Samye left the temple quietly and walked toward Kayal’s home.

  The village still smelled of smoke.

  Rebuilding had begun — but grief moved slower than hands.

  When he entered the house, the atmosphere was heavy but silent.

  Kayal lay on a reinforced bed, surrounded by medical tools and herbal treatments.

  His right arm was tightly bound in wooden splints.

  His left leg immobilized.

  Bandages wrapped around his ribs.

  A village physician looked up at Samye.

  “He’s alive,” the doctor said softly.

  “But barely.”

  “He held himself upright on the battlefield far longer than he should have. With those injuries…”

  He shook his head.

  “He shouldn’t have survived.”

  Samye stepped closer.

  Kayal’s breathing was shallow.

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  Uneven.

  Fighting.

  Samye looked at his own hand slowly.

  Can I do something?

  He focused.

  Tried to feel something.

  Energy. Control. Time. Anything.

  Nothing came.

  His power was destructive. Reactive.

  Not healing.

  He lowered his hand slowly.

  And sat beside the bed.

  For the first time since awakening—

  He felt powerless again.

  “Hold on…” he whispered quietly.

  As if Kayal could hear him.

  A knock interrupted the silence.

  A personal guard of the Chief entered respectfully.

  “Sam,” he said, bowing slightly. “Your presence is requested.”

  Samye’s expression shifted.

  “The Chief?”

  “Yes.”

  Samye stood slowly.

  What does he need from me?

  But deep inside—

  He already had a suspicion.

  The Chief stood at the center of the chamber.

  Not in ceremonial armor.

  But in leadership posture.

  When Samye entered, the remaining generals and senior advisors were present.

  The Chief stepped forward.

  “I have heard what you did on the battlefield.”

  His voice was steady.

  “Though you are not one of my soldiers…”

  He paused.

  “You saved two of my most precious warriors.”

  “The General.”

  “And Kayal.”

  The room fell quiet.

  “For that,” the Chief continued,

  “I owe you gratitude.”

  Samye said nothing.

  He didn’t feel like a hero.

  He felt like someone who arrived barely in time.

  The Chief’s expression hardened slightly.

  “I am not in a position to demand anything from you.”

  “But I do have a task.”

  Samye’s eyes sharpened.

  He had expected this.

  Inside his mind, a quiet thought formed:

  It’s about the traitor.

  Or—

  It’s about what I am.

  The Chief studied him carefully.

  “What I ask next,” he said slowly,

  “Will determine whether Kamaskh survives its next storm.”

  Silence filled the court.

  Samye straightened slightly.

  “I’m listening.”