Volume One

I came empty-handed, yet from the darkness I received the light of giving.
Even in the pain of not receiving, the silence of the night brings me peace.
Every morning begins with a new hope.
You, in silence, mend my broken life.
Even in my mistakes, some hidden good unfolds.
Though I lack much, You fill me with boundless mercy.
Even in darkness, I discover a new light of hope.
O Al-Rauf, like a river You give without end.
Today my heart overflows with quiet gratitude.

— Karam Shah
Leader of Roham’s band in Wolengrad

Chapter One: Shadows of Midnight

For millions of years, countless wars have scarred this world. Yet in the slow turning of time, all things return again to a state of calm. The present Astralind continent is proof of that truth. At its heart lies the city of Joremir. In this age, no sorcerers remain, and the chaos of war has long vanished. People live here in peace, untouched by magic. Those old memories survive only on the brittle pages of history.

But tonight, at the forested edge of Joremir, something is about to stir—something that may shatter this fragile peace.

The sky stretched above like a forgotten book of God, the stars scattered across it like torn letters of an ancient story. Moonlight fell in silver streams through the gaps in the leaves, painting the ground with shifting patterns of light and shadow. The forest itself felt like a long breath held, silent, waiting, yet heavy with menace. Every tree stood as a witness to untold secrets, their trunks shedding the dust of centuries.

Amid this hushed mystery sat a young soldier in uniform. His name was Mun. Nineteen years old, with sharp jawline, deep black eyes, and a tall, well-built frame that made his military dress seem all the more striking. But tonight, restlessness haunted his gaze. Beside him sat Corporal Rajib of the Bajuka Army. Rajib was only a year older, twenty, taller, broader-shouldered, and in his eyes flickered an intelligence that felt far too seasoned for his age.

The boy wondered—why was he here? In this dead of night, in this forest, among the calls of unseen creatures. Somewhere far off, an owl hooted, its cry echoing through the trees. Mun’s heartbeat quickened. He did not know why he had been brought, but every nerve told him that tonight something would happen.

The cruelest kind of captivity is not knowing why you are bound. To ask for reasons? In the army, there are only orders. To feel unease? Yet be unable to voice it. Mun stood in that silence of unspoken fear. His heart begged to question Rajib, but discipline held those words back like chains on his throat. The corporal had dragged him here without explanation. For what? For whom?

In the stillness, it seemed the entire world had halted. Mun could hear nothing but his own breath—and the calm, controlled exhale of Rajib beside him. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, the green tang of trees, and something else—an unfamiliar, unsettling odor that whispered danger.

Through the moonlight, a six-storied house loomed in the distance. It stood like a haunted fortress in the heart of the jungle. Every window lay drowned in darkness, yet now and then it felt as if shadows shifted behind them. Vines curled thickly along its walls, as though nature itself conspired to hide it from the world. Rajib’s eyes stayed fixed on the house—unyielding, intent. There was no fear in them, only the iron focus of a man long prepared for this moment.

Mun’s thoughts spiraled. How was this possible? Rajib was his peer, only a year older, yet already a corporal. Promotion so swift? Yes, Rajib had always been the most skilled, the sharpest mind at the training camp. But could skill alone bring such rank? Or was there another secret hidden within him?

Mun let out a sigh—louder than he intended, breaking the silence like a crack in glass. And as if the forest itself sought to cut off his thoughts, a branch snapped loose in the wind and fell against his head.

“Ah!” he cried softly, clutching his forehead, his handsome face tightening with pain.

At the sound, Corporal Rajib slowly turned his head. For a heartbeat, his eyes betrayed a flicker of concern. In the moonlight, they looked like two dark lakes—deep, still, and unfathomable....

Mun glanced at Rajib and gave a crooked smile—an uneasy grin where pain and embarrassment mingled. It was the kind of bitter, self-mocking smile that came only when something trivial interrupts a serious moment. Whether Rajib noticed the smile in the darkness was impossible to tell.

After a while, Rajib turned his gaze back to the house. But something in his posture had changed. His shoulders seemed a little looser, as if Mun’s small accident had quietly released some of the tension within him. The fragrance of night flowers floated on the air, and somewhere far away, the soft murmur of a river drifted through the silence. The whole scene created an unreal atmosphere, where dream and reality blurred into one.

And so, in this mysterious night, the two young soldiers waited—for something one of them did not yet fully understand, but both knew was coming.

The house loomed behind high walls, as though built like a fortress from some forgotten age. Iron spikes lined the top of the walls, glinting in the moonlight like a thousand tiny blades, silently warning any intruder. Around them spread only dense jungle, as if nature itself conspired to hide the house from the eyes of the world. Behind the thick canopy lay secrets untold, mysteries older than a thousand years.

Strange… what was happening? It was as if a veil of dust settled upon a war-torn city, weighing down on Mun’s very existence. His eyelids grew heavy, as if some unseen power had cast a spell of sleep over him. Sleep—unexpected, unwanted. For a soldier, to grow drowsy at such a moment was unthinkable. And yet his body betrayed him. Why? Then he remembered—last night he had only slept two hours, wasting the night away in laughter and chatter with his friends. Now, at the worst possible time, he was paying the price.

His head felt like lead. His handsome face showed clear signs of exhaustion—dark circles beneath his eyes, dry lips. And yet, even in weariness, his youthful beauty did not fade. In fact, the fatigue lent his features a strange, mysterious depth. Finally, unable to hold back, Mun asked, his voice trembling slightly, carrying both curiosity and fatigue in equal measure:

“Corporal Rajib, here we are, sitting among snakes and scorpions in the middle of the night. Are we waiting to meet some animal, perhaps?”

His words carried a hint of humor, but beneath it lay unease and irritation. His eyes searched Rajib’s face, probing, as though trying to uncover the secrets buried deep inside him.

At that moment, Corporal Rajib raised his long, well-built arm and swatted a mosquito with swift precision. The motion was sharp, clean—like an archer loosing a perfect arrow. The insect died instantly. For a brief second, a faint satisfaction flickered across Rajib’s eyes, as though even this small victory pleased him. Then, in his deep, steady voice—each word deliberate, balanced, and calm—he spoke:

“That house belongs to a powerful man. The leaders of the Roham band are coming here tonight to steal. We must catch them.”

His words hung in the air like prophecy. There was no doubt in his tone—only conviction and iron resolve.

Mun froze in shock. His eyes widened as if he had just heard the impossible. For this? For a mere gang of thieves he had been dragged from his bed, forced to sit in a jungle in the middle of the night, sleepless and restless? The thought burned him. Anger surged inside, twisting his handsome face with rage. He felt like a volcano waking after centuries of slumber, ready to erupt with fire. His jaw tightened, his fists clenched until they trembled.

But suddenly—he stopped. One word from Rajib’s lips had struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Roham.

Roham Ankuno.

The name thundered in his mind. One of the most feared bands in the continent—men whose very name froze blood in the veins of common folk. And Rajib? Before joining the army, he had once been a leader among them. The thought sent shockwaves through Mun’s mind. They were coming here—to steal?

It was as though raw electricity surged through his body, racing through his veins with violent force. His heartbeat pounded faster, blood roaring in his arteries. In that instant, a fierce thought echoed inside him like thunder:

Nothing will stop my promotion now.

Mun swore he would capture Roham’s leaders—and beat them senseless. Beat them until they would never again dare to steal under the cover of night. Not just steal—even stepping outside their own homes would fill them with fear.

A fiery determination blazed in his eyes, burning like twin coals. The drowsiness of moments before had vanished completely, replaced by raw energy and restless excitement. His body trembled, not with weakness now, but with the drumbeat of war pounding inside him. His muscles were taut, ready for battle.

Beside Rajib, he too fixed his gaze upon the house, his eyes sharp and fierce as a hawk’s.

In the silence of night, two warriors waited. One—calm, seasoned, and mysterious. The other—young, fiery, desperate to prove himself. Between them, an unspoken bond had formed, a silent vow binding them to the same goal.

For Roham, tonight would bring sorrow.