The following morning...
The gates of the Varien Tribe slowly opened.
Unlike the triumphant expeditions of the past...
No cheers echoed through the streets.
No drums announced their departure.
No children waved from the walls.
Only silence remained.
At the front of the procession rode Lord Cris Varien.
His expression was calm.
Too calm.
Those who knew him understood.
The quieter the old chief became...
The deeper the storm raging within his heart.
Beside him rode Inder.
His younger son hadn't spoken since reading Varinder's letter.
His eyes remained fixed upon the road ahead.
Behind them...
Hundreds of warriors marched in perfect formation.
No one spoke.
Every banner flew at half height.
Every soldier wore a strip of black cloth around one arm.
This was not an army marching toward victory.
It was a family returning to bury one of its own.
Near the center of the procession...
Vicky walked beside two horses.
Rajiv rode upon one.
Ananya upon the other.
Neither child spoke during the journey.
Rajiv quietly held the mysterious white egg in his lap.
His fingers never loosened around it.
Ananya occasionally glanced toward her little brother.
Each time...
Her heart hurt a little more.
Ever since waking...
Rajiv had barely spoken.
He obeyed every instruction.
He ate when told.
He slept when told.
But the bright curiosity that had once filled his eyes...
Had almost disappeared.
Whenever she saw him silently stroking the white egg...
She remembered her father's final letter.
"Take care of Rajiv."
Slowly...
Her hand clenched.
"I will..."
She whispered.
"I promise."
Days passed.
The mountains gradually changed.
The familiar forests slowly appeared.
Every step carried them closer to Vera.
No one needed directions.
Many of the older warriors had visited Vera countless times over the last twenty years.
Some had hunted alongside Varinder.
Others had traded with him.
Several had even attended Rajiv's birth celebration.
Now...
They returned to ashes.
Late in the afternoon...
One of the scouts suddenly stopped.
He raised his hand.
"The valley..."
"It's ahead."
The entire procession halted.
Silence descended once more.
Lord Cris slowly looked toward the distant valley.
For several long moments...
He simply stared.
Then...
He urged his mount forward.
Without a word...
Everyone followed.
The valley slowly came into view.
Or rather...
What remained of it.
Black smoke still lingered above the ruins.
Charred buildings collapsed beneath their own weight.
The training grounds had become little more than cracked earth.
The marketplace no longer existed.
Only burned foundations remained.
Trees surrounding the settlement had been reduced to black skeletons.
The cheerful home Varinder had spent twenty years building...
Had vanished.
Several warriors quietly lowered their heads.
Others clenched their fists.
No one spoke.
Even the wind seemed unwilling to disturb the dead.
Lord Cris dismounted.
His boots touched the blackened earth.
For several moments...
He remained motionless.
His gaze wandered across the ruins.
Almost as though searching for traces of the son who had once laughed here.
Then...
He began walking.
Everyone silently followed.
The ruined gates of Vera still stood.
Scarred by fire.
Cracked by battle.
Yet somehow...
Still standing.
Several warriors suddenly froze.
One after another...
Their faces lost all color.
Lord Cris frowned.
"What is it?"
No one answered.
Their eyes remained fixed upward.
Slowly...
The old chief raised his head.
Time seemed to stop.
Rows of severed heads lined the gate.
Dozens of them.
Mounted like trophies.
The faces of warriors.
Hunters.
Mothers.
Fathers.
People who had celebrated together only days before.
People whose dreams had ended beneath these walls.
Near the center...
Two heads stood side by side.
Varinder.
Devika.
The world fell silent.
Lord Cris did not scream.
He did not roar.
He simply stood there.
Looking at his son.
Looking at the daughter-in-law he had never truly had the chance to know.
His breathing gradually became heavier.
Then...
Very slowly...
He walked forward.
No one tried to stop him.
No one dared.
The old chief climbed the shattered gate himself.
His movements were steady.
Careful.
As though afraid he might hurt them.
When he finally reached Varinder...
His trembling hands gently lifted the severed head from the wooden spike.
For several moments...
He simply held it.
Like a father cradling his sleeping child.
A single tear landed upon Varinder's forehead.
"I came too late..."
His voice barely existed.
"I'm sorry..."
The old chief pressed his forehead gently against his son's.
Then carefully wrapped the head inside a clean white cloth.
Only afterward...
Did he remove Devika.
His movements were just as gentle.
Just as respectful.
When both had been wrapped...
He climbed down without saying a single word.
The warriors watching silently lowered their heads.
Many openly wept.
Even hardened veterans could not bear the sight.
Behind them...
Ananya's breathing became uneven.
Her eyes widened.
"No..."
Her voice trembled.
"No..."
Tears burst from her eyes.
She covered her mouth.
Trying to stop herself from screaming.
Trying...
And failing.
A broken sob echoed across the ruins.
Nearby...
Rajiv stood perfectly still.
His blue eyes remained fixed upon the gate.
Upon the place where his father's head had rested only moments before.
The white egg slowly slipped from his hands.
Thud.
It struck the ground.
He didn't notice.
He didn't blink.
He didn't breathe.
Very slowly...
The little boy raised one trembling hand.
Reaching toward the empty space above the gate.
"...Father?"
No answer.
His fingers remained suspended in the air.
"...Father?"
Only silence answered him.
The wind carried ashes through the ruined streets.
Nothing else.
Something...
Began to break inside the child.