Morning arrived over the Forgotten Isle like a blessing from the heavens.
Golden sunlight spilt across the black sands, glimmering over the endless sea, while the storm of the previous night seemed like nothing more than a distant nightmare.
Inside a modest wooden hut built upon a cliff, a small boy slowly opened his eyes.
Rudra Veer blinked.
For a moment, he did not understand where he was.
The soft rustle of leaves.
The distant crash of waves.
The smell of medicinal herbs.
None of it was familiar.
His tiny fingers tightened around the blanket covering him.
Then the memories of the storm returned.
The fire.
The cries.
His mother's tears.
The river.
"Ma…"
His voice was barely a whisper.
The door of the hut slid open.
A towering figure entered.
Broad shoulders.
Iron-grey robes.
A long spear was strapped to his back.
His mere presence made the room feel smaller.
This was Lord Vajra Sen, the Iron Warlord, once the undefeated commander of the Eastern Battlefields and now one of the ten ancient lords of the Forgotten Isle.
He looked down at the child for a long moment.
"You are awake."
Rudra stared at him, fear and confusion in his eyes.
"Where is my mother?"
For the first time, the Iron Warlord's expression softened.
He crouched down until his sharp eyes met the boy's.
"You are safe here."
Rudra's lips trembled.
"I want to go home."
A silence fell between them.
Then Vajra Sen placed a large hand on the child's head.
"This island is your home now."
The words were firm, but not unkind.
Rudra lowered his gaze.
Even at two, children could feel when the world had changed forever.
Outside the hut, nine powerful auras watched in silence.
Lady Nivara stood beneath a silver tree, moonlight still lingering around her robes despite the daylight.
"He is too young."
Grandmaster Azrael stood beside her, his hands folded behind his back.
"Fate rarely asks for permission."
Inside the hut, Vajra Sen rose and walked toward the doorway.
"Come."
Rudra hesitated, then slowly climbed off the bed and followed him.
The moment he stepped outside, his eyes widened.
The island was unlike anything he had ever imagined.
Towering mountains rose into the clouds.
Ancient trees covered the slopes.
Waterfalls poured into crystal lakes.
In the distance stood stone courtyards, training grounds, and strange ruins overgrown by vines.
And gathered before him were the ten ancient lords.
Their presence alone made the air tremble.
Rudra instinctively hid behind Vajra Sen's robes.
A soft laugh escaped Lady Elyra, the Spirit Song Oracle.
"He is adorable."
Lord Veyr, the Shadow Sovereign, merely crossed his arms.
"Can he survive our training?"
The Iron Warlord answered before anyone else.
"He will."
Grandmaster Azrael stepped forward.
His white robes moved gently in the sea breeze.
"Child."
Rudra looked up.
"From this day onwards, you shall live on this island."
The old man's gaze fell upon the black pendant around Rudra's neck.
"And one day, you will inherit more than any mortal can imagine."
Rudra did not fully understand the words.
But he nodded.
Something about these people felt strange.
Terrifying.
Yet safe.
Vajra Sen placed his spear upright in the ground.
Its metal shaft sank into the stone as though it were soft clay.
The other masters watched with interest.
The Iron Warlord turned to Rudra.
"Before you learn the mysteries of cultivation, you must first learn discipline."
He pointed toward a wide stone courtyard.
"Stand there."
Rudra obediently walked forward.
The stone felt cool beneath his bare feet.
Vajra Sen stood behind him like an unmovable mountain.
"In this world, strength decides life and death."
His voice was like thunder.
"A weak man loses everything."
For a brief moment, Rudra saw flashes of the burning manor.
His small fists clenched.
The Iron Warlord noticed.
Good.
Pain was the best forge.
"Raise your arms."
Rudra obeyed.
"Higher."
His tiny arms trembled.
"Do not lower them."
Minutes passed.
The morning sun climbed higher.
Rudra's arms began to shake.
Tears welled in his eyes.
He wanted to lower them.
He wanted to cry.
But when he remembered the fire and his mother's face, he bit his lip and endured.
From the shade of the trees, the masters watched.
Elder Magnus gave an approving grunt.
"He has spirit."
Lady Nivara's silver eyes narrowed.
"No ordinary child would last this long."
Hours passed.
Finally, Rudra's knees buckled.
He fell onto the stone floor, panting.
Vajra Sen did not help him up.
Instead, he spoke.
"Again."
Rudra looked up.
His eyes were red.
His arms burnt.
But something had changed.
A spark had been lit.
He slowly stood.
Raised his arms again.
And endured.
A faint smile appeared on the Iron Warlord's face.
This child had the heart of a warrior.
As the sun began to set, Rudra finally collapsed once more.
This time, Vajra Sen lifted him into his arms.
The boy was exhausted.
But before sleep claimed him, he whispered,
"I want to become strong."
The Iron Warlord's steps paused.
"For what purpose?"
Rudra's voice was weak.
"So no one can take my family away again."
For the first time in centuries, something stirred within Vajra Sen's heart.
A memory.
A battlefield.
Lost comrades.
Broken vows.
He looked down at the sleeping child.
Then toward the sea.
"Very well."
His voice was as firm as iron.
"From this day onwards, you are my disciple."
The wind howled across the island.
Far beneath Rudra's robes, the black pendant emitted a faint pulse.
Deep inside its endless darkness, the first floor of the tower glowed a little brighter.
Something had recognised his resolve.
And the first step toward greatness had begun.
Author Thoughts