The weight of the staff in Shiv's hand was unlike anything he had held before. It wasn't heavy in the ordinary sense — no, it was as if the weapon bore the slumbering pressure of something ancient. Every step he took away from the family armory sent quiet vibrations through the staff, subtle as a heartbeat beneath stone. The serpent-shaped handle almost felt warm, the embedded runes occasionally glinting beneath layers of dust.
As the evening deepened, Shiv found solitude beneath a banyan tree on the outskirts of the estate. He sat cross-legged, placing the staff before him. It stared back at him — silent, inert. He closed his eyes, focusing his breath, calling upon his newly stabilized Mulādhāra chakra. Threads of Prāṇa energy flowed into his limbs, then into the staff.
Nothing.
Not even a flicker.
He frowned, increased the energy, tried to attune to the weapon. But the staff remained still, like a corpse too ancient to awaken.
"Come on," he muttered. "I can feel something in you. Why won't you respond?"
Then a thought sparked.
The Guardian's words echoed in his mind: "You are a serpent born in fire…"
Shiv opened his eyes. He unwrapped the small vial he had been carrying — not the core, but a single drop of Nāga-Tejas he had drawn from within himself during meditation.
"What if… it's not Prāṇa you need," he whispered. "What if you were forged in dragonfire?"
He placed both palms on the staff and channeled the Tejas. At once, the weapon convulsed — not violently, but like something breathing in after centuries. A dull hum resonated through the air.
Then… it changed.
Flames coiled across the runes like serpents dancing along molten pathways. The body of the staff shimmered as scales etched themselves into the black metal. And near the top, a dragon's eye burst open — forged not of flesh, but of light and wrath.
A low voice echoed, not from the world, but from within the staff itself.
> "Dark Fury Staff… Weapon of the Forgotten Coil. Bond acknowledged. Wielder: Shiv Verma."
More Nāga-script blazed along its shaft, then slowly dimmed, the glow sinking into the weapon as if sealing its power until called again.
Shiv exhaled in awe. The staff was no longer cold. It was alive. And it had accepted him.
---
The day of the Agni-Kṣetra dawned red and fierce. Crimson banners fluttered across the great arena carved into the Varma estate's ancient stone grounds. The stands overflowed — elders, masters, aspirants, and onlookers all gathered like hawks circling blood.
Some came to fight.
Most came to watch someone fall.
Shiv entered the ground quietly, head bowed, staff slung across his back. Murmurs followed him like shadows.
"There he is. The disgrace."
"Didn't he disappear for years?"
"He's just here to embarrass himself again."
Among the gathered crowd, his cousin Devraj smirked, arms crossed. "He won't even make it through the first round," he whispered to another. "Let's see what the clan does with him after he fails."
A hush fell as the Head of the Varma Family stepped onto the central stone dais — Mahādev Varma himself. Tall and broad, his beard streaked with silver and flame, his presence alone quieted the arena. His eyes — sharp and old — scanned every face.
When he spoke, his voice boomed with restrained power.
"Today begins the Agni-Kṣetra — the Trial of Flame. The path to earn honor, inheritance, and legacy in our bloodline."
He paused, gaze lingering briefly on Shiv — unreadable.
"There will be three rounds." His voice echoed. "Each one designed to strip weakness, and reveal strength."
He raised a hand.
"The first round — is the Test of Awakening. A measure of one's Prāṇa foundation. Every participant must have at least their base chakra — the Mulādhāra — awakened. Without it, you do not stand on the path of power. You are disqualified."
Gasps and murmurs rose immediately.
"That should eliminate the deadwood," one young fighter scoffed.
A bolder voice near Shiv spoke louder, uncaring if he heard. "That means he's out. No way that waste opened even a single chakra."
"What will the family do with him after? Maybe they'll exile him for good this time."
Shiv remained still, expression unreadable, but his fingers briefly tightened around the staff.
Mahādev continued.
"The second round — is the Test of Force. You will channel your energy into your strike and deliver a blow against the Iron Wall — forged from obsidian-core metal from the ancient mines. Your strike must leave a visible dent. Only then will you proceed."
The warriors in the crowd nodded, some cracking knuckles in anticipation.
"And the final round…" Mahādev's eyes burned now, "will be combat. You will face other qualified heirs in battle. Only one will stand at the end."
The declaration sent waves of excitement and tension through the arena.
"Let the Trial… begin."
---
Shiv stepped into the circle of the first round as his name was called, walking calmly with the Dark Fury Staff strapped to his back. He could feel the eyes burning into him. The sneers. The hopes of failure.
He closed his eyes, placed his palm on the altar-stone for chakra resonance.
For a moment — silence.
Then — a deep, thunderous hum echoed from the altar. A crimson glow emerged at its base, shaped like a spiraling serpent.
Mulādhāra — stabilized. Confirmed.
The stone glowed. The judges looked at one another, surprised.
Shiv opened his eyes.
No words spoken. No boasting.
He simply walked forward, toward the second trial.
And behind him, whispers changed tone — from mocking laughter to uneasy curiosity.
---