It was that time of year when the harsh gusts of winter began to yield to the gentle breeze of spring. Under the fatherly warmth of the sun, days slowly grew warmer, while new life began to emerge from the close embrace of Mother Earth.
Yet a thin mist clung to the dark shadows of the mountains. No one was seen roaming within that white veil, except for the occasional shrill calls of birds and distant beasts piercing the silence.
But somewhere along those quiet slopes, a city was already awake — long before the sun had climbed over the mountain peaks.
Khalingla — the gateway to Tianzhu — was bustling with a constantly moving crowd.
From dawn till dusk, its eastern gate welcomed an endless wave of merchants, while dozens more waited as their documents were verified, their caravans heavy with goods.
"Move! Make way!"
Voices rose as men pushed through the masses. Shops and stalls lined either side of the path.
"Come, come. Best honey collected from the steep valleys."
"Madam, sire — come see for yourself. Aromatic spices, harvested from the deep forests of lower Dihang."
"Fresh fish! Come, come — what would you like?"
Amid all this, in a corner, a woman clutched a piece of cloth printed with yellow flowers, her voice sharp with indignation.
"Thirty coins?! Do you want my children to starve for the rest of the month, you thief?! Here — take your skirt back."
She thrust the cloth at the shopkeeper and strode away.
"Why am I the thief if you are too poor to buy it?!" he called after her, hastily folding the cloth. Then, under his breath: "Pure silk. Did you think you would get it for nothing?"
Meanwhile, amidst all this chaos, the lavish inn standing on the other side of the city was unnaturally quiet.
Clay cups lined the counter. A pot simmered quietly over a low fire. Travelers moved in and out, carrying dust, voices, and fragments of distant roads.
Merchants sat hunched over low tables, arguing in half-raised voices. Warriors leaned back against wooden pillars, their weapons resting within reach as they spoke of journeys still ahead.
Behind the counter, the innkeeper moved with practiced ease — pouring, wiping, listening.
Then a young voice rose from the table in the left corner.
"Shailantara?"
"The one they say vanished," a man said, leaning forward, eyes gleaming with drink and curiosity.
"Apparently it faced an invasion over a decade ago. Some say the kingdom went into seclusion after losing too many, others say their knights are still roaming these mountains, refining their skills and waiting for revenge." Another spoke.
"..."
"Oi — old man," the men called, turning toward the counter. "You're from here. You must have seen or at least heard something worthwhile. Tell us."
The old innkeeper let out a quiet breath.
"What do you wish to hear, sirs?"
"That mountain kingdom of legends — Shailantara," the boy said, his eyes bright with curiosity.
The old man was silent for a moment before the words finally left his mouth.
"Shailantara, you say?"
The boy edged closer.
"Yes! What happened to it?"
"There indeed was a kingdom named Shailantara — though not of any legendary lineage. It was a mere mountain kingdom."
"I heard they clashed against a great army of invaders. Is it true? Did they win?" The man across the table joined in.
"With merely a few hundred men, what could a kingdom possibly do against an army of thousands?"
"So... they lost?" the boy muttered quietly.
The innkeeper shook his head slowly.
"It would have been mercy, if they had only lost."
The room stilled.
"The entire kingdom was wiped out. For nearly twenty years now, no one has heard from Shailantara. Not a word. Not a single survivor."
"But weren't they supposed to be strong enough to shatter stones with their bare fists?" the boy pressed.
A merchant nearby let out a short laugh. "Even stone-shattering fists are flesh and bone before a sword."
The old man's gaze drifted briefly toward the mountains beyond the open door, where the mist had not yet fully lifted.
"Only ruins remain — burnt down somewhere to the northeast, along the banks of the Dihang."
As, he surfaced from his own thoughts and looked around at the heavy silence that had settled over the table, he continued.
"But what use is there in diving into the past? After all these years, there is no chance of their return. You sirs needn't trouble yourselves with it."
The old man collected the empty dishes from the table and moved toward the counter.
***
Some time later, a few yojana from Khalingla, a group of men pushed slowly through dense forest. A man of strong build and long hair — the leader, by all appearances — walked ahead of the rest. He carried a broad blade at his side; among the others, only a few bore swords.
After nearly half an hour, they arrived at a place surrounded by broken walls, crumbling pillars, and the skeletal remains of houses. The weathered stone, green with age, spoke of a settlement long abandoned — a kingdom, or at least a large city, swallowed quietly by time.
The leader looked around the ruins, searching.
Then, standing before a scorched altar bearing old burn marks, he burst out laughing.
The others caught up and gathered around him.
"What happened, Squad leader?" the man at the front asked.
"Seems our good-for-nothing former leader was right in those letters after all. These ruins are far older than a decade or two." He shook his head, still smiling. "That damned innkeeper sent us in the wrong direction."
***
The ruins the squad leader stood in had no name anymore. The kingdom they were looking for had none either — not to the outside world.
But far into the mountains, beyond the mist, the ancient ruins and the raging river, it had a name still.
Deeper into the mountains than any outsider had wandered in years, the valley, surrouded by mountains, was waking up with the rising sun.
At the center of it stood a castle made of dark sandstone. It wasn't lavish, but carried a quiet, weathered grandeur.
Atop its highest terrace, an old man walked slowly, observing the people busy with their chores.
Tap... tap... tap...
The sound of his cane softly striking the stone floor rode along with the slow, cold breeze and the chirping of birds.
Silently, he walked back and forth.
After sometime, a familiar sound of footsteps approached from behind. Without even looking back, the old man recognized it and walked over to the table.
Pouring tea into a cup, he softly spoke," Good morning, your highness."
A man of lean build stood right beside him, his attire suggesting he had only just woken up.
Accepting the tea offered by the old man, he let out a faint chuckle and asked," Sir Divankar, how do you always know it's me without turning around?"
The old man was teacher of the king and now the steward for the kingdom.
He chuckled in response and replied," My lord, I have served you and this kingdom for more than fifteen years of my life. I can recognize everyone in this castle by their manner of walking. Well...all but two."
"And who might those two be, who manage to puzzle even you?"
Divankar paused, gazing at the king with a look that said he should already know.
"Do you really need me to say it?" Divankar asked playfully.
"I know," with a giggle King Desma said. "— Afterall its thanks to those two that citizens are able to live with a sense of safety."
"Indeed, you are right. With commander Tenzing and Knight Aabir standing at the vanguard, no human army is able to threaten Shailantara ever again."
Desma slowly sipped on the tea, now gradually getting cold, while gazing at the distant mountains and the silent fortress standing tall atop them.
After a few moments of silence, Desma spoke," How are the preparations for harvest festival coming along?"
"The preparations are almost complete," Divankar replied. "With the harsh winter gone, everyone is looking forward to it. They had been waiting for the harvest festival and banquet with their beloved King.... It's all thanks to you, my lord, that people of this kingdom still have reasons to smile."
"Is that so? That's... a relief."
The cheerful voice from a moment ago now carried a hint of grief.
Noticing the sudden change in his king's mood, Divankar gently asked," Is everything fine, my lord? —You don't seem well."
Desma's lips moved in silence as he slowly threaded the words together.
"—It's just that it has been more than 2 weeks since the letter was sent, yet, there hasn't even been a single word from him. He didn't come to the festival for all these years, and with only ten days left for it, I assume this year won't be any different..."
"My...," Divankar began but couldn't finish, as Desma cut him off.
"He could have come for Chandra's blessings ritual ... or at least, he could have sent a reply."
The grief slowly took the form of subtle frustration.
"I—I just want to meet him, not as a king but as a brother. And if God is merciful, I would like to have those brotherly quarrels one last time," Chogyal Desma said, his eyes locked on the mountains.
"From the bottom of my heart, I pray your wish comes true," the old man said softly.
"But in times like these, with the public opinion turning against Lord Hi'um due to the recent events. I prefer he don't come before those are uncovered. —I must request you to put on a smile, for citizens need you, a king they can follow. So, please stay strong for the smiles of people," Divankar advised.
Desma sat silently. He understood that what his teacher said is true but he couldn't tell the same to his heart.
"Thanks, Sir Divankar. But, the promise we made to mother, to not let our family fall. While my stupid brother might have forgotten , I can't. Therefore, I want to give it my best."
"..."
" Guard!" Desma called to the soldier nearby.
"Ask Sir Aabir and Prince Chandra to come to throne room."
The guard gave a low bow before he left.
***
Meanwhile, near the river, the sound of swords slicing through the air and feet stomping against the ground filled the surroundings.
On the open ground fenced with the wooden stakes, soldiers moved with determination, in pursuit of honing their skills with every movement. Their well-defined muscles bore scars like marks of valor. Breaths came as sharp inhales and controlled exhales, timed with each strike. Some clashed in fierce spars, never stopping even as their bodies trembling with exhaustion.
Amongst all this chaos, in a shaded corner, a man with a large scar running across his back sat cross-legged, with three children seated before him.
The boy on the left, his eyes half-open, kept glancing at the soldiers training across the ground.
"Aniket!" the man suddenly spoke, his voice calm but firm. "Concentrate!"
"Heh!" The girl on the right giggled at her friend being scolded.
"Ipsha?!" The man's tone sharpened slightly.
"Ha! You should focus on yourself," Aniket muttered, pleased that she got called out too.
"Quiet! Both of you are disturbing Chandra."
"Argh!" Aniket stood up, frowning.
"Brother Aabir! Why do you always make us meditate? I want to train with swords and be like you and grandpa Tenzing, not some sage!"
Aabir opened his eyes slowly, unfazed by the tantrum.
"Sit down," he said, his voice calm and unwavering.
The boy sat down with a thud, pouting.
Looking at the frowning boy, Aabir faintly smiled.
"Alright, it's fine for now. You kids may go play."
Without a word, all three children ran over to where the other warriors were training. Aniket and Chandra grabbed wooden swords and began sparring with the little technique they had picked up from watching. Meanwhile, Ipsha took her doll from the wooden plank and played nearby.
Sitting still at his place, Aabir silently watched the kids run, with a smile.
"Captain!"
A man in loose pants, sweat dripping down his bare torso, approached Aabir.
"Tayang!" Aabir said, turning to him. "Finished your training already?" With a playful smile he continued," How about a spar?"
"You seem to be in a good mood—but that'll have to wait. The King has summoned you and Prince Chandra," Tayang pointed to the guard while speaking to Aabir.
With a deep exhale Aabir stood up.
"Alright. Tell him to wait a moment, I will go wash myself."
Tayang slightly nodded. "Will do."