The wind had quieted by the time the dust settled around Varek's boots. What moments ago had been a battlefield of grief, anger, and trembling chests now felt heavy—like the air itself was waiting for someone to speak the next line of fate.
Someone tugged gently at his navy-blue cloak.
Varek turned, brows lifting. It was Arav.
The boy's small hand looked even smaller against the thickness of the cloak, but his grip was iron—firm, unshaking, desperate. His eyes held no tears anymore; only a raw fire, the kind that doesn't belong in the eyes of a child. Varek bent down, dropping to one knee so their faces aligned, and forced a small smile. It wasn't the warm smile of a mentor; it was the careful, guarded smile of a warrior who had forgotten how to comfort.
"What happened, little boy?"
Arav didn't hesitate. He had come prepared—not just with words but with resolve.
"Captain… I want to be one of your soldiers."
The wind paused. Even the birds on distant branches seemed to freeze in silence.
Varek's eyes widened, not out of disbelief but recognition. It was like staring into the reflection of his younger self—fragile body, trembling knees, but eyes that burned as if spirits older than him lived inside.
You're just like me, Varek thought. My mirror. My shadow.
Arav continued, voice cracking, yet unwavering. "Sir, please… I want—" His jaw tightened, teeth clenching so hard the muscles in his face twitched. "I want to kill everyone who is responsible for her death."
Behind him, Sylphiate gasped. She had never—never once—seen Arav angry. Not this kind of anger. It wasn't childish frustration. It wasn't sadness disguised as temper. It was something ancient. Something violent.
Tears burst from her eyes as she stumbled toward her son and wrapped her arms around him from behind, holding him as if he might vanish. "Arav… my child…" Her voice cracked into pieces. Those were the only words she could form.
A few steps behind them, Kabeer pushed himself up from the ground. His body was still trembling from earlier, but his eyes were crystal clear now. He looked at Varek—not with admiration or fear—but with a calculating wariness.
He knows, Kabeer thought. This man can kill my whole family without a blink.
The intimidating aura Varek carried wasn't muscular or loud; it was quiet, tightly controlled, and terrifying for that very reason. Varek didn't need to shout. His presence alone said enough.
He looked away from Arav and declared, voice deep and controlled, "It's against my will to take you with me. Not without your parents' consent." He turned, his blue cloak sweeping behind him, and began walking back toward his horse. His troops followed, matching their captain's pace with practiced unity.
"Wait… Varek!"
Sylphiate's voice cracked through the air like a desperate plea, forcing Varek to stop. He turned only his head, exhaustion visible in his eyes.
"What happened, ma'am? I'm already late. I need to report at the office." Even in his fatigue, his posture remained stiff with duty.
Sylphiate swallowed once. Her throat trembled before the words spilled out. "Take Arav with you."
Varek blinked. That wasn't her breaking—it was her choosing strength that burned her from the inside.
"If he wishes for this… then I won't stop him." Her voice wavered, reflecting the agony of letting go. Yet, she stood firm. "I'm fine with it."
Something in Varek's expression softened—deep, almost invisible. Her words stirred a memory he had buried long ago: the image of his older sister, smiling as she set out on her first mission… never to return.
He stepped toward Arav, not with hesitation but with unexpected eagerness, and seized the boy's hand.
For a second, Arav thought, Is he… excited? Is this guy half lunatic, half hero? That seemed like the only explanation for Varek's wild mixture of seriousness and reckless smile.
Before leaving, Arav glanced back. His mother tried to smile, wiping the corners of her eyes. "Bye… Arav," she whispered.
Then his gaze shifted to Kabeer.
Kabeer wasn't crying. He wasn't angry.
He was staring directly into Arav's soul, his eyes radiating a cold sharpness that made Arav's entire body stiffen. For a moment, Arav felt like prey caught in the gaze of a predator.
His heart thumped. Goosebumps crawled across his skin. He gulped.
Varek lifted him onto the horse. Arav sat in front, holding onto the saddle, as the white horse beneath them stood tall and majestic.
"When will we reach there?" Arav asked after an hour, squirming. "I've been sitting on this thing forever."
"Tomorrow morning," Varek said casually.
The horse's snow-white mane flowed in the wind like a river of silk. Behind them, Varek's entire troop marched in perfect formation, drawing gasps and awe from villagers as they passed.
---
Narration (World Explanation):
Triamath—the heart of humanity's survival on Nebula.
An association formed not only to hunt beasts but to preserve the fragile thread of human civilization in a world that wanted them dead. Its foundation stood on the pillars of four noble families who funded, commanded, and shaped every aspect of its existence.
Triamath comprised four military groups:
▪ Vajras — Guardians of the northern and eastern outskirts. Masters of hunting and survival.
▪ Rudra — Protectors of the western and southern lands. Known for their unmatched speed and rescue operations.
▪ Kalabhaira — Shadows of the mid-territory. Experts in assassination and infiltration.
▪ Kalkastra — The innermost circle. Bodyguards of nobles, defenders of the inner districts. Brave to the point of madness.
---
They rode for hours until the vast grasslands of the mid-territory spread before them—endless green waves dancing under the wind.
"I'm hungry," Arav announced, sounding less like a soldier-in-training and more like an annoyed child. "Give me food."
Varek didn't scold him. Instead, he handed the boy his own ration without hesitation.
"I don't like riding horses. My butt hurts," Arav added.
Varek chuckled under his breath and raised a hand. "Troops, halt!"
All forty soldiers stopped simultaneously.
One soldier approached. "Captain, is there a problem?"
He glanced at Arav. "Is your brother tired?"
Arav turned to the soldier with the confidence of a king. "Uncle, grab me down from this horse."
The soldier looked like the boy had just declared him as future warrior. Being favored by Captain Varek was not normal. It was destiny.
Varek ordered, "Set up camp. We rest until dawn."
Tents rose swiftly under practiced hands.
That night, the moon hung low, bathing the camp in silver light. Most soldiers slept, except for the assigned night guards whose torches flickered like silent, watchful eyes.
Varek sat alone beside a small lantern.
His sword lay across his knees, and he gently ran a cloth along the blade. Each movement was slow, deliberate—almost ritualistic. But what caught the moonlight wasn't the blade.
It was a small hairpin.
Elda's.
He held it carefully between his fingers, as though it were made of fragile glass. A faint, almost bittersweet smile curled on his lips.
A single tear slid down his cheek.
But he didn't stop smiling.
It was the smile of a man who had learned to grieve silently—a smile that hid thunderstorms.
---
Dawn
"Everyone ready to move?" Varek shouted.
"Yes, sir!" forty voices roared in unison.
Except Arav, who was still half-asleep, slumped against Varek like a sleepy cat. Varek tied him securely to his chest with a cloth so the boy wouldn't fall.
As the sun rose higher, a golden beam pierced Arav's eyelid. He blinked groggily, then fully opened his eyes—and the sight before him punched the breath from his lungs.
A colossal fortress.
Miles long. Towering spires. Walls etched with ancient symbols. Architects would weep seeing its perfection.
Arav's jaw dropped. "So… this is Triamath."
The world seemed to whisper around him:
Is this where his new era begins?
Or…
Will his bad omen follow him even here?
And somewhere far behind them, in a small home filled with drying tears and empty silence…
What happened to Kabeer after Arav left?
The wheel of destiny had already begun turning.
Slowly.
Inevitably.