There once stood a small yet prosperous kingdom named Shailantara, isolated from the rest of the world.
Alongside the ruling Chogyal family, three other tribes had resided there since the kingdom's early days.
Tagin was a tribe of hunters that slowly became warriors of the kingdom.
On the other hand, the Borbaruahs came from outside and settled in the kingdom over a thousand years ago. They mainly relied on farming for a living, as a fairly large river passed through the kingdom, making the land fertile for growing crops.
The third was the Meyors, a tribe of shamans who performed rituals and cured minor illnesses.
However,
One day, some seventy years ago, their leader left the mountains with his tribe.
Some speculate they went to a more fertile land.
Others say that they had begun to delve into forbidden arts and sacrificed themselves to evil spirits.
Apart from these, over the course of several centuries, many smaller tribes settled beyond the mountain walls of Shailantara, gradually beginning to interact with those within.
***
Although Shailantara was a natural fortress, surrounded by mountains, it wasn't enough to stop outsiders from attacking.
Fifteen years ago, such an attack came, but unlike the previous ones, thousands of soldiers from the East, from Shu, stood at their gates. It became an all-out war.
Even so, Shailantara and its seven hundred warriors didn't back away. They fought with everything they had.
Though vastly outnumbered, the tribal warriors possessed one decisive advantage—the mountains were theirs. Every ridge became a shield, every tree an ambush, even the beasts of the wild were unleashed upon the invaders.
On the other hand, the enemy's supply lines and morale grew thinner by the day.
In the end, after a month of endless bloodshed and cries of agony, Shailantara emerged victorious. They had won a fight that was previously thought impossible to win. Just a few hundred soldiers had defeated an army of thousands.
But the price that had to be paid for this couldn't be ignored. More than two-thirds of the warriors sacrificed themselves for their loved ones and kingdom.
Not even the royal family was spared—the king, Chogyal Dorje, fell in the war. Many courtiers, too, crossed into the afterlife.
The very foundations of the kingdom were shaken. With no rightful ruler to immediately ascend the throne and the two princes, Chogyal Desma (17) and Chogyal Hi'um (14), still too young to govern, Shailantara stood on the brink of chaos.
It was one of the darkest periods in the kingdom's history.
In that hour, the Queen took the reins of the realm into her own hands. She ruled with a mother's compassion and unwavering resolve.
For the princes, the Grand Minister proposed a measured solution: each would be assigned a personal mentor, and after five years, the more capable of the two would ascend the throne.
Peace returned.
Though not without caution. All paths leading to Shailantara were concealed or destroyed, and trusted members of the royal court were entrusted with the regency of the lands beyond the mountain walls.
While the kingdom set its course to find solace, fate offered a fragile blessing— the elder prince, Desma, was blessed with a son.
In time, Shailantara faded from the outside world's memory, spoken of only as a kingdom that had met its ruin.
Meanwhile, with hot blood running through their veins, young ones began their training under Tagin Tenzing, commanding chief of the army, and once both mentor and dear friend to the late King Dorje.
The people slowly began to heal from the horrors of the battle.
But—
Fate!
If it offers, it also demands a price in return.
And for the people of Shailantara, the price was the very hand that had held them together through chaos—the Queen.
Two years later, she was found dead—her throat swollen and clogged with thickened blood. The poison that took her life was unknown to the region.
The kingdom sank deep into grief. The younger prince, Chogyal Hi'um, was shaken to his core. He had not yet recovered from his father's death—now his mother, too, was gone.
Unable to find the real culprit behind his mother's death, he was blinded by grief and anger. He sought to wage war against Chengdu, the very heart of the Shu dynasty.
On the other hand, Prince Desma understood the consequences of war and chose to rebuild and take care of the kingdom and its citizens.
Chogyal Hi'um despised his brother's cowardice.
This stirred up memories of the war, along with the grief and anger, in the hearts of the common citizens.
The sudden death of the Queen—before the five-year period meant to determine the next king had even concluded—along with the growing strife within the royal family, left the commoners deeply divided over whom to follow… and whom to crown.
They divided into two groups: those who longed for vengeance and wished for Chogyal Hi'um to become king, and those who knew the kingdom could not withstand another war and therefore followed Chogyal Desma.
Soon, the kingdom split in two as a result of the princes' dispute.
Prince Desma took over the castle in the valley where most of the citizens lived.
On the other hand, Prince Hi'um, who wanted to open the kingdom to the outside world and avenge his dead parents, settled at the fortress located on the eastern side of the mountains, along with the outer villages.
Chogyal Desma ruled the valley — what remained of Shailantara. He chose diplomacy and restoration over vengeance, hoping to secure a future where children would grow beneath the warmth of peace rather than the shadow of fear.
Meanwhile, Chogyal Hi'um, guided by his teacher, strengthened his forces, preparing for the possibility of another invasion… and perhaps for the day he would avenge those he lost.
Yet the mountains heard no battle cry again.
Slowly—
Days turned into months.
Months into years.
And years into a decade.
Yet the two brothers never spoke again.
Perhaps each waited for the other to extend a hand first.
Perhaps they never truly tried, fearing the pent-up emotions they had long sealed within their hearts.
***
13 years later;
As the cold snowy winter nights began to fade; spring knocked at the doors of the whole valley with colors drenched in a sweat scent. The whole valley bloomed with small colorful flowers and the various insects buzzing over them; little squirrel kits climbed the treetops along with their giant mother, while massive, muscular Gaurs roamed through the woods, guarding their herds.
Life had returned to the valley.
At the center of valley 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."