The wind hums gently across the camp, brushing over every surface with its cold, careful touch. Above, a flock of birds slices through the sky, signaling the shift in season. The surrounding forest teems with vibrant life—an exotic fusion of ecosystems, as if the creatures of African savannas and dense rainforests have learned to coexist. Amid this harmony, one sight stands out: a blind Oxpecker, its eyes scarred but healed, tending to the wound of a Forest Buffalo. With precise pecks, it cleans and patches the injury, its broken vision replaced by sharp instinct. The buffalo stands still, protective, patient. In this fragile dance of trust, the forest whispers a truth it knows well—sometimes, strength finds its greatest ally in what seems weakest.

  The morning sun cast a golden glow over the war camp, illuminating rows of warriors preparing for the long march ahead. Clad in gleaming full plate, the heavy infantry stood in disciplined ranks, their polished armor reflecting the light as they made final adjustments to their gear. Nearby, robed figures draped in layered lamellar armor murmured quiet incantations, their magical prowess as much a weapon as the steel of their comrades. Archers, clad in thick gambesons, tested their bowstrings and ensured their quivers were full, knowing that soon, their arrows would darken the skies.

  Despite the grim purpose of their assembly, pockets of warmth and humanity persisted. Some soldiers knelt, sharing quiet moments with their families—fathers embracing sons, sisters whispering words of encouragement, wives pressing charms into calloused hands. Others exchanged nervous laughter with comrades, finding solace in the familiar bonds of brotherhood.

  “Take care of your little brother." She said to me as she gently caresses my head.

  "You'll come back right?" I replied to her.

  "Yes, and when I do I'll teach you more about magic." My mother looked at me in the eyes with a distressed expression as she told me that.

  "Maybe you'll meet father!" I remarked trying to lighten up the situation.

  "I hope so, then we'll come back as a complete family." Instead, it worsened the already dreading mood.

  She sighs, "Hey, don't worry son, I will be back—wait for me.".

  You liar. I knew deep down that she was lying. She has this guilty and depressing facial expression when staring at me. It feels like she was concerned about us, both worried and afraid—thinking about something out of her control. There's nothing she could do but ponder and hope for the best.

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  She glanced over as her colleague gave her the signal—it was time. She looked at me with those tired eyes, the ones that always tried to stay strong even when everything else was falling apart. Without saying much, she stepped close, kissed my forehead gently, and whispered, “I love you guys… take care.” Her voice cracked just a little, like she was trying not to cry. Then she turned and hurried toward the carriage.

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

  The horses neighed, the wheels creaked to life, and in seconds, she was already on the road—pulling away, getting smaller with each beat of my heart.

  And there I was, standing in the dust she left behind, tears running down my face. I didn’t try to stop them. I didn’t even wipe them away.

  All I could do was ask myself, over and over, what did I do wrong? Why did she leave? What could I have said or done differently?

  The silence after she left felt heavy—like it knew I didn’t get the closure I needed.

  Days pass, each hour more tedious than the last.

  Time slips by as my brother, my uncle, and I live out our lives as humble farmers. Our days are simple and repetitive: waking up before sunrise, tending to the fields, eating what little we can, and sleeping under the same worn-out roof. Occasionally, when the crops produces yield, we make the long trip to the capital to sell our harvest—either to the merchants or through the guild. Fortunately, we have a mule named Sebach. Without him, we would have a harder time transporting our crops to the capital.

  It’s early morning, and my younger sibling is still asleep. My uncle and I are loading the cart with the harvest, preparing to make the journey to the capital to sell the crops.

  After preparing Caelarel's breakfast, I locked the door from inside and after coming out of the house. I heard:

  “Apharel! Get Sebach out of his stable and be ready for departure.“ Uncle's shout, ordering me.

  “Okay!“ I yelled back.

  Moments passed.

  “Have you made Caelarel's breakfast?“ Uncle asked me.

  “Yes.“ I answered firmly.

  “Are we forgetting anything?“ Uncle asked again.

  “No uncle, I made sure everything is done and sadly Caelarel couldn't come with us this time again.“ I answered.

  “That kid shouldn't stay awake until late night reading books.“ My uncle exclamed.

  “But he loves them.“ I replied.

  “He would be here with us, if he didn't.“ Uncle remarked. Witty eh no?

  After our preparations we finally left.

  Despite the capital’s crumbling walls and scarred streets, its people remain surprisingly hopeful. I see workers patching up broken buildings, children laughing and playing along the sidewalks, merchants locked in heated bargaining with their customers, and even the princess herself, walking among the poor, handing out bread with a soft smile. However, in the princess's smile I sense something out place. Something dreading I might say, I just don't know how to put it—like something similar to what my mother had back then, but more ridden by guilt rather than anything.

  After a seemingly long travel that had us going till midday—we finally arrived at a merchant’s stall, where a broad man with a muscular yet plump physique greeted us with a wave. He was a familiar face—the one who regularly bought our crops at a fair price.

  After a brief interaction with the kind merchant. “Apharel!“ My uncle called me.

  “What is it uncle?“ I asked him.

  “Here pocket money, buy a treat for yourself” My uncle said with a soft smile.

  My uncle always had me buy myself a treat every time he and the merchant talks about the payment.

  As the coins touched my hand, a sound drifted through the air—soft, ethereal, impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just a noise; it was a calling. Gentle and haunting, like a deity’s whisper threading through my very soul. My breath caught. My heart stilled. Every instinct, every sense, screamed to follow. It didn’t feel like a choice—it felt like fate brushing against my skin, luring me somewhere unknown, and I couldn’t help but step toward it.

  Then I walked.