Chapter - 20. Warrior spirit.
In the forest on his way to trial, Dhira coughed out blood, his body jerking forward with the force of it, and when he opened his palm to look, it wasn't red, it was black, thick and unnatural, sitting heavy against his skin.
For a brief moment his eyes stayed on it, not confused, not even shocked, just… registering it lightly. Then without a word he wiped it against the rough bark of a nearby tree, the dark stain dragging across the surface as if it belonged there more than in him.
This time, he didn't bother checking his wounds, didn't pause to feel the pain that was clearly there, he simply moved forward, pushing himself into motion before his body could protest. His steps were quick but uneven, his breath slightly heavier than before, he kept moving until something made him stop.
A branch. Crooked, oddly shaped, half-bent from time or force. One end had thickened and rounded like a crude head, while the other stretched long and narrow enough to fit his grip. He stared at it for a second, then reached out, grabbed it firmly, and tore it free with a sharp crack, bits of bark and splinters tearing into his palm. He adjusted his hold without reacting, swung it once to feel the weight, light, imperfect, unstable but enough.
And then he moved.
He tore through the enemy like a man possessed. The wooden mace cut through the air with rough, uneven swings, yet every strike landed with intent, they were not perfect, but more than enough. The stone spirits came at him in numbers, but he met them head-on, breaking through their formation with raw momentum, like a tiger crashing into a flock still half-asleep.
There was no elegance in his movement, no polished technique—only timing, instinct, and relentless forward motion.
The first wave shattered quickly, fragments of stone scattering under the impact of his blows. The eight spirits didn't stand a chance this time; they fell faster, cleaner, unable to keep up with the rhythm he forced upon them. The four that followed held longer, their heavier bodies resisting the crude weapon, their strikes forcing him to adjust, to step back once, twice, but he pushed through it, forcing his body to respond despite the strain building in his limbs.
The wooden mace cracked further with each impact, fibers splitting, edges breaking, yet he held onto it, edges becoming smoother, tightening his grip as if that alone could keep it together. Then came the last two. Those two colossuses.
He looked at them, a faint grin forming, not wide, not arrogant, just something small, something real, and charged.
Something changed in Dhira . Something becomes alive again. Something that he had forgotten.
He swung the wooden branch.
Their clash was rough, exhausting, each strike slower than the last, each movement heavier, but he didn't stop.
And finally, they fell. Dhira stood there, breathing heavily, shoulders rising and falling, chest burning with every breath he took. The wooden mace hung in his hand, chipped and splintered, yet completely Intact. He had done it. The huge colossus was gone. And on his face… there was a smile. Not pride. Not confidence. Just… joy. Quiet, simple.
His eyes lifted toward the statue of Ares still standing ahead, unchanged, unmoved, as if it had watched everything without reaction. He took a step forward. Then the ground broke again. Not cracked, broke.
The earth split open beneath him with a deep, grinding force, the sound heavy and dragging as the fallen stones rose again. This time, it wasn't a colossus. It was something else entirely. A titan. Massive beyond measure, its form climbing upward until it towered like a mountain itself, blocking what little sky remained above.
It roared, the earth and dust flew around him
Dhira staggered and almost fell, he stopped moving, his body was already on the edge, his breath uneven, muscles trembling from the strain.
He looked down at the wooden mace in his hand, it was still holding. Then he looked at himself, his arms shaking slightly, his legs not as steady as before. Exhaustion crept in, slow but undeniable, settling into his bones, pulling at every movement.
He looked back up at the towering monster. Then down again. The wooden mace slipped from his hand and hit the ground with a dull thud. For a moment, he stood there, empty-handed, still. You might think he gave up.
But he didn't.
He rolled his shoulders back slowly, feeling the stiffness, the weight in his joints, the quiet creak of a body pushed too far. His muscles stretched under strain, his breath steadying just enough. Then he looked up again. This time, his eyes were no longer hazy. They were clear. Sharp. Focused.
The fatigue was still there, the exhaustion still clawing at him, but beneath it, something else stood firm.
The instinct of a seasoned warrior. He bent down, his eyes focused on the mountain-sized stone spirit in front of him like a hawk on his prey. He gently picked up the broken wooden branch once more, tightening his grip around it despite the splinters digging deeper into his skin. And without another pause, without hesitation, he rushed forward.
Outside, Dia sat on a flat stone, her fingers loosely clasped together, her thumb absentmindedly rubbing against her knuckle, while Aatreya stood a little ahead, still as ever, his gaze fixed on the sky where the sun was slowly sinking, painting everything in dull orange and fading gold.
The sound of battle echoed from a distance, heavy impacts, stone breaking, the ground trembling faintly under each clash and Dia's eyes kept shifting toward it every few seconds. Then, suddenly, it stopped. A final loud crash rolled across the area, deep and hollow, and then… nothing. Silence. Dia straightened slightly, her brows pulling together.
"The sound has stopped," she said, her voice low but tense. She stood up quickly, brushing the dust off her clothes. "We should bring him back." Aatreya didn't respond, didn't look at her, he simply turned and started walking, and she followed immediately, her pace faster than his, almost impatient.
They reached the place where Dhira was usually thrown after every battle, the same spot, the same rough ground but this time, he wasn't there. Dia stopped abruptly, her eyes scanning the area, her breath catching slightly. Something wasn't right. The thought came quickly, uninvited, and it showed on her face. She looked at Aatreya, hoping for something, anything but he showed nothing. No reaction, no change. He just kept walking. She swallowed and followed again, her steps quicker now.
They soon reached the arena. And Dia froze. The ground was torn apart, craters everywhere, deep cracks running through the stone, pieces of shattered rock scattered like debris after a storm. There was blood. Too much blood. Dark stains smeared across the ground, splattered over broken surfaces, mixed with dust and fragments of stone. The air felt heavy, thick with the aftermath of something violent.
Her eyes widened slightly, her breath unsteady as she took it all in. The sun was almost gone now, its light dimming, shadows stretching longer across the ruined arena. Aatreya didn't stop. He walked forward, stepping over broken stone and blood as if it meant nothing, and Dia forced herself to move again, her eyes still darting around. They reached the center, the place where the fight had been the most intense.
And then she saw it. She stopped completely.
A man stood there, on top of something massive, a huge, broken head of a stone creature, its size so overwhelming that it took her a moment to even process what she was looking at. The setting sun was directly behind him, casting his figure into a dark silhouette, making him look almost unreal. She stared, unable to move, her eyes tracing the sheer size of the fallen colossus beneath him. It was enormous. Far beyond anything she had imagined. And he was standing on it.
"He… did it…" she whispered, barely audible. She couldn't believe it. He had actually done it. They moved closer, slowly this time, her steps careful, her eyes still fixed on him. Dhira stood there, unmoving.
And then she noticed it. Something was wrong. He wasn't moving. Not even slightly.
"Aatreya…" she said quickly, her voice tight.
"He's not moving." There was a pause, and then she added, more urgently,
"He's not even breathing."
They rushed forward. She reached him first, dropping down slightly, her eyes scanning him, her hand hovering near his chest. Nothing. No movement. No breath.
" Aatreya he …" Before she could say anything else,
Aatreya stepped beside her and took out a small glass tube. It looked out of place, too clean, too precise for this time, something that didn't belong here. But Dia barely noticed that. Her eyes locked onto the liquid inside. Blue. Softly glowing.
"Soma…" she muttered under her breath, almost unconsciously. A thing she had only heard about in stories. The elixir of the gods.
Even a single drop of it was worth more than entire mines of gold. And here it was… right in front of her. She felt it for a moment. That pull. That temptation. But it vanished just as quickly as she saw what Aatreya was doing. He tilted the tube carefully and let the glowing liquid fall onto Dhira's lips.
For a second, nothing happened. And then, Dhira's body jerked. He inhaled sharply. And sat up. Dia flinched back in shock, losing her balance and falling back onto the ground. "What!" she let out a startled sound, her eyes wide as she stared at him.
Dhira took a few heavy breaths, his chest rising and falling quickly as if he had just come back from somewhere far away. He blinked, his eyes unfocused for a moment, then slowly turning toward Dia, who was still sitting on the ground, staring at him. Then he looked at Aatreya, who stood there as always, unchanged, and then down at his own hand, flexing his fingers slightly. He paused. Then looked back at them. "…Did I win?" he asked, his voice rough but calm.
Dia stared at him for a second longer, still processing, then nodded quickly.
"Yes… you did." There was a small pause. Then Dhira smiled. And let out a quiet laugh. He leaned back, laying down right there without hesitation, the tension leaving his body all at once.
"Wake me up in an hour or so," he said casually, his voice already fading. And just like that, he fell asleep. Immediately.
Dia just sat there, still on the ground, staring at him, her expression frozen somewhere between disbelief and shock.
.