The forge burned deep into the night.
Its orange light flickered across the forest clearing, painting the trees in hues of rust and shadow. The rhythmic hiss of cooling metal filled the silence, steady and alive — like the heartbeat of the earth itself.
Shiva sat before the flames, Jwala resting across his knees.
The hammer pulsed faintly, veins of molten light tracing across its surface as if it remembered the fire it was born from. He could still feel the echo of the forging — the sound of striking metal, the chants of Baba, the soft hum of blessing that had sunk into the weapon's core.
Behind him, Baba sat watching, his silhouette calm against the forge's glow.
"Do you feel it?" the old man asked.
Shiva nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the hammer. "It's… alive. Different from before."
"Because it carries your will," Baba said. "It remembers the hand that shaped it and the fire that tempered it. But a weapon alone is nothing. It is the rhythm of its wielder that gives it purpose."
Shiva ran his thumb across Jwala's edge. The heat didn't burn him. "Then why does it still feel incomplete?"
Baba smiled faintly. "Because you are incomplete. Fire is your strength — but without breath, it will consume everything. Flame and wind must coexist, or both will die."
Shiva's gaze drifted toward the treeline. The forest whispered softly, its leaves moving even when the air was still. For a moment, he thought he saw shapes — a flicker of orange, a shimmer of pale blue — but when he blinked, they were gone.
He frowned. "What do you mean by coexist?"
"Everything that burns must also breathe," Baba said, his tone like the forest itself — old, knowing, patient. "Your body holds both. One rages, the other flees. Until they find balance, you will keep breaking apart every time you face the world."
That night, Shiva stayed near the forge long after Baba retired.
He watched the embers glow like dying stars, each spark carrying a reflection of his thoughts — the battles lost, the vows broken, the promises yet to keep.
He lifted Jwala, feeling its pulse in his grip, and whispered, "No more running. No more breaking."
The hammer vibrated gently, almost responding to his voice. Then, faintly, a green shimmer flared across his vision.
[Weapon Detected: Jwala.]
[User Vow Detected — Imprint in Progress.]
[Sub-System Activated: Oath Imprint.]
He blinked. "Oath… imprint?"
[Effect: Weapon resonates with user's resolve. Power rises with conviction.]
He laughed softly under his breath. "Then let it remember this — I won't fail again."
He swung the hammer once. The air cracked — not with force, but with harmony. The fire within the forge responded, growing brighter, steadier, not wilder.
Something in him had changed. The heat no longer burned him; it moved with him.
A cool wind brushed past his face.
He froze.
From the darkness of the forest, a faint rustle echoed — first low and heavy like hooves striking the ground, then soft and fluid like steps through mist.
Two presences — one blazing, one weightless.
The ram appeared first, its horns glowing dimly, the lines of ember running beneath its skin like buried fire. The deer followed, silent, translucent under the moonlight, its eyes calm and watchful.
Baba's voice carried from behind, quiet but clear.
"Listen. They are parts of you — not masters, not servants. Fire and wind. Strength and grace. You must bring them to peace within."
Shiva set the hammer down and closed his eyes.
He could feel them both — the weight of flame pressing on his chest, the light touch of air around his breath. They were opposites, yet familiar, circling one another within his veins.
"Fire consumes," a deep voice rumbled through his thoughts.
"Wind escapes," another whispered softly.
"But together," both said, "they endure."
Shiva opened his eyes. His hands were glowing faintly — one with the hue of molten red, the other shimmering faint blue. The marks pulsed in sync, two halves of one rhythm.
The System shimmered again.
[Mantra Resonance Increased.]
[Bond Synchronization: 73%.]
[New Trait Unlocked — Elemental Equilibrium Lv.1 (Fire + Wind).]
The forge fire dimmed slightly, as though bowing to the new balance that filled the air.
Shiva felt his pulse steady. The chaos inside him had quieted — not gone, but contained, tempered.
Baba approached, his expression unreadable but his voice warm.
"Now," he said, "you understand. Strength is not in burning the world down, but in learning when to breathe."
Shiva looked at his hands again, the faint glow fading back into skin. "Then I'll learn to breathe."
Baba nodded. "Tomorrow, your training begins anew — hammer and sword, flame and wind. The forge will be your temple now."
The night air settled. The fire hummed like a heartbeat, calm and alive. For the first time in months, Shiva didn't feel lost.
He felt… whole.
End of Chapter 22 — The Oath of Fire and Wind