The city of Tlangthar stirred before dawn, a rare and unsettling sight. Streets that normally waited for the first light were now alive with quiet murmurs and hurried movements. The tremors of the previous night had left a palpable tension in the air, a foreboding that clung to the walls and shadows.


    In the Zakop household, the morning carried a similar weight. The smell of Smoked Mana-Tufted Serow stew with rice and spices wafted through the air, a comfort amidst uncertainty. Larin sat across from his parents, Zakop and Moimui, their modest table laden with food but heavy with unspoken thoughts.


    Zakop, ever composed, broke the silence. "The city feels restless," he said, his deep voice tinged with weariness. "Even before the sun, the streets were alive. Fear moves faster than dawn."


    Moimui nodded, her hands clasped tightly around her bowl. "It’s not just the quakes. People sense something deeper, something worse."


    Larin looked between them, his own unease bubbling to the surface. "Is it the quakes? Or something else?"


    Zakop sighed, leaning back slightly. "Both. There is news—not for public ears yet—but you should know." He paused, his gaze steady but shadowed. "An envoy from the Kirat Empire is coming to Tlangthar. A delegate, sent during these troubling times."


    Moimui''s spoon clattered against her bowl. "An envoy? Now? What could they want?"


    Zakop’s jaw tightened. "The Kirat Empire has been attacked. Unknown assailants have struck key military outposts with a force beyond anything we’ve seen. They’re calling them attacks from the sky—beams of light that vaporize everything they touch. Entire bases wiped out, strategic magical sites gone."


    Larin’s heart raced. "And the quakes?"


    Zakop nodded grimly. "Connected, most likely. These strikes cause massive tremors—the earth groans under their weight. For now, they’ve hit military targets, but Tlangthar…" He trailed off, his meaning clear.


    "We could be next," Moimui finished, her voice barely above a whisper.


    "Precisely," Zakop said. "The envoy’s arrival means the Empire is seeking something—allies, perhaps, or answers. But their presence brings its own risks."


    The table fell silent, the weight of Zakop’s words settling over them like a shroud.


    After a moment, Moimui reached across the table, her hand resting on Zakop’s. "We’ll face this together, as we always have."


    Zakop’s expression softened, his usual stoicism giving way to a rare vulnerability. "I hope so. But we must be cautious. This city…our people…we are not ready for what might come."


    Larin watched his parents, their quiet strength inspiring a flicker of resolve within him. "We’ll do what we must. Whatever comes, we’ll face it."


    Zakop nodded, his eyes meeting his son’s with a hint of pride. "Good. That’s what I need to hear."


    The family shared a quiet moment, the gravity of their conversation balanced by the warmth of their bond. After finishing his meal, Zakop rose, his usual composure returning. "I’m meeting the council. There’s much to discuss."


    Moimui and Larin watched him go, his steps measured but heavy with responsibility.


    <hr>


    After clearing the table, Larin and Moimui began washing the dishes. The rhythmic clinking of bowls and the gentle swish of water filled the silence, a small reprieve from the tension of the morning.


    Moimui glanced at her son, her brow furrowing slightly. "Larin, do you ever wonder about…Sinlung? And Khiuniu?"This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Larin paused, his hands stilling in the soapy water. "Of course. They’ve always been part of our stories. But…what about them?"


    Moimui’s gaze grew distant, her voice thoughtful. "Sinlung is more than just the planet we live on. It’s alive, a being in its own right. And Khiuniu…the one who made everything…" She hesitated, her words heavy with meaning. "Some say they’re the same. That Sinlung and Khiuniu are one entity. A creator and a creation, inseparable."


    Larin tilted his head, curiosity sparking. "Is that what you believe?"


    Her lips pressed into a thin line, frustration flickering across her features. "I don’t know. I used to, but so much of our knowledge has been taken from us. The old communing spells, the rituals…wiped away by the Kirats."


    Her fists clenched, her voice rising. "Our culture, our identity…they’ve been chipped away bit by bit. And while the Dysno wasn’t always the official religion of the Xiaxo, they work hand in hand to push it in our mind. Their presence protected us from outright destruction, but it’s a double-edged sword, it’s debatable. We may have been wearing a skin that was constructed for us."


    Larin reached out, his hand resting gently on hers. "We haven’t lost everything. There are still stories, traditions. People like you who remember."


    Moimui’s expression softened, a small smile breaking through her anger. "You’re right. And as long as we hold onto those, they can’t erase us entirely."


    They finished their task in companionable silence, the weight of their conversation lingering but tempered by a shared determination.


    Meanwhile, Zakop convened with his advisors in the council chamber. The room was simple but sturdy, its walls lined with maps and shelves of scrolls. Chinzah, his trusted warrior, and Pupi, the enigmatic elder, flanked him, their expressions as grave as his own.


    "The envoy arrives tomorrow," Zakop began, his tone brisk. "We need to prepare."


    Chinzah crossed his arms, his brow furrowing. "Do we trust them?"


    "Trust isn’t the issue," Zakop replied. "They’re here for a reason, and we need to find out what it is without compromising ourselves."


    Pupi nodded, his fingers tracing the runes etched into his staff. "The attacks on the Empire…they’re unlike anything we’ve seen. If those same forces turn their attention here, we must be ready."


    Zakop’s gaze hardened. "That’s why we need answers. And why we can’t afford to show weakness."


    The three men exchanged a solemn look, the weight of their responsibility heavy on their shoulders.


    <hr>


    Back at home, Larin prepared to leave for the day. His mother stopped him at the door, her hand resting on his shoulder.


    "Be careful," she said, her voice tinged with worry. "These are dangerous times."


    Larin nodded, his resolve firm. "I will."


    As he stepped into the bustling streets of Tlangthar, the city’s unease was palpable. Vendors opened their stalls early, their voices quieter than usual. Guards patrolled in pairs, their eyes scanning the crowd with heightened vigilance. Whispers of the quakes and the mysterious attacks buzzed through the air, a constant undercurrent of fear.


    Larin made his way to the academy, his thoughts racing. The events of the past days—the Dryad, the breathing technique, his father’s revelations—swirled in his mind, each piece a part of a puzzle he couldn’t yet see.


    At the academy, his friends awaited him. Rinku, Gwendon, and Ngieri greeted him with subdued smiles, their usual banter replaced by a shared unease.


    "You heard about the envoy?" Rinku asked as they walked toward their lecture hall.


    Larin nodded. "My father mentioned it. The Empire’s been attacked. And the quakes…they’re not natural."


    Ngieri shivered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think Tlangthar’s next?"


    "I don’t know," Larin admitted. "But we need to be ready."


    Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their instructor, Sir Ewin. His expression was grave as he addressed the class.


    "Today’s lesson will be brief," he began, his voice steady but somber. "These are uncertain times, and we must focus on what matters most. Strength, knowledge, and unity. You may self-study for the rest of the season, come to me if you need help and I will still be giving lectures every other schoolday."


    He glanced at Larin, a flicker of recognition in his gaze. "Some of you may be called upon to protect this city. Prepare yourselves accordingly."


    The weight of his words settled over the room, the usual hum of chatter replaced by a tense silence. As the lesson progressed, Larin couldn’t shake the feeling that their lives were on the brink of change, the calm before a storm.


    That evening, as the city prepared for the envoy’s arrival, Larin stood at the edge of the river, staring at the water as it reflected the setting sun. The world felt different—fragile, uncertain. But beneath the fear, a quiet determination stirred within him.