It had long passed midnight, yet many Urtu were still awake in the forest village. At this hour, usually only the footsteps of the watchmen could be heard; now the square was filled with people. Whispers, restrained anger, and fear blended together in the heavy night air.

  A great fire burned at the center of the clearing. Flames rose high, sparks drifting toward the dark canopy above. Everyone sat cross-legged around the fire. Faces looked hard and tense in the orange glow. Weapons rested across knees; no one’s hand strayed far from them.

  Furzak finally stepped into the center of the circle.

  The body had been taken away to be buried in the morning, and now he stood before the crowd. The strain on his face was visible in every movement. For a moment, he did not know what to say—but it did not matter. Questions soon rose from among the people.

  Voices overlapped. The square filled with noise. Furzak raised his hand and said he would answer the questions one by one, that they needed to remain calm.

  The villagers listened. Their anger and fear had not disappeared, but they understood that shouting all at once would lead nowhere.

  A Urtu in his forties, responsible for maintaining the village gardens, leaned forward and demanded sharply,

  “Furzak, how did this happen? How could a wild creature reach the very edge of our homes?”

  Furzak took a short breath.

  The fire crackled between them, filling the silence that followed the question. He looked at the man who had asked it, then at the others gathered in the circle. Dozens of eyes were locked onto him—they wanted certainty, they wanted reassurance.

  “I don’t know,” he said at last.

  The words fell heavily and caused a wave of unease to spread through the crowd.

  “I don’t know how it passed the outer lines without being noticed,” he continued, his voice calm but tense. “I don’t know how long it hid before attacking.”

  The murmurs rose again—this time not angrier, but more fearful.

  Furzak clenched his jaw. He hadn’t wanted to say this. Confirming it meant accepting a possibility far more dangerous than an ordinary predator, and all this time he hadn’t wanted the people to be afraid unnecessarily.

  But hiding it now would be a mistake. He hardened his voice and spoke.

  “There is something else,” he said.

  The murmurs stopped.

  “I don’t believe this was a wild animal.”

  “I think,” Furzak said carefully, “this was a Nuxali.”

  For a moment, no one reacted.

  Then the square erupted.

  “A Nuxali?”

  “Here?”

  “That’s impossible! They live on the other side of the forest!”

  “Ridiculous! We see them at most once or twice a year—why would they come here?!”

  Shock and anxiety spread in waves. Some let out nervous laughs. Others shook their heads.

  Then the urtu in his forties shouted again. “Why do you think it was a Nuxali, chief?”

  A slight hesitation could be felt in Furzak’s voice, but he answered anyway.

  “Because the gatherers going into the forest saw Nuxali three times.”

  “What?” The man stepped forward. “You didn’t tell the people?”

  The murmur in the square rose again.

  “If the gatherers saw Nuxali,” he continued angrily, “why wasn’t anyone informed?”

  Furzak tried to answer, but the man cut him off.

  “The one who attacked my child wasn’t a wild animal either, was it?” His voice was trembling now. “It was them. And you didn’t tell me.”

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  That sentence fell into the crowd like a heavy stone.

  Furzak’s shoulders tensed. “There was no definite proof that attack was a Nuxali,” he said in a controlled tone. “The three sightings were all far from the village, and they never approached the gatherers.”

  “And you chose to take the risk,” the man snarled.

  “No,” Furzak said more sharply. “I chose not to create panic. Since then, I increased security. I assigned guards to the gatherers. I tightened the patrols. And after that day, the Nuxali did not approach.”

  “Until today, right?” the man replied with bitter mockery.

  Silence fell.

  Anger and disappointment were clearly visible on the faces around them. People looked at one another, whispering. Trust had been shaken.

  Just then, an elderly woman stood up from the other side of the circle. Two other elderly Urtu followed her.

  “Furzak was not alone,” the woman said in a clear voice. “We were there for every decision.”

  “We supported him as well,” one of the hunters added. “At the time, we believed it was the right choice for the good of the village.”

  The old woman lowered her head. “Perhaps we were wrong. Perhaps we made a mistake. But that decision was not his alone.”

  The square fell silent again.

  Now the issue was no longer only the Nuxali.

  The issue was that the chief they had trusted had hidden such an important matter from his people.

  The heavy silence in the square was broken by the sound of Elder Alya striking her cane against the ground.

  Despite her age, she stood upright. Her hair had turned completely white, but her gaze was still sharp. Everyone in the village knew her—not only because of her age, but because she had seen the years of war, the times of famine, the former chiefs. Her words carried weight.

  “Enough,” she said in a clear and powerful voice.

  “I have watched Furzak for six years,” she continued. “Since the day he became chief of this village, I have stood beside him in every decision. Not only me—many here have as well.”

  Some in the crowd nodded.

  “What have we seen in these six years?” Alya asked. “Our storehouses have never been this full. Our trade routes have never been this secure. Our children have never grown up in such peace.”

  Her voice grew even more resolute.

  “We have seen prosperity. We have seen order. We have seen the growth of this new home of ours in the forest.”

  She looked at Furzak.

  “I do not believe anyone can question his devotion to this village. Who here has lost as much sleep as he has? Who has worked as hard as he has?”

  The crowd remained silent.

  “Yes,” Alya said. “Perhaps we made a mistake. Perhaps we underestimated the Nuxali threat. But we made those decisions together. The responsibility cannot be placed on one person’s shoulders.”

  She stepped forward.

  “We will overcome this as well. But for that, we must stand united.”

  Her gaze moved across the crowd one by one.

  “To weaken Furzak now is to weaken the village. We need him now. We need his leadership.”

  She paused briefly.

  “When we are rid of this trouble,” she said in a calm but firm tone, “if the village wishes, we will hold a new election for chief. When that day comes, whoever is deemed at fault will answer for it. Whoever is responsible will face their punishment.”

  The fire crackled.

  “But that day is not today.”

  Her words hung heavily in the square.

  Some grumbled, some still could not let go of their anger and raised their voices. The meeting continued for hours amid chaos and tension, and many people spoke.

  The father of the injured child and the family of the deceased Urtu were deeply sorrowful and angry, and they directed all their fury at Furzak.

  But in the end, nearly the entire village valued Furzak and did not know what else to do. Thus, except for a small minority, everyone decided to give Furzak one more chance.

  Now everyone knew—there was an enemy before them.

  And they had to face it first.

  Furzak was their ally, their leader. He would confront his mistakes—but first, he had to lead them out of this calamity.

  After the arguments in the square about the Chief and the leadership came to an end, fear and accusations slowly gave way to something more practical—survival.

  “So what do we do now?” a hunter asked. “If they come again, we still haven’t figured out how they entered the village.”

  “We can’t wait for the next attack,” another said. “We need to reinforce the lower tree lines. We can use them to form a wall around the village.”

  Voices overlapped again, but this time not with anger—with the search for solutions.

  Traps were proposed. Rotating patrols throughout the entire night. Signal horns placed in every section of the village. Some suggested moving the children to higher platforms for the time being.

  Furzak listened to everyone’s ideas and considered them. Then he put forward a suggestion of his own.

  “There is something else,” he said, this time in a calmer but deliberate tone.

  The murmurs stopped.

  “Before the attack, I spoke with the merchant Loren.”

  “I discussed the possibility of buying weapons from Anurai,” Furzak continued. “We don’t have the infrastructure to produce a large number of quality weapons in a short time, but we can purchase them.”

  “They have even invented a new type of weapon they call a bow.”

  The name Anurai carried weight in the square. They knew them as a distant tribe, militarily strong and living by hunting.

  “And that’s not all,” Furzak said. “Loren believes he can persuade them to sell us a few trained hunting wolves, if we want.”

  This time, an unexpected wave of surprise spread through the crowd.

  “Wolves?”

  “They track better than we do,” Furzak said. “They can smell what we cannot. If the Nuxali move through our forest, they won’t pass unseen.”

  He paused for a moment.

  “I haven’t officially discussed this proposal with the village council yet,” he admitted. “I wanted to speak about it in the council first. But now… perhaps the time has come.”

  The silence that followed was different.

  The villagers liked that Furzak had presented such a solution.

  It felt like a real, strong step forward.

  Furzak stood in the firelight. He was not cleared of blame, nor was he forgiven—but he was still their chief.

  And this time, the village was no longer looking at him only with accusation.

  They were looking at him with expectation.

  And with a fragile trust beginning to take root once more.

  -----------------------------

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