They did not find followers.
They found the unwanted.
Men who slept near riverbanks because villages would not take them in. Boys with old scars and no names. A woman who sharpened knives better than any of them and never spoke unless it mattered.
Azhagan called them useful.
Kariyan called them people.
There were seven of them at first.
They shared food. They shared fire. They shared silence. No one asked who anyone used to be. It felt safer that way.
One night, a boy named Muthu spoke.
"Why do you follow him?" he asked, nodding at Kariyan. "He's younger than us."
The others waited.
Kariyan felt heat rise in his chest. He didn't know how to answer. He wasn't sure he believed in himself yet.
Azhagan answered for him.
"Because he doesn't lie," he said. "And because he's willing to die before he kneels."
That night, soldiers came.
Not an army. Just six men. Temple guards looking for runaways. Confident. Laughing.
The group scattered instinctively.
Kariyan froze.
Azhagan shoved a spear into his hands. "Decide," he said. "Run, or stand."
Kariyan's heart hammered so hard it hurt. He saw his father again — standing alone.
"Stand," Kariyan said.
The word surprised him.
They fought clumsily. No formation. No heroics. Just fear and desperation. One of the guards fell screaming. Another tried to run and was pulled down.
When it ended, two of Kariyan's people were bleeding. One was dead.
No one cheered.
Kariyan knelt beside the body. A boy. Younger than him.
"This is my fault," he said.
Muthu shook his head. "No. They would have hunted us anyway."
Azhagan said nothing.
At dawn, Kariyan stood before the others.
"I won't promise safety," he said. His voice shook, but he didn't stop. "I won't promise mercy. But I promise this—no one here kneels to birth or gods or stones."
He took the knife and cut his palm.
Blood fell onto the earth.
"If you stay," he continued, "you rise by what you do. If you fail, you fall. If you betray us—"
He didn't finish.
They understood.
One by one, they stepped forward and cut their palms.
No chants.
No gods named.
Just blood and breath and choice.
When it was done, Azhagan pressed his staff into the soil.
"It has begun," he said.
That night, Kariyan dreamed of seven shadows standing behind him. Not bowing. Standing.
For the first time since his father died, he slept without fear.