind—it was Agni’s, though distant and distorted.
“Your body will be pushed to its limits. Do not lose focus. Control your breath. Control your movements.”
Arinjaya gritted his teeth and started walking. The sand shifted beneath his feet with every step, sapping his energy. Sweat poured down his face, and his muscles screamed in protest.
As he moved, the ground began to shift. Columns of sand erupted around him, twisting and writhing like serpents. They struck with blinding speed, forcing him to dodge and weave. His movements were clumsy at first, and one of the columns struck him in the side, sending him sprawling.
Pain shot through his ribs, but he forced himself to stand.
“Precision,” Agni’s voice echoed again. “You’re wasting energy. Move with purpose.”
Arinjaya closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on his breathing. Inhale. Exhale.
When the columns struck again, he moved differently. He stepped to the side, letting the first attack pass inches from his face. Another column lunged for his legs, and he leaped over it, landing lightly on the shifting sand.
For what felt like hours, he danced between the strikes, his movements growing sharper, more precise. The pain in his body faded into the background, replaced by a sense of clarity.
Finally, the columns dissolved, and the desert faded.
Arinjaya collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. When he looked up, he was back in the temple, the glowing platform beneath him.
The priest approached, his expression unreadable. “You have passed the first trial. But the path ahead is far more difficult.”
Arinjaya nodded weakly, his body trembling but his resolve unshaken.
Agni stepped forward, his voice steady. “Rest now. The next trial will demand even more.”
As Arinjaya sat down to catch his breath, he couldn’t help but wonder what the temple had in store for him next. But one thing was clear: he was stronger than he had been an hour ago.
And he was just getting started.
The faint glow of oil lamps cast dancing shadows on the walls of the Kallazhagar Temple, their soft light illuminating the intricate carvings of celestial battles and cosmic dances. Arinjaya sat cross-legged on the stone floor, his muscles still aching from the trial he had barely survived. Despite the exhaustion, his mind was restless, replaying every misstep he had made in the desert illusion.
Across from him, Agni knelt with the same stillness as the statues of gods lining the temple walls. His hands rested on his knees, and his eyes were closed, as if meditating. Arinjaya found himself growing impatient with the silence.
“Are we going to start?” Arinjaya finally asked, his voice cutting through the quiet.
Agni opened one eye, regarding the young prince with calm amusement. “We’ve already started.”
Arinjaya frowned. “What do you mean? I’m sitting here. Nothing is happening.”
Agni straightened, his tone sharp. “That’s precisely the problem. You think training begins with action. It does not. It begins with understanding.”
Agni stood and motioned for Arinjaya to follow him. They moved deeper into the temple, where an inner chamber awaited. The walls here were covered with yantras, their geometric patterns glowing faintly with an energy that seemed almost alive. At the center of the room stood a bronze statue of Lord Murugan, holding his sacred spear, the Vel, in one hand.
Agni gestured toward the statue. “Do you know why Lord Murugan is our guardian deity?”
Arinjaya hesitated. “Because he’s the god of war?”
Agni shook his head. “Murugan is more than a warrior. He represents balance—between chaos and order, destruction and creation. The Vel is not just a weapon; it is a symbol of clarity and purpose. That is the essence of Varma Kalai.”
He stepped closer to Arinjaya, his voice lowering. “Varma Kalai is not about strength. It is not about speed. It is about understanding. Every strike you make, every movement, must have purpose. To strike without intent is to waste energy. To fight without balance is to court defeat.”
Agni reached into his cloak and pulled out a small, cloth-bound journal. Its cover was worn, the edges frayed, but Arinjaya immediately recognized the Chola crest engraved on its surface.
“What is that?” he asked.
Agni handed him the journal. “Your father’s writings.”
Arinjaya’s breath caught in his throat as he carefully opened the journal. Inside were pages filled with Tamil script, written in a bold but steady hand. Diagrams of human anatomy—pressure points, nerve clusters, energy flows—were sketched in meticulous detail.
“This…” Arinjaya whispered, tracing the diagrams with his fingers. “He wrote this?”
“During his training,” Agni said. “Your father spent years mastering Varma Kalai. These pages are the culmination of his knowledge.”
Arinjaya looked up at Agni, confusion flickering in his eyes. “If he knew all this, why didn’t he use it? Why didn’t he fight with it?”
Agni’s expression darkened. “Because your father understood the cost. Varma Kalai is not a tool for conquest. It is a discipline, a philosophy. To use it recklessly is to corrupt it—and yourself.”
Agni gestured for Arinjaya to stand. “Let’s begin with something simple.”
Arinjaya rose to his feet, still clutching the journal.
“Set it down,” Agni said, nodding toward the statue. “For now, your focus is here.”
Arinjaya placed the journal at the base of the statue and turned to face Agni, who raised his hand, pointing at the young prince’s chest.
“Close your eyes,” Agni instructed.
Arinjaya hesitated but complied, his breathing uneven.
“Do you feel that?” Agni asked, his voice softer now.
“Feel what?”
“The rhythm,” Agni said. “Your breath. Your heartbeat. The flow of energy within you.”
Arinjaya furrowed his brow, focusing inward. At first, all he felt was the ache in his muscles and the sweat trickling down his back. But as he steadied his breathing, something began to shift. His heartbeat slowed, aligning with the rise and fall of his chest. The tension in his shoulders eased, and for the first time, he felt… centered.
“Good,” Agni said. “Now, keep your mind on that rhythm. Let it guide you.”
Agni moved behind him, placing his hand lightly on Arinjaya’s shoulder. “The human body has 108 pressure points,” he said. “Each one connected to a flow of energy. To strike these points is to control the body. To heal them is to restore it.”
Arinjaya opened his eyes. “And Rudrajit? He’s using this to kill.”
“Yes,” Agni said bluntly. “He is corrupting the art. That is why you must master it—to stop him.”
Agni stepped back, his voice hardening. “Strike the air in front of you. No weapon. Just your hand.”
Arinjaya hesitated, then swung his fist forward.
“No,” Agni snapped. “Your arm is wild. Your energy is unfocused. Again.”
Arinjaya tried again, this time slower, more deliberate.
“Better,” Agni said. “But your balance is off. You’re not rooted in the ground. Again.”
For hours, Agni drilled him on the basics: stances, strikes, breathing techniques. The movements were deceptively simple but required an intense level of focus. Arinjaya stumbled often, his frustration growing with each mistake.
Devika, leaning casually against a pillar, watched the training with a smirk. “At this rate, Rudrajit will conquer half the world before you even master a punch.”
“Do you mind?” Arinjaya growled, glaring at her.
“I’m just saying,” she teased.
“Enough,” Agni said sharply, silencing both of them. He stepped toward Arinjaya, his tone softer now. “Frustration clouds your focus. You’re trying to fight the movements, but that isn’t the way. Let the energy flow through you. Trust it.”
Arinjaya took a deep breath, grounding himself once more. He repeated the movement, this time slower, his strike cutting cleanly through the air.
Agni nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Good. Now you’re beginning to understand.”
As the night deepened, Arinjaya sat alone by the altar, the journal open in his lap. The glow of the temple’s lamps reflected in his eyes as he studied the diagrams, his mind racing with questions and possibilities.
Devika approached, her usual sarcasm replaced with something softer. “You’re starting to look like you belong here.”
Arinjaya glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know if I do. Not yet.”
She smiled faintly, sitting beside him. “You will. You’re stubborn enough to figure it out.”
Arinjaya let out a quiet laugh, the tension in his chest easing for the first time in days. “Thanks, I think.”
Above them, the Vel glimmered in the lamplight, a silent reminder of the path ahead.
The moon hung high over Kallazhagar Temple, its pale light filtering through the narrow windows and casting long, jagged shadows across the ancient stonework. The temple had grown quiet, save for the faint rustling of the breeze and the occasional murmur of chants from the priests who never seemed to sleep.
Arinjaya sat slumped against the wall near the main altar, his body heavy with exhaustion. His muscles screamed in protest after hours of relentless drills, and yet his mind wouldn’t rest. The diagrams in his father’s journal swam in his thoughts, the pressure points and cryptic notes feeling like puzzle pieces he couldn’t yet fit together.
Not far from him, Devika wandered through the temple’s side chambers, her curiosity leading her to places where even the priests rarely ventured. She moved with quiet precision, her fingers brushing over the carvings and inscriptions that adorned every inch of the walls. The air in these chambers felt older, heavier, as though it carried the weight of centuries.
“Looking for something?”
Devika turned sharply at the voice. Agni stood in the doorway, his arms folded.
“Just exploring,” she replied casually, though her tone was tinged with defiance. “This place is practically begging to give up its secrets.”
Agni raised an eyebrow. “Secrets are not always kind to those who uncover them.”
“Good thing I’m not afraid of them,” Devika said with a smirk, turning back to the carvings.
Agni watched her for a moment before stepping into the room. “These chambers hold the history of Mayilnadu, recorded by those who came long before us. Every carving, every inscription, carries a fragment of the Chola dynasty’s legacy. You’d do well to show respect.”
“I respect history,” Devika said, her tone softer now. “But history isn’t just meant to be admired. It’s meant to be understood.”
Her gaze fell on a particular inscription near the far wall. Unlike the other carvings, which depicted battles and deities, this one showed a tiger’s face, its eyes carved as twin spirals that seemed to draw the viewer in. Surrounding the tiger were intricate patterns of waves and lotus flowers, their design flowing outward like ripples on water.
“What’s this?” Devika asked, stepping closer.
Agni followed her gaze, his expression darkening. “Simhamukha.”
Arinjaya, hearing the name from the main hall, forced himself to his feet and staggered into the room. His exhaustion melted away at the sight of the carving.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” he said, his voice tinged with awe. “The White Tiger suit.”
“Yes,” Agni replied, his tone grave. “This carving is one of the only surviving depictions of Simhamukha. It represents the ultimate balance between strength and restraint, creation and destruction. Your ancestors crafted it to protect the realm—not to dominate it.”
Devika tilted her head, tracing the pattern of waves with her finger. “These symbols… they’re not just decorative, are they? They look like a map.”
Agni nodded slowly. “They are. The spirals represent Rajarajeshwaram, the sunken fortress beneath Chozha-Nagari. The lotus flowers symbolize the chambers within the fortress, each one hiding a trial meant to test the wearer of Simhamukha.”
“So it’s buried there,” Arinjaya said, stepping closer. “In the fortress.”
“Deep within it,” Agni confirmed. “The suit lies behind seals that only a Chola heir can open. Your father ensured it would remain hidden until the day it was truly needed.”
Devika crouched to examine the base of the carving, where a faint line of Tamil script was etched into the stone. She read the words aloud, her voice quiet but steady.
“‘The tiger awakens when the balance is broken. To walk its path, one must wield the Vel and strike the chords of the earth.’”
“What does that mean?” Arinjaya asked, furrowing his brow.
Agni’s gaze grew distant, as though he were recalling a memory long buried. “The Vel, Lord Murugan’s spear, is more than a symbol. It is a key. In Rajarajeshwaram, there is a great hall called the Chamber of Resonance, where the suit is sealed. To unlock it, the wielder must strike specific points on the ground—places where the energy of the fortress converges.”
“So Rudrajit can’t access it,” Arinjaya said, relief flickering in his voice.
“Not yet,” Agni replied. “But Rudrajit is no fool. If he learns of the Chamber of Resonance, he will stop at nothing to claim Simhamukha for himself. And if that happens…”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but the weight of his words was clear.
Arinjaya stared at the carving, his mind racing. The trials of Kallazhagar had already pushed him to his limits, and now he was being asked to dive into the depths of an ancient fortress, face whatever dangers lay within, and claim a relic that even his father had feared to use.
“You said my father left it hidden until it was needed,” Arinjaya said quietly. “How did he know that time had come?”
Agni’s gaze softened. “Because he knew Rudrajit. He knew the ambition in his heart, the anger that burned there. And he knew it was only a matter of time before that anger consumed him.”
Devika straightened, brushing dust from her hands. “Then we don’t have time to waste. If Rudrajit gets to the fortress before us, we’ll lose whatever advantage we have.”
Agni nodded. “Agreed. But the trials here are not yet complete. Without mastering Varma Kalai, you won’t survive the dangers of Rajarajeshwaram.”
Arinjaya clenched his fists, determination hardening in his chest. “Then let’s finish the trials. Whatever it takes, I’ll be ready.”
Devika turned to Agni, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. “You’ve been preparing him for this, haven’t you? The trials, the training… you’ve known about the suit all along.”
“I’ve known its purpose,” Agni admitted. “But the choice to claim it is his.”
“And I’ve made that choice,” Arinjaya said firmly. “I’m not going to let Rudrajit destroy everything my family built.”
Agni studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Very well. Rest tonight, Arinjaya. Tomorrow, we complete the trials. And then… we journey to Rajarajeshwaram.”
As the group left the chamber, the faint glow of the tiger carving seemed to intensify, as though the temple itself recognized the path Arinjaya had chosen. Outside, the moonlight reflected off the Vel atop the temple spire, a silent reminder of the challenges yet to come.
Deep within the forest, the shadows stirred. Rudrajit’s spies moved through the trees, their eyes fixed on the distant glow of Kallazhagar Temple. The race for Simhamukha had begun.