The violet hues of the sky draped gracefully over the horizon as the calls of evening birds echoed through the twilight. A light, crisp breeze whispered through the alleys and markets, carrying the lingering breath of the fading day.

The market had grown crowded as the sun dipped below the horizon and the evening chill set in. But now, the usual hum of chatter was pierced by urgent shouts. Two young men—Grahn and Hira—shoved their way through the throng, their eyes scanning frantically.

They were looking for Para. They already knew this place spelled trouble for him. Which made it all the more urgent for them to be here—to protect their little friend. They knew that even these few minutes could turn into devastating, terrible news.

Both were scared for Para, silently cursing themselves for not staying by his side—for letting him go out alone. They called his name as they pushed through the crowd, frantically searching, eyes darting, hearts pounding.

Grahn and Hira slowed, sensing something was off. The usual chatter had died down. Villagers stood stiffly along the dirt path, averting their gaze. Some clutched their tools, gripping them like makeshift weapons. A quiet, unspoken fear settled over the air.

They both instantly realized something was wrong. Hira’s hand instinctively went for the hilt of his talwar, a subtle movement that sent visible shudders through the crowd.

Slowly, a circle began to form around them. There were the ‘soldiers’ with wooden shafts and bucket hats at the frontline, but even they didn’t dare to make a move on the two.

“What’s going on?” Hira whispered to Grahn.

“I don’t know… but let’s see.” Grahn whispered back.

Their backs pressed together as they covered for each other. Both were alert, yet not the least bit afraid. They had unwavering faith in one another. Since the start of their journey, they had sparred countless times, each knowing the strength of the other.

The crowd parted suddenly. From the gap, a middle-aged man came forward. He was adorned in a colorful ceremonial gown, and a towering wooden cane rested in his hands. His dark-skinned face was polite but not submissive.

“He’s here!”

“Chief’s finally here.”

“Phew… He can handle the situation.”

A few villagers sighed in relief as the man emerged from the crowd. He held his head high, a friendly smile playing on his lips—but the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead betrayed his nerves.

He adjusted his grip on the cane before speaking, “You people came earlier than usual, and there was not even any message this time.” The smile was still plastered on his face.

“The tribute… isn't ready yet.” The smile wavered as the words left his mouth. The people around him trembled at the words. They knew that the tribute wasn't ready, but listening to it from the chief’s mouth made them realize the reality.

But the chief was already prepared for this situation. At his command, two frail-looking men stepped out from the crowd, each carrying a large bronze plate. Piled high beneath crimson cloths were mounds of something concealed.

Behind them followed two young girls dressed in colorful, provocative clothing that left little to the imagination. Their faces were painted with heavy makeup—plump, bright red lips, glossy white cheeks, and long, flowing dark-brown hair. They looked strikingly beautiful at first glance, but their eyes were hollow, devoid of life. Faint bruises marked their arms—silent echoes of a struggle never voiced.

Behind them, a few women wept quietly, consoled by the arms of their husbands.

There was also a small cart, filled with grains and different pots, and three tusked bison tied in the front.

“This is all we could get at short notice…” The chief said, pointing toward all the stuff.

“Tribute?”

Grahn and Hira exchanged gazes, understanding that their identities were being confused with someone else’s.

But before they could clarify the misunderstanding, a screaming noise came. They all turned toward the source. It was a young boy running in desperation from someone.

It was none other than Para—crying and running. His face streaked with snot and tears, his voice hoarse from screaming. His cloak clung to him in tattered shreds, barely covering his upper body. His pants were gone—stripped away—leaving him exposed and humiliated. His skin was marred with dark bruises and fresh wounds, still bleeding.

His frantic gaze locked onto Grahn and Hira. Hope flared, desperate and raw—but just as quickly, it died, strangled by shame.

The villagers looked at him, their faces twisting into anger and frustration.

“Why does this bastard have to come here now, of all times?”

“Tch… He’s going to make the situation worse now.”

Some complained bitterly; some shook their heads and looked away in disgust, while others just sighed, resigning themselves to the upcoming misfortune.

Para stumbled, his legs barely holding him up, but before he could collapse, Hira caught him. His body was trembling as he fought to steady himself. He turned to both of them, his breath ragged, desperately trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

Hira gripped his shoulders, scanning his injuries.

“What?”

The spectacle shocked everyone present there. Everyone was dumbfounded, looking at the two scary giants helping and caring for the tiny acorn in front of them.

“Are they not…” Some said in a low voice.

“W-Were they trying to mug us?” Someone else said.

Shock rippled through the people present there, their confusion deepening; murmurs spread as the realization dawned on them.

The chief, who was watching the whole thing unfold from the sideline, let out a sigh of cold air. He knew what mistake they had almost committed.

One of the villagers with a flat nose scoffed, crossing his arms. “You guys are with that acorn? That bastard?”

Grahn and Hira stiffened, their eyes burning with anger. They wanted to take action, but they pushed it down. Para’s condition was the priority.

“Where’s the doctor? Call her. Now!” Grahn snapped.

A snicker rippled through the crowd—a sharp, cruel laughter. Some scoffed, turning away like the sight disgusted them, choosing to walk off. This wasn’t their concern.

A few had pity in their eyes, but none dared to speak. Not a single one even tried.

Just as this was going on, a group of boys arrived.

The one in front, a young man with shoulder-length blond hair and an arrogant smirk, swaggered forward.

The crowd parted around him like he was royalty. He looked at the village chief and gave a smile.

He stopped just short of Grahn and Hira, hands crossed, head tilted.

“Wow… Didn’t think I’d see the day.” He drawled. “Are you two friends with the acorn now? Hahaha… Did you guys lose a bet or something?”

“Hanging around with a loser like him. Tell you what, be my friend… or my guard. I’ll even pay you.” As he said this, the group behind him erupted in laughter, like it was the funniest thing they'd ever heard.

Hira’s jaw clenched, his hand reached for his talwar. He was about to take a step forward when a sudden gust of wind swept through the village.

A deafening whoosh tore through the air as a massive shadow darkened the village.

The Jatayi bird soared above them, its immense wings kicking up a storm of dust. People flinched, shielding their eyes as the beast passed.

Grahn and Hira used their bodies to cover Para’s open wounds.

As the bird soared overhead, a panting figure burst onto the scene. He rushed forward and bowed respectfully to the chief, but his face was pale, his breath ragged.

“T-They sent a message.” He barely formed words while gasping for air. “It’s them.”

Silence choked the village.

The chief’s expression darkened as he turned and called for his son, “Bhondu, come with me…” He ordered before striding off.

The young men with blond, shoulder-length hair nodded and followed behind him, the smirk on his face wiped off.

Grahn and Hira shared a confused look. Who were ‘they’?

The villagers’ unease had transformed into full-blown fear. Whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire.

Nobody spared Para another glance.

Para took this chance.

With all eyes away from him, he bolted, his bare feet pounding on the dirt road.

He couldn't even properly look Grahn and Hira in their eyes. Shame clawed at his chest, suffocating him. He hated himself— hated for being weak, for not being able to stand up for himself. He couldn’t forget how he clutched their arms when the bullies came back, like a helpless child.

He remembered how, on the inside, he wished that the two would stand in front of him against his bullies. Because he knew that he couldn't, he was weak, very weak.

All he could do was run away, so this is what he did. He ran. He ran as hard as he could.

As he ran, he clutched something tightly in his fist— a small wooden coin, its intricate carvings still as good as new. At its centre was the image of a great oak tree, its grand branches stretching outward.

Grahn and Hira caught only a glimpse of his small figure vanishing into the dusk. Without a word, they took off after him.