The air hung heavy in the training hall.

  Surya stood in the center, sword in hand, sweat clinging to his brow. His muscles still ached from morning drills, yet Rudra's gaze fixed on him with unwavering intensity.

  "You're certain about this?" Rudra asked, arms crossed. His voice was calm, but there was an edge of concern beneath it.

  Surya wiped his face with the back of his hand. "I have to do it."

  Rudra’s expression darkened. "The Trial isn’t something you just ‘try.’ It’s designed to break warriors — not test them." He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Only one man has ever completed it. The Maharaja himself. Even I couldn’t finish it."

  "I know," Surya said quietly. "That’s why I need to do this — to prove myself."

  Rudra sighed. "Survive the first few stages, and you'll qualify for city patrol duty. Endure beyond the halfway mark, and the Ashvamedha Warband opens to you." He paused, eyes narrowing. "But to complete it... well, that’s impossible." His voice dropped lower. "Even the king barely survived that."

  The Trial of Kshatriyas

  The Trial of Kshatriyas was a rite of passage — a brutal test designed to separate warriors by their strength and endurance. No two trials were the same; the mechanism adapted to the strength and skill of its challenger. Only those who survived long enough would earn a place among the kingdom's finest warriors. Survive one phase, and you qualify for city patrol. Endure three phases, and you might earn a place in the fortress guard. Six runes, and the coveted Ashvamedha Warband awaited — an elite force known only to serve the Maharaja himself.

  Only one man had ever conquered the entire trial — the Maharaja. Even Rudra had only barely fallen short.

  Surya now stood before the stone archway that marked the entrance to the Trial chamber. The walls were carved with depictions of warriors locked in brutal combat. Each figure seemed to glare down at him — as if mocking his resolve.

  "Once you enter," Rudra warned from behind him, "the mechanism adjusts to your level. The stronger you are, the more relentless it becomes. Survive until the timer ends — that’s the goal. Each phase you survive will light a rune outside."

  "And if I fail before enough runes glow?"

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  Rudra’s face hardened. "Then you'll be assigned to patrol duty or the outer ranks. Only those who push past the midway point earn a place in the true warbands — the kind that carry our kingdom’s pride." He hesitated. "Survive to the sixth rune... and you’ll be standing at the gates of the Ashvamedha."

  Surya swallowed hard and stepped forward.

  The Trial began in silence

  Surya stood in a circular arena, its walls faintly glowing with intricate runes. The air was still, yet an unseen presence seemed to coil around him like a snake. His breathing slowed. His heartbeat steadied.

  Then — movement.

  A figure materialized from the shadows — a warrior clad in spectral armor, wielding a curved blade.

  It moved fast — too fast.

  Surya barely sidestepped in time, the enemy’s sword slicing through the air where his head had been moments before. He retaliated with a swift strike, but his blade passed harmlessly through the figure’s body.

  "Illusions?"

  No — the pain in his arm said otherwise. The warrior's blade had drawn blood.

  His attacker pressed forward, each strike faster than the last. Surya barely managed to parry, his muscles straining with every movement. His breath came in ragged bursts, sweat stinging his eyes.

  Minutes felt like hours.

  The figure split — one enemy became two. Then three.

  Surya gritted his teeth, shifting his stance. His arms ached, and his vision blurred.

  "I can’t keep this up..."

  One blade carved across his ribs. Another struck his shoulder. Blood seeped through his tunic, his legs trembling beneath him.

  "Not yet..."

  He staggered back, nearly slipping on the blood-stained floor. His breath rasped in his throat. His grip faltered.

  Another strike came — and this time, Surya couldn’t block it.

  Pain tore through his side as he hit the ground hard, sword skidding away. He barely managed to roll before a blade slammed down where he had lain moments before.

  His vision dimmed.

  "Is this it?"

  The memories of this body — Prince Surya’s pride, his training, his duty — they weren’t enough. And now he would fall short.

  But deep within him, something stirred.

  A flicker of memory — a forgotten instinct.

  Suddenly, the movements of his enemies seemed slower, their patterns clearer. He could see their rhythm — like pieces shifting on a chessboard. Their strikes followed a pattern, subtle yet predictable. A gap in their assault — small, but there.

  "Now."

  He lunged, dodging a blade by inches. His hand closed around his fallen sword. The world seemed to sharpen — movements flowing through him as if he'd trained this way all his life.

  His blade cut cleanly through one warrior’s form, dispersing it into smoke. He twisted, driving his sword into the second — gone in an instant. The final warrior rushed him — but Surya sidestepped, thrusting his blade into its back.

  And then — silence.

  His breathing slowed. A rune on the wall outside flickered to life, glowing bright.

  In the observation hall, Rudra’s lips curled slightly. "That’s one," he muttered. "He’s earned a spot on patrol duty."

  "Already?" one of the court trainers asked. "He’s faster than most who barely manage to light a rune or two."

  The second rune flickered to life.

  Surya — bloodied and exhausted — refused to fall.

  Rudra exhaled sharply. "Two runes... if he stops now, he’ll barely qualify for the fortress guards." His gaze lingered on the glowing symbols. "But knowing him... he won’t stop."