Rain soaked the valley of Somgarh as dawn crept in behind thick clouds. The fires had died. The screams had faded. All that remained was smoke, silence, and the smell of burnt dreams.
Veer walked through the ruins.
He didn't cry.
Not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't know how anymore. His throat felt tight, dry despite the rain. Every step he took felt like walking through pieces of a life he no longer owned—charred toys, half-melted bangles, a broken flute still clinging to a faint note as the wind passed through it.
He walked until he stood before what was left of his home.
A blackened frame of bamboo. A clay lamp, unbroken. His mother's shawl, half-burnt, fluttering from a branch as if waving goodbye.
He knelt and picked it up. The fabric crumbled in his hand.
Still… no tears.
Only the steady beat of rain and a strange warmth in his chest.
The pendant that had melted into his skin now glowed faintly beneath the surface—like embers buried in ash. Every time he closed his eyes, he could still hear the voice that spoke to him in the chaos.
"Bearer of silence…"
"What do you mean?" Veer whispered to no one.
> [System initializing...]
[Name: Veer]
[Status: Orphaned | Spirit Bound]
[System: Vākya Sutra – Level 0]
[Primary Ability: Wordcraft - Tier I (Locked)]
[Daily Mantra: Unavailable until first awakening]
[Spiritual Connection: Low | Deity Aligned: Rudra]
[Objective: Survive the first night.]
The glowing letters danced in his vision, not in front of his eyes, but behind them—like memories. He blinked rapidly, trying to shake it away. But it remained. Part of him now.
"Am I... cursed?"
A rustling sound broke his thoughts.
He turned fast—too fast—and slipped in the mud. His body hit the ground with a grunt, and in the shadows of the trees beyond the ruins, he saw them.
Bandits.
Five of them, blood still smeared across their hands, their swords not yet cleaned. They weren't soldiers. Just jackals come to pick the bones of the dead.
"He's alive," one of them said, grinning through rotted teeth.
"A child. Leave him," said another, older.
But the first man stepped closer.
"No child survives a disaster like that without something special. Check him. He might be carrying gold or relics."
Veer's heart pounded.
He backed away slowly, but there was nowhere to run. Behind him were flames. Ahead of him, blades.
The old bandit pulled out a dagger. "Come on, boy. Make this easy."
Then, for the first time since the disaster, Veer spoke without fear.
His voice was soft—but clear.
"Stop."
The moment the word left his lips, something strange happened.
The air stilled.
The bandit froze mid-step—eyes wide, limbs locked as though an invisible hand held him in place. His dagger clattered to the ground.
"What the—?"
The others gasped. The frozen man couldn't move, couldn't speak.
Veer looked down at his trembling hands.
> [Wordcraft: Command — Tier I Ability Unlocked]
[Usage Limit: 1/1 per day]
[Cooldown: 24 hours]
[Spiritual Drain: 10%]
The system's voice echoed again.
He didn't know how. He didn't understand why. But one thing was clear.
His words had power.
The bandits panicked, dragging the frozen man and fleeing into the mist, shouting about curses and mountain spirits.
Veer stood alone once more, the pendant's warmth fading under the cold rain.
Above, thunder rolled.
He turned toward the distant hills.
There was nothing left here.
Not a home. Not a family.
Only a whisper in his heart…
A prayer once spoken by his mother every night:
"Shiva watches those who have no one left. And sometimes... gives them a voice louder than kings."
Veer clenched his fists.
He had no army. No sword. No shelter.
But he had words.
And somewhere beyond the hills… someone was going to teach him how to use them.