Hours passed.

  The fires outside had dimmed, replaced by distant clashes and the low thunder of battle echoing through the village. Samye remained at the doorway, unmoving, spear resting against the ground, eyes fixed on the dark streets beyond.

  Inside the house, time moved differently.

  Kayal’s son sat quietly at first, clutching his mother’s sleeve. But as the night deepened, fear crept into his small voice.

  “…Uncle Samye?”

  Samye turned.

  The boy looked up at him with trembling eyes.

  “When is my father coming back?”

  The question struck deeper than any blade.

  Samye opened his mouth—

  But no words came.

  He knelt slowly, placed a hand on the child’s head, and forced a gentle smile.

  “Soon,” he said softly. “He’ll be back soon.”

  The boy nodded, trying to believe it.

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  Samye stood up and turned away before the child could see his face.

  Because he didn’t know.

  He didn’t know if the battle was being won.

  He didn’t know if it was already lost.

  Another hour passed.

  Then—

  The boy started crying.

  Not loudly.

  Not in panic.

  Just quiet, broken sobs — the kind that come when hope begins to crack.

  “I want my father…” the child whispered.

  Samye froze.

  Memories surged forward without mercy.

  His father’s smile.

  His mother’s voice.

  Ash falling from the sky.

  And himself — standing alone, unable to do anything.

  Something inside him snapped.

  “I won’t let this happen again,” Samye whispered.

  He moved quickly.

  Samye guided Kayal’s family down into the underground storage basement beneath the house — reinforced stone walls, hidden entrance, sealed from the outside.

  “Stay here,” Samye said firmly. “No matter what you hear. Don’t come out until it’s quiet.”

  Kayal’s wife nodded, tears streaming silently.

  Samye closed the entrance and locked it.

  Then he ran.

  The village streets had become a battlefield.

  Smoke choked the air.

  Blades clashed.

  Bodies lay scattered.

  Samye moved like a shadow through the chaos.

  Enemies fell fast — precise strikes, no wasted motion. He didn’t stop. Didn’t celebrate. Didn’t look back.

  To him, the battle looked terrifyingly one-sided.

  The Breakers were organized. Brutal. Efficient.

  Samye grabbed a wounded soldier by the shoulder.

  “Kayal,” he demanded. “Where is Kayal?”

  The soldier shook his head weakly.

  “I don’t know… he was leading the counterattack—”

  Samye didn’t wait.

  He asked another.

  And another.

  Then another.

  Hundreds of soldiers passed him — some fighting, some retreating, some bleeding out.

  No one knew.

  No one had seen Kayal.

  With every unanswered question, Samye’s chest tightened.

  Fear began to crack his resolve.

  No… not again.

  He clenched his fists as he ran deeper into the warzone.

  “This time,” he said under his breath,

  “I won’t arrive too late.”

  And somewhere within him—

  Something listened.