The Flame Basin pulsed like a living heart—molten rivers flowing in spirals around the ceremonial platform. Aarav stood at its center, eyes closed, feeling the ancient fire's breath lap at his skin without burning. Around him, symbols carved in blackstone glowed with orange brilliance, feeding off his aura.
Rudra's voice cut through the heat. "To master the Agneyastra within you, you must become fire—not just wield it."
Aarav knelt and recited the mantra Rudra had taught him. As the final syllables left his lips, the ring on his finger blazed crimson. A pillar of flame erupted, engulfing him. For an instant, it seemed he had vanished into ash.
But then he rose—untouched, eyes glowing like embers.
Visions flooded his mind: past wielders of the Agneyastra, warriors who had turned the tide of kingdoms. Their knowledge poured into him, memories both glorious and tragic.
As the fire dimmed, the symbols faded. Aarav stood, transformed—not just in power, but in resolve.
He bowed to Rudra, who nodded. "Now the fire knows your name."