A single oil lamp flickered at the center of the wooden table, casting long, swaying shadows across the hand-drawn maps of the southern kingdoms. High towers, winding rivers, and jagged mountain passes were inked in dark coal, each territory marked with small wooden blocks—pieces that usually represented regiments and supply lines, but tonight stood for something far more fragile.
Chinua stood over the parchment, her dark eyes tracing the borders in silence. Across from her, Khunbish sat in a low wooden chair, his heavy cloak pulled tight against the draft seeping through the wooden walls. Between them lay a handwritten scroll—a tally of sixty names. Sixty orphans with nowhere left to go.
"The official cover is for Möndör to scout ahead as an envoy, delivering the requested supplies and establishing rapport with the locals," Chinua said with a subtle smile, looking up at Khunbish. "But his true objective is to find the fastest path to bring down Tailin. The city of Zasra has been a thorn in the side of our ally, Umusa, for far too long."
"What is your plan after it falls?" Khunbish asked.
"That depends on His Majesty's wishes," Chinua replied. "Though it will most likely be granted to Umusa, since it was originally theirs to begin with. Hye suggested giving the territory to the Umusa Kingdom to solidify our alliance, which also ensures Zasra will no longer share a direct border with Hmagol." She sighed, her gaze drifting back to the scroll of names. "If we must build a defensive barrier, why not place it beyond our own front line? Kark and Ngabo are prime examples."
"Is that why His Majesty ordered us to halt the invasion?" Khunbish asked.
"His Majesty never intended to cross the Nuazas River in the first place," Chinua admitted. "No wall built by man compares to the one forged by nature."
Observing the quiet resolve in her eyes, Khunbish knew her thoughts had returned to the sixty orphans.
"If we send them south toward the lower provinces, they will starve before the spring thaw," Khunbish said quietly, his voice low and gravelly in the still room. "And if we keep them here near the garrison, they won't survive the winter on their own."
Chinua did not look up immediately. She leaned forward, her fingertips resting on the cold timber at the map's eastern border, right where the ink faded into uncharted white.
"What do you suggest, Khunbish?" she asked, looking at her personal guard.
"I think we should not place them where it is easy," Khunbish said, his voice dropping into a firm, deliberate calm. "We place them where they will survive."
Chinua smiled, having already deduced where his thoughts were leading. "Go on."
Khunbish exhaled softly, looking at Chinua with deep warmth. "Chinua... Khenbish and I will not always be at your side. Who can say what fate awaits men clad in armor? But if I begin training these orphans today, then in the years to come, Chinua will not merely have Khenbish and me—you will have hundreds, even thousands, of us guarding your steps."
Chinua's smile widened with quiet appreciation.
Reading her expression, Khunbish continued, "As you well know, I am not a scholar who can analyze maps or construct grand strategies with you. All I possess is my physical strength. I want to ensure that if the day comes when I can no longer swing my blade, a solid wall of iron will stand in my place to shield you, serving as my strength to watch your back and guard your flanks."
Chinua look at Khunbish and then recall back then when he himself was a just a child who was sold into the palace.
"It was you who saved me back then," Khunbish said, looking up at Chinua. "It was you who made me willingly pledge my loyalty, and it was also you who gave me hope and the opportunity to grow into the person I am today." He reached out, gently taking Chinua's hand, placing a tender kiss on her fingers before resting the side of his face against her palm. "You gave me a future, Chinua. Now, I simply wish to pass that same hope to someone else, so it will continue to live on long after we are gone."
"Khunbish, always remember that you are your own person," Chinua reminded him gently. "The choices you make must come from your own free will. Never enslave your heart."
"I know, Chinua," Khunbish whispered softly. "But for me... it is already too late."
Chinua let out a soft scoff, shaking her head at his endearing stubbornness as she gently patted the back of his head.
"Hye may be my soulmate and the one who understands my mind best, but you, Khunbish—you are the person I trust above all others, and no one could ever replace you," Chinua said softly, warmth and unshed tears glistening in her dark eyes. "Because you have stood faithfully by my side from the days when I was an unwanted outcast to the general, I am today. Only in front of you can I shed my heavy armor, lay down my vulnerability, and weep without fear."
A sudden gust of wind swept the lingering snow off the watchtower roof, carrying it east along the three-mile road into the dark expanse of the night. Up on the high timber platform, Khair stood wrapped in her heavy cloak, with Siqi on the midnight watch together. The night wind carried light scattering snow passing them, making Khair squint her eyes and peek at Siqi, who stood in silence with a stone-cold expression.
"Did Möndör do anything?" Khair asked, turning her head toward Siqi, trying to strike up a conversation so the long, freezing night wouldn't feel so endless.
"No," Siqi replied simply.
Khair let out a sigh of genuine relief. "I'm glad."
Siqi turned his gaze toward Khair, a quiet curiosity in his dark eyes as he watched the bright, tender smile that appeared on her face whenever Möndör's name was mentioned.
"I've always wanted to ask you something," Siqi said.
Khair looked up at him, her smile warm. "You're the lead unit commander," she said playfully. "You can ask me anything."
"This is personal and has nothing to do with our duties," Siqi noted.
"You can still ask," Khair replied, lightly shrugging her shoulders. "Outside of duty, we're still friends."
"Do you like Möndör?" Siqi asked, looking directly at her.
"Wha—what?" Khair gasped, completely taken aback by the question. "Why on earth would you think that?"
"Because whenever his name comes up," Siqi said, his gaze drifting out toward the frozen expanse of the river, "you always smile."
Khair felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her, quickly averting her eyes from his. She looked left and right, trying to gather her composure, before finally forcing herself to look back at Siqi, whose stoic facial expression remained completely unchanged.
"N-No, Siqi," Khair stammered, her cheeks burning in the cold air. "I... I already have someone I like."
Siqi turned back to look at Khair, his tone measured as he offered a quick apology. "I see. My mistake." He gave her a single, polite nod before returning his eyes to the dark horizon.
"You... you're not going to ask who it is?" Khair asked, her voice faltering slightly.
"No."
Khair's smile faded into a sad frown. She stole a quiet, lingering look at Siqi's calm side profile, letting out a soft, heavy sigh before turning back to her watch post in silence.
Meanwhile, down in the thirty-tent enclosure, while most of the Paayasian captives lay fast asleep, Yongyee rested beside his children, gently pulling the provided wool blanket over their shoulders.
"Ba-ba," Nou whispered softly, opening her eyes. "Use it on yourself. I'm warm enough with this heavy cloak."
"My child, you and your brother have suffered so much," Yongyee murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I have failed as a father."
"Ba-ba, you saved us," Nou said firmly. "You have never failed us—not once, either as a father or as our captain. You have always made us proud."
Yongyee smiled warmly at his daughter, reaching out to gently pat the side of her face. "You have always had a sharp tongue," he teased softly. "You must wonder why I chose to serve our enemy."
"You always have your reasons," Nou replied quietly. "And I know the choices you make are always the right ones."
"I met a young girl... around your age," Yongyee said, a subtle glimmer of hope illuminating his eyes. "Perhaps a little older. She reminded me that the youth are our true future. When I saw her, I thought of you. Under King Es Ke, women and young girls are forbidden from learning to read or write—expected only to serve their husbands and in-laws. But when I look at the Eastern General's army—a force composed of Tanggolian, Alhu, and Arkemeric men and women fighting side by side—I realized that you and your brother could have a world like that too. A place where you can learn military strategy or study medicine to save lives, unbound by traditional norms."
"So... you did all this for us?" Nou asked, tears glistening in her eyes.
"I simply want a better future for you and your brother," Yongyee said with a gentle smile. "And right now, the Hmagol Eastern General has proven to me that she and her soldiers truly honor their code of ethics."
"Ba-ba... the man who saved me today," Nou asked softly. "What is his name?"
"That young warrior is General Chinua's youngest captain," Yongyee answered, his smile widening slightly. "He is Möndör, son of Captain Naksh."
"When we settle, I want to return his cloak to him myself," Nou said.
"Go to sleep now," Yongyee instructed softly. "Tomorrow, we head back to the city."
"Ba-ba... will we ever be able to return home?" Nou asked, her voice small.
"I am not certain yet," Yongyee admitted, pulling young Mong closer into his arm. "But General Chinua promised that we may return to our home as long as we serve faithfully under her banner. We will know more once we arrive."
Nou nodded to her father, turning onto her side facing the edge of the tent. Wrapping Möndör's heavy fur cloak tighter around herself, she closed her eyes, a soft smile drifting across her face as she murmured into the quiet dark, "Möndör, my savior..."