**The Subba Family**
Morning.
636 BCE, January 1st
Subba Mansion
First floor. On the window ledge, Princess Numanfung sat with one knee drawn up beneath her chin, the pale morning light catching along the curve of her cheek. Numanfung possessed an ethereal beauty that felt almost unreal, the kind that made servants pause mid-task without quite realizing why. Her waist-length black hair flowed like silk beneath a translucent white veil, strands lifting faintly with each small movement of the breeze drifting through the open window. Her crimson-tinted eyes carried both wisdom and hidden sorrow, the two qualities settled together so naturally that few who met her gaze could name which one they'd noticed first, while her graceful expression stayed calm even in danger, a stillness earned rather than simply inherited. She wore layered dark immortal robes decorated with delicate silver ornaments, the fabric pooling softly around her folded legs, giving her the presence of a celestial noblewoman.
She was known as the Lotus Beauty, ranked first on the younger generation's beauty list, and held the title of one of the Five Jewels of Womanhood.
She looked down at a giant tree that shaded the garden below, its ancient branches spreading wide enough to cast the whole space in dappled, shifting light. Beneath it, beautiful animals wandered and grazed, deer and rabbits, their coats catching stray beams of sunlight that broke through the canopy, moving peacefully across dew-heavy grass. She felt happy today, because it was New Year's celebration, the anticipation settled warm and light in her chest since the moment she'd woken. News drifted down from the sky, carried by a parrot whose voice was controlled by a messenger stationed far away in his own house, the bird wheeling in slow, deliberate circles above the rooftops. "Today is New Year! Today is New Year! Happy New Year! At ten o'clock this morning, on Shifu Mountain, there will be a mela, organized by King Nuhang Sha. Praise the king, praise the king!" His voice echoed through the whole village, drifting even into the quiet corners of the mansion's upper floor.
The messenger added, almost as an afterthought, that animals were not permitted to enter the mela.
Numanfung's eyes lit up, a small, private brightness passing across her face. Today is New Year already. Time really does pass in the blink of an eye, she thought, something bittersweet threading through the observation. She smiled, watching a young rabbit chase its own shadow across the grass, and felt her heart pull her downward toward them. So she teleported herself closer to the tree, the air shimmering faintly around her for the briefest instant before she reappeared beneath its wide branches, her sandaled feet settling silently onto soft earth.
At the sight of her, the animals bounded up like they'd been waiting, the rabbits quite literally leaping toward her, small bodies eager and quick. Numanfung lay down without hesitation, heedless of the dew soaking faintly into her robes, and reached both hands out toward them.
The deer and rabbits drew closer, pulled in by some quiet familiarity that needed no words. Her hands moved warm and gentle through their fur as she patted them, two rabbits and one deer, and for a moment the only sounds were birdsong and the faint rustle of leaves overhead.
Before her lay a small pond scattered with lotus flowers and leaves, its water so still it mirrored the pale sky above almost perfectly. Her mansion was built of ancient black wood beneath a weathered wooden roof, smoothed by generations of rain and sun, its walls made of white stone that stayed cool even as the morning warmth gathered.
"I want to take you with me to the mela," Numanfung said softly, wistfully, "but since I can't..." Disappointment settled over her, heavier than she'd expected, and tears traced thin, silver lines down her cheeks before dropping onto the grass below. The animals, sensing her distress, moved to comfort her, instinct guiding them toward small, familiar rituals of care. The deer pressed its head against hers, warm and steady, while the rabbits pressed close to her hip, their soft, twitching noses brushing gently at her tears.
The mela was the shared festival of the Limbu, Magar, Rai, and Tamang peoples, held every year, drawing entire villages down from their hillside homes for a single, bright day of celebration.
Wooden rolling swings stood ready, their ropes worn smooth from years of eager hands. Two large bamboo poles had been set up for people to sit astride, the wood already gleaming faintly from early morning polishing by the festival organizers.
Food simmered somewhere nearby, the scent of roasting grain and warm spice already drifting on the wind, carried up from the village below.
***
**Rana Clan**
Shree Yan woke, the mattress shifting softly beneath him as he stirred. Outside, birds chirped in a nearby tree, their song threading through the open window and making the morning feel gentler despite the faint chill still lingering in the air.
Wind drifted through his clothes, cool and light, carrying with it the mingled scent of dew-wet grass and distant cooking fires.
Dak, dak, dak.
Someone knocked at the door, the sound crisp and deliberate. "Coming," he called, his voice still rough with sleep. He opened it to find Yi Ner, her posture already composed, hands folded neatly in front of her.
She bowed. "Young master, please give me permission to prepare you."
"Go on," he said, settling onto the small wooden chair, its joints creaking faintly under his weight. Before him sat a mirror, its surface slightly warped with age, reflecting his pale face back in soft, imperfect lines. Yi Ner combed his hair as she spoke, the comb's teeth moving in slow, careful strokes through his dark strands. "Young master, did you ever feel lonely without family? Even when you have one, they should come to see you."
His face darkened instantly, and the comb paused mid-stroke as though the air itself had gone suddenly still.
"Yi Ner!" The word came out sharp enough to make her flinch.
"Y-yes... young master?" Her hands went rigid at her sides.
"Who told you to ask me that?" His tone stayed cold, each word deliberate and clipped.
Her body trembled; she dropped immediately to the floor, forehead touching the cool wood with a soft, deliberate thud. "Young master, please forgive me. I... I shouldn't have asked you that. Forgive me, young master, forgive me." Sweat gathered along her hairline despite the cool morning air, her whole body shaking hard enough that the floorboards beneath her seemed to register the motion, her voice cracking with genuine fear as she begged.
His tone softened. "Get up. I'm not angry with you. I just want to know why you asked."
She raised her head slowly, eyes still wide with residual fear. "Because before, you were in a coma, and no one came to see you, young master. Even though you have something no one else could imagine."
Something in her answer made him pause, made him curious about her in a way he hadn't expected, a quiet recalculation passing behind his otherwise composed expression. He turned his head and decided to tell her. "That's because of my father."
"Your father?" Her breath caught audibly, shock plain on her face.
He nodded. "It's true."
She stood slowly, robes settling back into place around her legs, one hand clenched against her chest, knuckles pale beneath the fabric, disbelief written across her features. "How can a father keep something like this from his own son? That isn't right. Why would they do that to you, young master?"
He sighed, the sound heavier than the moment seemed to call for. "I know. Forget it. That time has already passed." Her cheeks colored faintly with the awkwardness of the moment, and she returned to combing his hair, the comb resuming its slow, steady rhythm. "My apologies."
She dressed him in a black robe, V-style, the fabric settling smoothly across his shoulders, a red belt cinched at his waist with practiced efficiency.
She brought water in a decorative bowl, the ceramic cool against her palms as she set it down, and he placed his feet over it, the water rippling faintly at the disturbance. She washed his legs with slow, unhurried movements, water sluicing softly over skin, and he said nothing, watching the small ripples with an expression that gave nothing away. Five minutes later it was done, the water gone faintly cloudy.
"Young master, you're looking good now," Yi Ner said, a small, genuine smile touching her lips.
He stepped closer to her, his voice dropping low. "The time has come." Then he said something else, quiet enough that the words dissolved into the space between them, meant for her alone.
Something flickered across her expression, understanding of a kind no one else would have shared, before it settled back into calm.
He gave her a gift, an ordinary-looking item, small and unremarkable in her palm. It could do something no one else understood, its true purpose folded quietly beneath its plain, silver surface.
Then Shree Yan's lips curled, the expression settling into something colder, more deliberate, than anything that had crossed his face all morning.