The morning air was thin and sharp as blades, every breath a challenge. The fifth tribe lay ahead, nestled within the spine of the Himal, where earth touched sky. They were the Drishtika—the Seers of Stone.
It was said their eyes did not see the world as others did. They saw fate.
Veer stood at the base of the ancient pass, cloaked in furs gifted by the Vaanshi. The wind howled between jagged cliffs, carrying whispers of prayers and warnings alike. Snowflakes spiraled from the heavens like lost feathers, melting the moment they touched his skin.
Beside him, Ishaya stepped cautiously over a frost-covered rock. "Are you sure about this? The Drishtika don't welcome outsiders. They're more monks than warriors."
Veer's voice was calm, resolute. "I don't need their weapons. I need their vision."
Ishaya frowned, scanning the path ahead. "Let's hope they see your future as one worth sharing."
They climbed in silence.
The journey to the Drishtika's sacred monastery took two days. The higher they went, the thinner the air grew, and the more Veer could feel the weight of the world pressing down on him—not just from altitude, but from the choices behind and the battles still ahead.
At night, they slept beneath overhanging cliffs, warmed only by fire and each other's presence. At dawn, they moved again, guided by stone markers carved with symbols older than any language Veer knew.
Finally, at the peak of the seventh ridge, the clouds parted—and the monastery revealed itself.
It clung to the mountainside like a forgotten secret. No guards. No gates. Only stillness. Ancient stone halls etched with silent prayers. Wind-bells spun slowly from corners, chiming not to warn intruders but to remind souls that time moved differently here.
As Veer stepped inside, something shifted within him. A deep silence wrapped around his mind, quieting even the whispers of his system.
For the first time in months, the world wasn't pushing.
It was… listening.
The Drishtika did not greet him with words.
Only eyes.
Hundreds of silent monks, young and old, sat in meditative circles, their gazes fixed on nothing… and everything. Their irises gleamed faintly like polished moonstone.
One of them, an elder robed in sky-gray, finally rose.
"You have come seeking the Fifth Sigil," he said, voice thin but anchored with centuries of weight. "But before you claim it, you must first see. Not the world. Not your enemy. Yourself."
The elder turned and gestured toward a corridor veiled in mist. "Enter the Hall of Reflections. Leave behind your sword, your friend, your doubts. Take only your truth."
Veer hesitated—but only for a moment.
He removed the Whispering Blade from his side, placing it on a low stone altar.
Then he stepped into the mist.
The Hall of Reflections was not a place. It was a state.
The moment Veer crossed the threshold, he found himself standing… nowhere.
He was floating, as if within a dream—but everything was sharp, too sharp. He saw himself. A boy. Dirty. Barefoot. Screaming for parents buried in rubble. His heart cracked again with memories he thought he'd buried.
He saw the fire. The Ash-Walkers. The betrayals. The power he'd taken. The pride he'd started to feel.
And then… he saw something else.
A mirror.
It wasn't made of glass or stone, but of light. His reflection wasn't just himself—it was every version of him.
One was crowned in gold, seated on a throne of bones.
Another wore a blindfold, blood on his hands.
Another… stood alone, in a forest of ash, his eyes empty.
They stared back at him.
Then spoke in unison:
> "Which of us will you become?"
Veer's fists clenched. "I am not you."
> "Not yet," the reflections whispered.
Veer stepped forward.
"Enough."
The ground beneath him shifted, and suddenly he was falling—spinning through memories.
He saw Ishaya smiling. Arya's eyes, proud and fiery. The boy from the river who gave him food. The elder who taught him breath. Lord Shiva's temple. The smell of incense. The moment he knelt and whispered, "Help me find my path."
He landed.
Back on stone.
Before him stood… himself. Just one version now. No blood. No crown. Just Veer.
"You are not your past," the reflection said. "But you carry it. You are not your future. But you shape it."
Then, it bowed.
"I see you."
And the hall vanished.
Veer awoke on cold stone.
Ishaya rushed forward, eyes wide. "You've been gone for three days!"
Veer blinked. "No… it felt like hours."
The elder monk approached once more.
"You have walked the path within. You did not turn away from pain. Nor from possibility."
He extended his hand, and in his palm lay a small crystal, shaped like an eye.
"The Fifth Sigil. The mark of sight."
> [Trial of Vision Completed.]
[5/9 Tribes Aligned.]
[Title Earned: Soul-Seer.]
[Ability Gained: Inner Sight – When faced with critical decisions, Veer can glimpse threads of fate to help choose the path aligned with his destiny.]
As Veer accepted it, the elder leaned close.
"Be warned, young seeker. The more you see, the more you will ache. But those who lead must never look away."
Veer bowed deeply.
For the first time in his journey, he didn't feel stronger.
He felt clearer.
And clarity, he realized, was the rarest power of all.