Aarav's breath came slow and steady, his muscles still thrumming from the fire's embrace.
He had passed the trial.
But the real test had just begun.
Varun stood before him, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The flickering firelight cast sharp shadows across his face.
"You survived."
Aarav smirked. "Was there ever a doubt?"
Varun chuckled. "There is always doubt. But now… it is time for the Oath."
The air grew heavy.
Aarav's smirk faded.
He knew what was coming.
No warrior could claim the right to stand among the Chosen without sealing their power in blood.
The Blood Oath.
Varun stepped forward and unwrapped a dagger—ancient, blackened steel, its edges glowing faintly with golden inscriptions.
A weapon older than empires.
Aarav clenched his fists.
This was not just a ritual.
This was a binding contract with the forces that ruled this world.
One mistake—**one hesitation—**and the Oath would devour him.
Varun held out the dagger. "Your fate is yours to carve."
Aarav took the blade.
And the earth itself trembled.
The moment Aarav's fingers closed around the dagger, a pulse ran through his veins—hot, sharp, and ancient.
The weapon wasn't just cold steel.
It was alive.
And it was watching him.
Aarav tightened his grip, the weight of the blade pressing against his palm. It felt heavier than it should have—as if it carried the burden of every warrior who had come before him.
Varun's voice was steady. "Speak your vow."
Aarav took a slow breath. His heart pounded.
This was more than a ritual.
More than a ceremony.
This was the moment that would define him.
A thousand warriors had stood in this place before him. Not all had survived.
His pulse quickened.
He had fought for everything. Bled for everything. He had crawled through fire, shadows, and death.
And he was still here.
Aarav lifted the dagger. The blue flames from his trial still flickered along his arms, casting an eerie glow on the steel.
Then, without hesitation—
He sliced his palm open.
Blood fell.
Dark. Hot. Unforgiving.
The moment it touched the ground, the earth roared.
A golden circle of runes ignited beneath his feet, stretching out in an intricate pattern that pulsed with power. The symbols burned into his skin, carving themselves into his soul.
The Oath was listening.
Aarav spoke.
"I swear upon my blood—" his voice was raw, fierce, unyielding.
"To walk the path of warriors."
The ground trembled. The air thickened, pressing against his skin like invisible hands testing his resolve.
"To rise, no matter how many times I fall."
The dagger in his hand hummed, as if acknowledging his words.
"To fight—not for fate, not for gods, not for power—"
He lifted his gaze. His blue fire burned brighter.
"But for myself."
The moment the last word left his lips—
The world shattered.
Aarav's vision exploded in light and darkness.
Something ancient reached out.
And the Blood Oath accepted him.
Aarav's blood shimmered as it was swallowed by the burning runes beneath him. The golden symbols flared brighter, the pulse of an ancient force beating in sync with his own heart.
Then—the pain came.
It wasn't the sting of the dagger. It was deeper.
A sensation like unseen chains wrapping around his bones, sinking into his soul.
Aarav staggered, his knees nearly giving out. He clenched his jaw.
This was the price.
The Oath was carving itself into him. Not just words—but law.
Break it, and the punishment would be worse than death.
The pressure intensified. Aarav gritted his teeth, refusing to kneel.
I won't break.
The ground trembled. The golden circle blazed—then shattered, fragments of light swirling upward, wrapping around his bleeding hand.
A voice—**not his own—**spoke from the void.
"Oathbearer, you have been judged."
Aarav's heartbeat slowed.
The unseen weight pressing on his chest lifted.
A deep boom echoed in the air—like the closing of a celestial gate.
Then—silence.
The dagger in his grip turned to ash.
The ritual was complete.
Aarav exhaled, sweat trickling down his back. His palm still bled, but something new had appeared where the cut had been.
A mark.
Etched into his skin, glowing faintly beneath the surface.
Varun watched him, his golden eyes unreadable. "It is done."
Aarav looked at his hand. His lips curled into a sharp, knowing grin.
He had survived.
And now—he was bound by blood to the path ahead.
The flames had died. The golden runes had faded. But the mark on Aarav's hand remained, pulsing faintly beneath his skin.
A silent promise. A binding law.
He was no longer just a fighter.
He was an Oathbearer.
Varun studied him for a long moment before speaking. "Your path is sealed now."
Aarav exhaled, flexing his fingers, feeling the strange weight of the Oath settle inside him. "What now?"
Varun's lips curved into a smirk. "Now, you stop playing in the dirt. Now, you step into the real battlefield."
Aarav didn't flinch. "Then take me there."
Varun's golden eyes gleamed. He stepped forward, placing a single hand on Aarav's chest.
The moment their skin touched—
Everything vanished.
Aarav's vision twisted—the world around him pulled apart, shattered like glass. A force beyond comprehension yanked him forward, through fire and darkness, through time itself.
For a single breath, he felt like he was nowhere.
Then—reality slammed back into place.
Aarav stumbled, his feet hitting solid ground. But it was not the same ground.
The air was thicker.
The sky—darker.
And before him—stretching into the horizon—
Was the Tournament Grounds.
Not a battlefield.
Not an arena.
A war zone.
Hundreds of fighters stood in the distance, warriors clad in armor, their weapons glinting beneath the blood-red sky.
Some human.
Some—not.
The Ashvattha Tournament had begun.
Aarav straightened, the blue fire in his veins crackling to life.
His trial was over.
Now, the real war would begin.
---