The morning that followed Veer's awakening at the Neel-Dhara River was unusually still. The birds hadn't yet begun their songs, and even the breeze seemed to hold its breath. A strange hush had settled over the forest, as if nature itself had paused to listen—to wait.
Veer walked with quiet steps through the misty underbrush. His body still hummed from the energy he had absorbed the night before. Though he had no scars to show for the trial, something inside him had undeniably changed. His spine felt straighter. His breath deeper. And his thoughts… sharper, more purposeful.
> [Passive Ability Active: Truthsense]
[Minor Emotional Disturbance Detected Within 20m Radius]
The system's messages now whispered in his mind like the flow of a gentle river—not intrusive, not robotic. It had adapted to him. Or perhaps… he had adapted to it.
Vakya.
The word still echoed within his chest like a hidden heartbeat.
He remembered the old man's voice—the guide who wasn't a man, but a shard of meaning given form. The reminder still rang clear: "Every word has weight. Every oath carries chains."
That truth carried him now.
As he moved deeper into the forest, he felt it—the subtle tension in the air. Not just from nature, but from souls hiding within it. Eyes were watching.
He turned toward a clump of trees that looked too dense to be natural. "Come out," he said calmly, his voice steady.
Nothing moved.
He didn't repeat himself.
A moment later, two figures stepped into the open. Both wore rough tribal garments, patched with bark and feathers, their faces painted with streaks of ash and berry dye. Their weapons—simple spears—were held low but ready.
"You're the boy," one of them said, narrowing his eyes. "The one who speaks like thunder and walks like silence."
Veer tilted his head. "I'm just someone trying to speak the truth."
The other man stepped forward. "We've heard of you. Veer, son of no name. They say the forest spirits guide your steps. That you wrestled a demon of smoke and didn't fall."
Veer remained quiet.
Then the first man asked, "Are you the one who will unite us?"
There it was. The beginning of what would either become a legend… or a curse.
"I don't know," Veer replied honestly. "But I know this: we've been hunted long enough. Divided long enough. Forgotten long enough. If speaking truth is the first step to uniting us, then I will speak until my voice bleeds."
> [Mantra of Unity Activated: Radius 15m – Emotional Pulse Released]
[All Listeners Gain: +10 Morale, +5 Loyalty (Temporary)]
The two men exchanged glances. Their shoulders relaxed, just slightly. Not trust—but the beginning of it.
"Come with us," one said. "Our elder wants to meet you. He saw you in a vision… standing on a mountain of fire, holding a crown made of stars."
Veer nodded. "Lead the way."
They moved through narrow paths, weaving between tree trunks and over quiet brooks until they came upon a hidden grove. It was more than a camp—it was a hidden sanctuary. Rough huts dotted the forest floor, and children played with woven grass dolls. A woman tended to a fire while an elder sat beneath a great banyan tree, his face more wrinkle than skin, his eyes milky with age.
But when Veer stepped into the clearing, those eyes turned directly toward him.
"You carry the Word," the elder rasped.
Veer paused. "You know of Vakya?"
The elder chuckled. "Boy, I was a speaker before your grandparents were born. We are the last remnants of the Voicekeepers—the ones who once taught kings and warned tyrants. We remember the Word."
He leaned forward. "But tell me—what kind of speaker are you?"
Veer felt the weight of the question. He could lie, impress the gathered tribe with titles and powers. But instead, he knelt before the elder and said simply, "I am still learning."
The old man smiled. "Then you may yet become something great."
> [Reputation Gained: +20 with Voicekeeper Tribe]
[New Title Acknowledged: Speaker-in-Truth]
The next hours passed in a blur. Elders asked questions. Hunters tested him. Children followed him like a shadow. And in the quiet corners of the camp, whispers began to grow: Could he be the one? The boy from the prophecy? The one who speaks and the world listens?
That night, as the fire crackled and stories were shared, Veer sat alone with the elder by the banyan tree.
"Your power isn't just for fighting, Veer," the elder said. "Vakya is not a sword. It is a mirror. It shows the truth of others, yes—but more dangerously, it shows you the truth of yourself."
Veer stared into the flames. "What if I don't like what I see?"
"Then change it," the elder replied. "But don't run from it. Even Lord Shiva had to look into the chaos of the world and drink its poison. That's what it means to hold the Word. To carry both blessing and burden."
Silence fell between them.
And then, as the fire died down, Veer made a quiet vow—not to the gods, not to any spirit or system. But to the people he had yet to meet. The tribes that still suffered. The voices still waiting to be heard.
"I will learn," he whispered to the stars. "I will listen. I will speak when silence becomes cruelty. And when the time comes, I will not shout… I will declare."
Somewhere in the forest, a howl rose—not of fear, but of awakening.
The world was listening.
And Veer was ready to speak.