(Near the mountain range, just before sunrise.)

The air was crisp and carried the fresh, slightly earthy scent of tea leaves. The eastern sky was beginning to lighten, a faint promise of the sun to come. Mohan had driven as far as the rough trail allowed, the car bumping and swaying before he parked it near the base of the mountains. Ayan glanced upwards. The peak seemed impossibly distant, shrouded in the pre-dawn gloom. He checked his watch. "It's 5:28 AM," he said, a hint of concern in his voice. "We only have forty minutes to climb."

Mohan nodded, his expression serious. "We don't have a moment to waste." He reached into the back of the car and withdrew a thick rope. He quickly and efficiently secured one end around his waist and the other around Ayan's. "This will be faster," he explained.

Ayan frowned. "Faster? But… I can climb."

Mohan smiled slightly. "Perhaps. But not as fast as I can. And we need to be at the top by 6:10."

Ayan frowned. "6:10? Why?"

Mohan shook his head slightly. "We need a few minutes for… preparations. The chanting, the… arrangement of things."

"But why is the time so important?" Ayan asked, his curiosity piqued.

Mohan smiled enigmatically. "Timing is everything," he said, his voice hinting at something more. "Especially when dealing with… forces beyond our understanding. The sun… it rises at 6:15."

Ayan frowned. "How do you know that?" he asked, his curiosity now mixed with a touch of suspicion. "It's not like you have a weather app up here."

Mohan chuckled softly. "Let's just say I have my ways," he said, his voice hinting at something more.

And with that, Mohan began the ascent. He moved with astonishing speed and power, his movements fluid and effortless. Ayan, despite his enhanced abilities, found himself being pulled along, struggling to keep his footing. The rope, taut between them, was his lifeline, preventing him from tumbling down the steep slope. He's incredibly strong, Ayan thought, his muscles burning. How can someone his age move like that? And it's freezing up here!

"Careful," Mohan said, his voice barely audible above the rustling leaves and the sound of their climbing. "The path is… treacherous."

"I can see that," Ayan gasped, trying to keep up. This is insane! He's practically running up this mountain. And my fingers are numb. He glanced down at the steep drop below, a shiver running down his spine. What if the rope breaks? And how is he not cold?

"We're almost there," Mohan said a few minutes later, his voice still steady. "Just a little further."

Ayan gritted his teeth, pushing himself harder. Almost there? It feels like we've been climbing for hours. And I can't feel my toes. He looked up at the peak, still shrouded in the pre-dawn gloom. What's so important about this spot? Why is it so isolated? And why is it so damn cold?

Finally, they reached the summit. The flat area, hidden from the world below by the surrounding trees and rocky outcrops, offered a breathtaking view. The mountains stretched out in every direction, their peaks silhouetted against the lightening sky. Ayan felt a sense of awe and wonder. This place… it is special, he thought, shivering. I can feel it. He rechecked his watch. 6:08 AM. Seven minutes.

Mohan untied the rope, coiling it neatly and placing it aside. He glanced around, surveying the secluded spot. "This is the place," he said, his voice low. "Just enough time."

Ayan nodded, a sense of anticipation mixed with awe and unease settling in his stomach. He looked at the mountains, feeling a strange pull towards them. The sun would rise very soon. I hope this ritual is quick. I'm freezing.

.......

Mohan reached behind him and retrieved two sheathed daggers. The hilts were intricately carved, and the blades, when partially drawn, revealed an otherworldly sheen. They were clearly sharp, honed to a razor's edge—twin, red flamberge daggers. Ayan's heart pounded in his chest. He watched as Mohan unsheathed one of the daggers completely. The red blade flashed in the pre-dawn light. Mohan's movements were deliberate and precise. He then took the vial from his pocket and dripped a few drops of Ayan's mother's blood onto the bracelet.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

As the first rays of the sun peeked over the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of orange and pink, Mohan began to chant. The words were ancient, unfamiliar, spoken in a low, resonant voice that seemed to vibrate in the air. Ayan didn't understand the language, but the sound itself was powerful, evoking a sense of mystery and power.

A few minutes into the chanting, Mohan suddenly grabbed Ayan's wrist. Before Ayan could even register what was happening, Mohan made a swift, clean cut across his palm with the same red dagger. It was so quick and precise that Ayan didn't even feel it. Just as the very first ray of sunlight touched the mountaintops, Mohan dripped the blood from Ayan's palm onto the bracelet, merging it with the blue liquid. Only then did Ayan feel a tingling sensation in his hand, where the blood had been drawn, and a strange warmth spreading through his arm. Wait… he thought, looking at his palm. When did that happen?

..... .....

The effect was instantaneous. The bracelet began to glow, bathed in the light of the rising sun. The initial jade green color slowly and faintly faded, then was replaced by a vibrant blue-purple hue.

As the light subsided, Mohan reached into his coat and pulled out a small tin of salve. He carefully applied the balm to Ayan's cut, then wrapped the wound with a clean cloth. "That should help," he said, his voice gentle. "The pain will fade soon."

Ayan flexed his hand, surprised at how quickly the pain subsided. "Thanks," he said.

Mohan then picked up the two sheathed daggers, their red hilts gleaming in the morning light. He held them out to Ayan. "These are for you," he said. "Twin flamberge daggers. Red grade, as you can see. A powerful weapon, but one that requires control and discipline."

"Flamberge?" Ayan asked, taking the daggers and examining them.

"Yes," Mohan replied. "The blades are designed with a unique, undulating pattern. This design increases their cutting power significantly. They are also… otherworldly… in origin. Forged from a metal not found on Earth. And," he added, his voice more serious, "their grade can… increase… under certain conditions."

"Increase?" Ayan asked, his curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Mohan didn't answer. He simply looked out at the far, far distance, his gaze sweeping across the majestic landscape. Ayan followed his father's gaze, taking in the breathtaking panorama of mountains and valleys stretching out before them.

A comfortable silence settled between them. The sun had fully risen now, bathing the mountaintop in a warm, golden light. The air, though still crisp, had lost some of its biting chill. Mohan walked over to a large, flat rock and sat down, gesturing for Ayan to join him.

They sat there for a few minutes in companionable silence, simply enjoying the breathtaking view. The world stretched out below them, a tapestry of valleys, forests, and distant peaks. Ayan felt a sense of peace settle over him, the lingering unease from the ritual beginning to fade. He glanced at his father, a newfound respect growing within him. He had never seen Mohan so… focused. So powerful.

"This place," Ayan said softly, breaking the silence, "it's… amazing."

Mohan nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It is," he agreed. "Your mother… she loved coming here. She said it made her feel… connected."

Ayan nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes. He looked out at the vast landscape, feeling a connection to his mother, to his father, and to something larger than himself. The daggers, resting in their sheaths at his side, felt warm against his skin. He knew, somehow, that his life was about to change.

Ayan looked at the daggers, a sense of awe and responsibility settling upon him. "What kind of daggers are these?" he asked.

Mohan smiled enigmatically. "That, Ayan, is something you will have to discover for yourself. These daggers… they are more than just weapons. They are a part of your legacy. Never discard them, even if you find weapons of a higher grade, like blue or violet. Their power… it can grow far beyond even those levels. It is a power waiting to be awakened."

Ayan frowned slightly. "What do you mean, legacy?"

Mohan hesitated for a moment, then spoke in a low voice. "Your mother… she was… special, Ayan. More than you know." Ayan felt a shiver run down his spine. Special? What does he mean?

"These daggers," Mohan continued, "they were forged in the deepest fires of Magma Mountain, in the Dwarven realm. Forged from… dragon scales… and Nyxium—a metal that can only be melted by Soulfire, the deep blue flame found only in the heart of Magma Mountain. It's said that even Soulfire cannot easily melt dragon scales. Yet, these daggers… they are made of them, forged in Soulfire."

Ayan's eyes widened slightly. Dragon scales? Nyxium? Soulfire? The Dwarven realm? He whispered. I've heard stories… but are they… real? And how the hell does my father own these?

Mohan placed a hand on Ayan's shoulder, his gaze intense. "These daggers, Ayan," he said, "they are your birthright. They are your connection to… your heritage. Treat them with respect."

...........