That night, Kamaskh did not sleep.

  A sealed letter arrived at the chief’s residence just after sunset. The wax was broken in haste. The message inside was short.

  Too short.

  By the time the chief finished reading it, the bells had already begun to ring.

  Alarm.

  Not celebration.

  Fear spread like fire through the village.

  Orders were shouted. Torches were lit. Messengers ran through the streets. Armor clanged as soldiers rushed to their positions.

  “The west side has been breached!”

  “Enemy intruders—multiple units!”

  “They’re burning homes!”

  The chief stood firm despite the chaos and raised his staff.

  “Summon the generals,” he commanded. “All seven.”

  Within minutes, the Seven Generals of Kamaskh gathered—each commanding their own division. Archers, ground units, scouts, and ability wielders assembled with grim efficiency.

  War had come.

  Kayal did not hesitate.

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  He ran.

  Straight to Samye.

  He found him near the temple grounds, already alert, already sensing the disturbance.

  “The west side is under attack,” Kayal said urgently. “They’ve burned nearly half the outer homes.”

  Samye’s chest tightened.

  “The Breakers?” Samye asked.

  Kayal nodded once.

  “I need to assemble the army and push them back,” Kayal continued. “But before that—”

  He stopped.

  Then bowed his head slightly.

  “I’m sorry to ask this of you,” he said. “But I need your help.”

  Samye looked at him sharply.

  “My family,” Kayal said. “Protect them. No one else can. If something happens to me… at least I’ll know they’re safe.”

  Samye felt the weight of those words settle heavily on his shoulders.

  “Why me?” Samye asked quietly. “I’m not capable of carrying that responsibility.”

  Kayal stepped closer and placed a firm hand on Samye’s shoulder.

  “Brother,” he said, voice steady, “I trust you with my heart.”

  Samye’s eyes widened slightly.

  “You are more capable than any soldier under my command.”

  Kayal smiled faintly.

  “Now it’s my turn to fight. I’ll return soon. I promise—I won’t die to mere enemies.”

  With that, Kayal turned and ran back toward the assembling troops.

  Samye watched him go.

  And then—

  he moved.

  Samye sprinted through the village streets, the glow of fire reflecting off stone and wood. Smoke stung his lungs as he reached Kayal’s home.

  Too late.

  Figures were already there.

  Three intruders tried forcing the door open.

  Samye didn’t shout.

  Didn’t hesitate.

  He moved with efficiency learned through pain and discipline.

  One strike to the neck.

  A sweep of the leg.

  A precise spear thrust.

  In seconds, they were down.

  Silent.

  He kicked the door open and rushed inside.

  Kayal’s wife gasped. His son froze in fear.

  “It’s okay,” Samye said firmly. “You’re safe. Stay inside. Don’t open the door for anyone.”

  They nodded, shaken.

  Kayal’s wife clasped her hands together, whispering prayers. The child clung to her side.

  Samye stood guard near the entrance, spear in hand.

  Outside, the sounds of battle echoed—shouts, clashes, distant screams.

  This village had lived in peace.

  But peace was fragile.

  And now—

  Samye understood something clearly.

  I don’t know how long this peace will last.

  But as long as he stood—

  it wouldn’t fall quietly.