Valerian walked away from the camp, his shoulders tense and his jaw set. He needed to see the traps and the fallen Death Singers again to confirm his suspicions. Antheros followed, her voice cutting through the heavy silence.

  "Val, wait," she said, her breath coming in short, exasperated gasps. "Just… please. Keep an open mind. There has to be another explanation. Look at everything, not just what you want to see."

  He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. He nodded once, a silent agreement, and continued toward the perimeter. Just as he suspected, the main nodes of the formation circles were made of paper. The heavy rain had turned them into a soggy, useless pulp. An experienced fighter like Virkam would never have used something so fragile, not in this climate. It was unacceptable. A cold rage began to simmer within him. He moved on to the dead wolves, his senses on high alert.

  A faint, metallic scent, like old blood, hung in the humid air. He tasted metal on his tongue and his eyes narrowed in a flash of dawning horror. He closed his mouth, forcing himself to breathe through his nose, and his gaze dropped to the ground. There, in the muddy footprints and splatters of blood, he found it—a fine, reddish-brown dust.

  "Blood frenzy powder," he whispered, the words a grim realisation.

  A shock coursed through his entire body, and the cold rage he'd felt moments before ignited into a burning inferno. This wasn't a random attack; it was a carefully planned ambush. Every piece of the puzzle pointed to one person.

  "VIRKAM," he growled under his breath, his teeth grinding together as he clenched his hands into fists.

  His eyes shot toward the treehouse where his son was. Azuma was in there with him. Valerian's unease turned to outright fear, and he broke into a run, his long strides devouring the ground. He vaulted into the treehouse, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. Only when he saw Azuma safe and playing did his heart find its rhythm again. Still, he couldn't look away from Virkam, his gaze sharp and vigilant.

  "Father."

  The sound was soft, tiny, and undeniably cute. Valerian’s eyes snapped to Azuma, his entire body frozen in bewildered shock. A baby barely a month old had just spoken. It should have been impossible, a trick of the mind. But another, deeper hope bloomed within him, the desperate, aching hope of hearing that word from his son.

  Then he heard it again, clear and unmistakable. Azuma looked right at him, his little mouth forming the word perfectly. "Father."

  Joy, pure and blinding, washed over him, banishing all thoughts of plots and suspicion. He swept Azuma into his arms and lifted him high, spinning him around. "Wow! Wait! I'm going to call your mother! She has to hear you say that!" He laughed like a child, the grim reality of their world forgotten.

  His laughter died abruptly when he heard, "My lord." He put Azuma down and turned to see Virkam, strained and sweating, sitting upright. "Is Azuma okay? Did they... did they do anything to him?"

  Valerian's face hardened. His voice was sharp as a blade. "Who?"

  Virkam's body trembled. He clutched at his chest, his heart aching and burning with a feverish intensity. "The assassins from the empire."

  "Assassins?" Valerian's doubt was clear in his voice, yet the word brought a small measure of relief. It introduced a new variable, a different form of tension, but not the one he feared.

  "Yes, my lord," Virkam rasped, his voice strained. "The attack... it was orchestrated. I think. By the time I went to check on Azuma, there was a wolf being led by a man. I fought him and injured him, but he did the same to me. Did Antheros kill him?"

  Valerian shook his head.

  "Damn it," Virkam struggled to his feet, his body still trembling. "If only I was a bit stronger," he said, his teeth gritted in frustration.

  Valerian's suspicion returned. "Did you see his face?"

  "Yes, master. He is the 13th Royal Guard of the Crimson Empire," Virkam said. He then took a ring from his finger, one with the Roman numeral XIII on it. Valerian's eyes widened. It was a unique number, one he had designed himself for the royal guards. He knew this was real.

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  "How did they manage to come this far?"

  Virkam held his head low and said, "It is my fault, my lord." He then took out his own ring with the number XI on it. "They tracked me using this. I know you told everyone to disregard all possessions, but this ring holds special meaning to me, so I thought I could hold on to it," he said with tears welling up in his eyes. "I thought I... we... had a chance to reunite with the empire. But now... now I know there is no going back." He asked, "Were there any casualties, my lord?"

  "None," Valerian said, his voice flat.

  "Thank god," Virkam said. He collapsed on the floor, his knees bent and head lowered. "Thank you, my lord, for giving me this message. I don't know how I would live knowing someone died because of me."

  "I have one question for you," Valerian said.

  "Yes, my lord."

  "Why did you use paper in the formation nodes?"

  Virkam looked into Valerian's eyes, puzzled. "Isn't that the easy and quick way to do formations, invented by you, my lord?"

  "I know," Valerian said. "What I want to know is why you didn't use the traditional carving method."

  "My lord, I…" He lowered his head. "I am a mere warrior, and formations seem to interest me, but I didn't have a good mentor like you. This is all I learned by myself."

  Valerian's eyes widened. "Do you mean—"

  "Yes, my lord," Virkam cut him short. "I don’t know the traditional way of formation." He then gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I am a formation master without knowing the basics of formation."

  Lost in thought, Valerian was silent for a moment. It was Virkam who broke the quiet, his voice filled with newfound urgency. "Is that why the wolves got inside the inner circle? I wondered how they managed to evade my traps." He thought for a while, his frown increasing. "But my lord, how did the wolves know which paper to take?" Then his eyes brightened in horror after a realization. "Oh no," he said. "Did the 13th guard dismantle my… my formation?"

  Valerian saw the genuine shock and sighed. "It's possible. The empire might have trained them in paper formation and how to dismantle it. After all, they don't want friendly fire."

  "So that's it," Virkam said, his voice raging.

  "But that's not the reason why your traps failed. You used paper in a forest… a rainforest at that, Virkam. What do you expect?" Valerian said in a slightly irritated tone.

  Then it dawned on Virkam. "Oh no… my… my traps… they got erased."

  Valerian gave a grim nod, then took Azuma and said, "Take rest. We might need to move from here," and left the house.

  The trembling stopped, and his body was back to normal. Virkam slowly stood and looked at the exit, his heart palpitating. Virkam watched the doorway long after Valerian had left. Only when the silence stretched thin did his shoulders loosen—just a fraction—before he forced them still again.

  Soon, Valerian returned to the camp where they were still in discussion.

  "Guess what," Valerian said with enthusiasm.

  Everyone went silent and looked at Valerian.

  "My child said his first words," he exclaimed, to which the group was stunned. First, they didn't expect this. Just a few minutes ago, they were discussing a traitor, and judging by the "guess what," they were thinking along the same lines. Sighing, they said,

  "Congratulations," but there was no enthusiasm.

  "What?" Valerian asked, to which Antheros smiled and said, "Darling, he spoke his first words right after you left."

  "What?" Valerian exclaimed in shock, and slow dejection came as he realized he was not the first person to witness his son speak.

  Seeing his face, Antheros patted him and said, "If it's any consolation, he said 'father' as his first word."

  Immediately, Valerian's face brightened. "Really?" he said.

  "Yes," Antheros nodded in satisfaction and pride. She, too, was astonished to see a month-old baby start speaking, and with perfect pronunciation at that.

  "Hmm," Valerian nodded and then looked at the group and explained what was told by Virkam.

  The room went silent, looking at the ring. Rage filled Antheros's eyes. She gritted her teeth, and the table she was holding started to crack. "That bitch, Armada. I am going to kill her," she said amidst an angered growl.

  "What was Virkam was thinking, carrying the ring," Dhruba retorted, but he silently thanked god he had discarded his, because he had also thought to take it as a souvenir.

  Calming Antheros, he said, "So that clears Virkam."

  The room went silent, waiting to learn what Valerian was thinking. He thought for a while.

  "I suppose I can say that," he thought, but a nagging feeling still pestered his mind. But then he knew there might be friction in the group if he restricted Virkam from joining just because of a nagging feeling. Why are you worried? Valerian spoke to himself. It's like Anthy said, if he wanted to kill Azuma, he would have done it a long time ago. He has some other motive, but it's difficult to find it if I restrict him. What is that you tell me every time, brother? he said with a self-deprecating laugh. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, right?

  "Yes, it's cleared. We can start to move. I will get the teleportation ready. Gather the people," he said, the words a mask over a truth he now bore alone. He looked at Azuma, a fragile, brilliant light in his arms, and a faint, strained smile touched his lips. Antheros, seeing his joy, returned the same smile, but Valerian knew their meanings were worlds apart. She was smiling because her son had spoken his first words.

  Valerian smiled too.

  He held his son a little closer, feeling the small, steady weight of him—real, warm, alive. The echo of that first word still rang in his ears, carrying more than sound, more than joy. He did not speak. He did not let the others see the way his fingers tightened, or how his breath caught for the briefest moment before he mastered it.

  Beyond the joy, beyond the wonder, something vast and unfamiliar had stirred. The past he had already mourned did not vanish—but it loosened its grip.

  The future, for the first time in a long while, did not feel empty. He had heard more than a word.