Chapter Four : The Mountain Remembers

Arjun had stopped counting the days a long time ago.
But he remembered the first morning like it had just passed — the sting of wind across his face, the ache in his legs from climbing for hours, and the strange way the sky looked too close to the earth.
It was supposed to be the day before his fifteenth birthday.
Instead, he had woken in a shed made of stone and roots, on a mountain he’d never seen, with a headache and a book at his side. A single word burned into its cracked leather cover:
"Legacy."
At first, he’d ignored it. Hunger came faster than curiosity. He spent the first two days finding food — berries, water, a stream nearby. He didn’t speak a word, not even to himself. No one would hear.
But on the third night, he opened the book.
The ink was old but still alive — moving as he turned each page. And as he read, confusion turned into fear.
The book claimed that he — Arjun — was the son of a royal bloodline.
Not just any bloodline, but the first-born child of the House of Elanar, rulers of the magical realm of Kalanthia. A land betrayed. His parents, their castle, their subjects — all destroyed. And yet… the date on the final page screamed something impossible:
“The final heir shall return… one thousand and twenty-three years from today.”
Arjun had slammed the book shut, his heart threatening to shatter.
That couldn't be right.
He was just fifteen. Just a boy from Mumbai.
Orphaned, yes — but that didn’t make him a myth.
And yet… the mountain didn’t lie. The book didn't burn when he tried. The air around him shimmered when he read those words. A voice in his bones whispered:
“Only the first-born can find the mountain.”
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Year 1: Survival
He stopped hoping it was a dream. The mountain didn’t change. No roads. No paths.
But he did.
He built shelter — better than the shed he’d found. Used vines, stones, sticks.
He hunted small game.
Learned to cook meat over fire.
Learned to listen — not just hear — because sometimes the forest moved when it shouldn’t.
His strength grew unnaturally fast. He could lift a tree trunk. Smash stone.
But it scared him.
There was no one to test against. No one to guide him.
He swung sticks as swords, carved stone into blades.
Yet magic… never came.
Not like the book said.
No flames, no wind, no healing. Just silence.
Maybe he needed someone like Anya, he thought once. Someone who understood rules better. But she wasn’t here.
No one was.
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Year 2: The Forbidden Descent
He tried to leave. Many times.
From the cliffs above he saw the city — majestic, circular, five glowing towers stretching toward the sky.
But each time he tried to descend the mountain, the forest shifted.
Paths disappeared. Rocks moved. The sky darkened.
He would lose direction, lose time, find himself back at camp.
It wasn’t just hard to leave.
It was like the mountain refused.
So he stayed.
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Year 3: Awakening
Monsters began to appear.
At first, shadows in the dark. Then glowing eyes.
Then one night, a pack of creatures with tusks and chitin armor attacked his shelter.
He fought. And won.
But he bled.
The book gave hints now — another hidden volume he found near the tree where he slept. This one explained magic. Symbols. Rules. Emotions. Control.
He tried.
Meditation. Breathwork. Calling the elements.
Nothing.
Until one night, in anger, he punched the ground and the earth cracked beneath him.
No spell. No incantation. Just will.
The book warned him:
“Magic flows where the soul allows it. But the heart must remember who it fights for.”
He didn't know who he was fighting for anymore.
But he kept training.
Because he had nothing else.
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The Beginning of Year 4: The Return
It was cold that morning.
Arjun had tracked a large boar. Rare meat. He was ready.
But when he pounced — something else came for him.
It had the head of a lion, and the body of a massive bird, its wings scaled like metal. It roared with fury, claws tearing up the ground.
He fought it with everything he had. Strength. Firewood spears. Traps.
And then finally — his sword.
The blade he forged from silverstone deep in the mountain, shaped like the sword from the book’s final page. It glowed as he brought it down.
The beast fell.
But not before it clawed his shoulder, deep and searing.
Bleeding, panting, victorious — he dragged the beast back to camp.
And that’s when he saw the smoke.
Not from his fire. But a fresh one.
With six figures.
Familiar ones.
He stood in the treeline, sword in one hand, beast in the other — eyes locked on the friends he thought he’d never see again.
They stared at him like they'd seen a ghost.
Because for them… it had only been a day.

Chapter end