As part of their stealth training, the warriors were taught a nguage spoken without sound. Instead, hand signals were used: a flick of the wrist, the curl of the fingers, the tap of a hand or the tilt of a palm. It was a code reserved for moments when silence or secrecy was imperative.

  Over time, each squad developed its own dialect, subtle variations in gesture becoming part of their everyday use. To an outsider, the motions might appear no more than idle movements or odd tics, yet within the ranks they conveyed orders, warnings, unspoken intent, and at times pyful teasing.

  The Crown Prince, naturally, developed a private set of signals, understood only by his guard and attendant. He used them liberally to alert Khin Yu when interruptions were welcome, especially during conversations with an obnoxious lord or while dancing with a dy whose company he found less than desirable. At other times, he relied on Saw Win to locate particur items or discreetly request tea when he was in the company of others.

  Now, deep in the forest, Zeya turned to the silent nguage once more, using it to convey his wishes and intentions with complete privacy. Extending his index and middle fingers, Zeya tapped them against his other hand, palm down, then touched is chest.

  Look after her for me.

  Saw Win understood at once and returned the signal: I will.

  With the assurance that Bayin, or rather Sein, would be safe, Zeya let his gaze linger a final moment on her sleeping form. The rise and fall of her breath was steady and untroubled, the faint predawn light casting a soft glow across her face. A heaviness settled in his chest, but he pushed it down, turning at st to Cetan. With a firm gesture of his hand, he gave the signal to move out, and the silence of the forest closed in behind them.

  The night before, Zeya reviewed their pn with Cetan, Khin Yu and Pein.

  “The mission is straightforward: once the night scouts returned with confirmation of the enemy’s exact location and numbers, we’ll strike at dawn, when vigince is weakest during the changing of lookouts,” Zeya said, unrolling the map between them.

  Khin Yu held one edge of it and commented, “It seems the temple ruins are isoted enough to prevent easy reinforcement should a rger host be gathered elsewhere.”

  “Yes, that gives us the advantage,” Zeya continued. “Our objective is to take the leader alive. From him, we can determine whether other infiltrator cells are operating in the region, or if this force is acting alone.”

  “To see this mission through, I’ve handpicked a small detachment from among our finest. These are warriors trained to move with speed and total silence,” Cetan confirmed.

  He remained cautious and added, “Such an obvious hideout at the temple might well be a decoy, intended to draw us away while the true enemy force advance towards the capital.”

  “I had the same thought, Cetan,” Zeya admitted. “To guard against it, we’ll need a counter-deception. This is where you come in, Pein.”

  He gnced at the tall, dark-haired man, who nodded in acknowledgment.

  “You will lead the main company through the mountain range via the southwest route. Your movements must be visible and audible. Our show of strength must leave no doubt in the enemy’s mind.”

  “Understood, General,” Pein confirmed. “We’ll light fires across the ridges for maximum visibility.”

  “As many as you can,” Cetan ordered. “It must suggest the presence of hundreds of men.”

  “You have my word,” Pein replied with a firm nod. “On top of that, I’ll dispatch riders to circle through the forest, each bearing a different banner. When they emerge over the hills, it’ll appear as though fresh troops are arriving. The illusion of strength will buy us the advantage we need.”

  “Excellent,” Zeya said. “To any watching scouts, it would appear we’re moving south at full strength. This must force the enemy to reconsider the southwest approach and divert the focus from our real objective. And Pein, make certain you collect intelligence from every vilge along the route. Nothing must escape our notice.”

  Zeya and his men advanced at a brisk pace through the forest, weaving between camphor trees and ducking beneath the low branches of oaks. Early morning light pierced through the canopy, pooling in amber splotches on the leaf-strewn ground. The air was cool and fresh, a low-lying mist still clung to the undergrowth, its moisture making the men’s boots glimmer.

  As Zeya pressed forward, his mind was clear as crystal, sharpened by what seemed like the first true rest he’d known in some time. With Sein found and lying beside him the night before, a profound sense of relief had settled over him, allowing him to rex fully and drift into a deep slumber. Though she was now parted from him again, he carried that comfort with him, walking with renewed energy and a brightness that lit his eyes.

  Around him, the world mirrored his mood. Birds began their morning chorus, the Shama’s flute-like song weaving above the low, repetitive ‘coo-ee’ calls of the Kole, as though the woodnd itself were celebrating Sein being found. Every rustle of leaves and flicker of wings seemed to echo the lightness in his chest, a promise of a new day.

  He told himself that once the enemy’s attempt to seize the capital was foiled, they would return home, and he’d help Sein recover her memories and confess his true feelings for her. For years, he’d clung to the fragile hope of such a moment. What were three days now, when the wait of five years had already passed?

  Beside Zeya, Cetan strode in step, observing him in the dim light before hand signalling a message: You’ve found her. Question mark.

  Zeya formed a fist, then flexed his wrist up and down, mimicking the nod of a head. Cetan returned a small, knowing smile, lifting his palm to his chest and traced a slow circle, responding with the sign: I’m happy.

  ***

  From the beginning, Lord Cetan had followed a different path. While other young nobles honed their skills to dispy refinement or jostled for positions in an endless contest of power and status, he was more often found at the training grounds, mastering the bow and the sword, until he was invited to join Lord Thura’s company. To the lords of the court, his disregard for convention marked him as an oddity, a man ill-suited to the delicate dance of influence. His easy ughter, his habit of speaking pinly, and his indifference to the sly manoeuvres of court only strengthened that impression. Many whispered that he would never rise far, since he made little effort to ftter or fawn before the Crown Prince. And ironically, that was precisely what drew Zeya’s attention.

  Over the st five years, Cetan had become a regur fixture in the prince’s inner circle. His willingness to listen, his sound counsel, and his steady loyalty made him a rare and trusted friend in a life rife with pretence. It was this closeness that had the other ambitious lords frothing with envy. However, none dared speak against him, as a slight to Cetan risked displeasing the prince. Cetan himself ignored such court rivalries, filtering them away like background noise, and remained a true and supportive presence.

  “Your Highness, what’s been on the agenda today?” Cetan asked as he strolled over to Zeya.

  Around them, the others quietly began to clear the archery field. It was an unspoken understanding that when the Crown Prince wishes to shoot arrows, the space was all his.

  Zeya welcomed his friend with a grin and replied, “Ah, Cetan, I appreciate your asking. Another day of splendid ceremonies and endless fttery. I do rather enjoy the theatrics. But by some miracle, I’ve been granted an hour for mounted archery. Care to join me?”

  “Yes indeed. I saw you heading over and came to see if you’d like some company,” Cetan returned with a smile. “Not only am I here to witness your so-called dispy of skill and watch you enjoy a brief escape from all the pomp, I’m here to give you a proper thrashing. Do try not to look too wounded when I win.”

  “Is that so? We’ll see about that, Cetan,” Zeya challenged with a teasing edge in his voice. “Shall we see if you can really aim when the wind’s whipping about and that long hair of yours keeps flopping into your eyes. Don’t be bming the breeze when I win.”

  As Zeya strode towards the stables, the soft earth yielding beneath his boots, he caught the faint whinny of a restless horse and chatter that sounded like Khin Yu giving orders. Following a step behind, Cetan allowed himself a subdued chuckle, careful not to break the pretence of being serious.

  “Bming the breeze? Never, Your Highness,” Cetan said, feigning offence.

  He gathered his chin length hair back and tied it into a pony tail with a strip of cloth.

  “See now, my hair or the breeze will not be at fault. Still, if you happen to win, I’ll simply say you had the luck of it.”

  “Luck, you say? Luck has nothing to do with it,” Zeya retorted with a smirk.

  They stepped inside the stables, where the sweet, grassy scent of hay and oiled leather filled the air. Two horses, sleek and restless, had been readied, stamping and snorting as if sensing the men’s urgency. An attendant approached, bowing deeply, and offered the reins to the prince with both hands.

  Khin Yu intercepted the attendant, his sharp stare halting the man in mid-bow. Khin Yu took the reins for the prince and walked the horses out into the courtyard where sunlight glinted off the tiled rooftop, promising a fine day. Zeya reached for the leather armguards offered to him and strapped them on as he stepped back outside.

  “We’ll see who’s still talking after I’ve left all the arrows closer to the bullseye than you,” Zeya continued the banter, flushed with a mix of excitement and impatience. “Try not to cry when I beat you this time.”

  He swung into the saddle as Cetan responded, “Cry? Only from ughing because I’ve won. I can hit bullseye even with my eyes closed.”

  Anticipating what Zeya might say, Khin Yu spoke up, “I beg Your Highness, no blindfolds while shooting arrows.”

  He stepped forward to pass the reins and gnced at the prince who was brimming with mischief.

  “Not without the supervision of Lord Thura at the very least,” he added.

  Zeya gave a nod of acknowledgement before exchanging a quick gnce with Cetan. Both erupted in belly ughter, as if sharing a secret joke. Khin Yu shook his head to himself and backed away as the horses left the yard.

  “I trust you’ve practised enough,” Zeya called over his shoulder as he trotted on. “It’ll make my victory all the sweeter.”

  “I’ve been shooting every single day. Someone has to keep you humble,” Cetan shot back. He shifted his weight back in the saddle and squeezed his left leg behind the girth to cue the horse to canter. “I’ve accepted that burden on behalf of everyone else.”

  ***

  As daylight grew, so did the natural symphony of the forest. Countless insects striduted so fiercely that the air itself seemed to quiver with their ceaseless calls. The ancient trees themselves seem to join in with the chorus, the din bouncing up to the canopy then cascading downward like rain. Now and then, something stirred in the undergrowth, scuttling away having been disturbed by the light-footed humans.

  When Zeya caught sight of the first evidence of an ancient temple, fallen stones etched with carvings worn by centuries of weather but still faintly visible, he signalled to the men to be on full alert. They moved carefully around the remnants of a low wall, nearly swallowed by climbing pnts, though in one corner it still stood, defiantly asserting its presence amid the undergrowth.

  A sudden sense of unease gripped Zeya. He tried to dismiss the unpleasant churning in his stomach, bming it on hunger. They had left long before the campfire was lit, well before breakfast was prepared. Saw Win had packed dried fruits and meat floss for the journey, but none of the men had paused to eat. Their minds were entirely on the mission, driven forward by adrenaline alone.

  The forest gave way to patches of scrubnd. The grand oaks and camphor trees were repced by clumps of elegant bamboo, as more morning light sifted through. Still, a weight of oppressive gloom hung over Zeya. Something had changed. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig seemed amplified, setting his senses on edge. Was his instinct warning him of unseen danger? Had the enemy somehow caught wind of their presence? No, this feeling was deeply rooted. It was the fear of losing Sein again. Should he have left her behind? Had something happened? He fought to push the thoughts away, refusing to let them take hold.

  Turning to Cetan, Zeya gestured to him, Danger. Question mark.

  He wanted a second opinion on his apprehension.

  Already vigint, Cetan’s gaze swept the surroundings. His expression remained composed, though his sharp eyes darted left and right, his head tilting ever so slightly as he strained for the faintest sound. After a long moment, he formed a circle with his hand, pointing the fingers and thumb together. Nothing.

  Feeling reassured by Cetan, Zeya walked side by side with his friend, trying to ignore the sense of foreboding. After a short while, the scent of wood smoke reached them. Cetan raised a hand, bringing the company to a halt. There was a campfire nearby. According to the night scouts’ report, this host numbered roughly thirty men. Allowing smoke to drift so freely reeked of overconfidence to Zeya.

  Orders were issued with silent gestures, and the men moved without hesitation. A small band slipped away to track down the lookouts and quietly remove them. The rest crept towards the temple, keeping low to the ground. The aim was to observe the enemy, confirm the numbers, weapons and locate their target.

  What struck Zeya was the ck of discipline among the camp. Men in casual clothes lounged idly, careless and unguarded, some little more than farm boys with bdes in their hands. The sight pulled his thoughts briefly to Kyaw and Soe, and then, inevitably, to Sein. He forced the image away; focus was paramount now.

  By the roaring fire, five figures stood out. Unlike the others, they wore short bck robes and trousers. Their heads were wrapped in gold cloths, tight-fitting like caps, the ends knotted to one side. They spoke and gestured with authority, issuing commands between mouthfuls of food and chatter, exuding entitlement and dominance.

  Zeya motioned to Cetan.

  The target.

  Cetan responded with a nod of agreement.

  The rest of the men, Zeya suspected, were nothing but hired thugs, gathered to infte their numbers and spread disorder through the nearby vilges. He did not wish to order sughter. It was better to take the five alive and let the rest flee, rather than force them to fight to the death.

  With a silent command from Zeya, Cetan, along with ten men, moved swiftly into position. They knew the ground well, retracing their steps to the stretch of bamboo rising along a slope. At a signal, they struck the stalks with sheathed swords in perfect rhythm, the hollow ctter echoing through the forest like the march of many feet. Others rustled the tall grass and let out low calls, passing signals back and forth as if whole companies were closing in from every side, except the southern approach.

  The effect was immediate. Shouts of panic rose from the camp as men stumbled about, scattering in confusion. Some clutched their weapons with uncertainty, while others fled into the shadows of the ruins. The five who had sat by the fire leapt to their feet, barking hurried orders. A handful of their followers held their ground, sword drawn, ready to defend the camp. But as the growing chorus of phantom forces pressed closer, the leaders made their choice. They abandoned their men and dashed for the southern path, the escape route deliberately left open.

  There, Zeya, Khin Yu, and two warriors slid over the stones like shadows, watching and waiting in silence. As Zeya had expected, the five ran straight into their snare. At his signal, they revealed themselves. Steel sighed as it left its sheath, and in the pale morning light, the bdes gleamed. The five skidded to a halt, eyes widening as they realised too te that the trap had closed around them. With snarls of rage, they drew their swords, defiance burning away fear. One roared a curse and charged, the others close behind, encouraged by the sight of five against four.

  The first man sprang forward towards Zeya, his bde cutting down in a wild arc. The prince met him head on, his own sword rising to deflect the strike with ease. The force shuddered through his arm, but his stance held firm. With a twist of the wrist he slid the enemy’s bde aside and drove a kick into the man’s stomach, sending him crumpling into a ball.

  Another attacker rushed in from Zeya’s right, hoping to take him while he was engaged with the first. Zeya pivoted smoothly, his bde fshing out to parry the incoming cut. He stepped inside the man’s guard, elbow striking hard against the jaw, before turning his sword in a tight arc that forced the man off bance.

  The first came at him once more. Their bdes met again and again, Zeya’s calm precision against the other’s brute strength. His strikes were measured and economical, his movements conserving energy while testing his opponent’s rhythm. With a deft feint, he drew the man’s guard wide, then smmed his pommel into the exposed ribs. The enemy gasped, faltering, and Zeya knocked the sword clean from his hand. It was too easy; Zeya concluded they were not trained warriors.

  But the second wasn’t finished yet. He darted back in, bearing his teeth and thrusting low. Zeya dropped to one knee as he swept the strike aside in a clean parry, then rose in a surge of controlled power that sent his opponent reeling. The man staggered backwards, one hand wiping the blood from his nose from the earlier blow, his breath ragged with frustration. Zeya once again raised his bde, steady and unhurried, as he waited for the next attack.

  Around him, Khin Yu and the others were locked in single combat when suddenly arrows appeared out of nowhere. Several struck the earth near Zeya, thudding into the ground with sharp, splintering force.

  “Watch out!” Zeya bellowed, his voice cutting through the din of steel.

  At once his men broke from their duels and sought cover as more shafts whipped overhead. In that heartbeat of interruption, the first man Zeya had engaged scrambled for his fallen sword. Snatching the bde from the ground, he rose with renewed purpose, a cackle escaping his lips. With a sinister smirk, he targeted Zeya once more, his comrade following suit.

  Zeya’s brow furrowed. Were they fools, eager to die for pride, or was something more at py? The arrows had been utterly unexpected. The archers remained unseen, and even the night scouts had given no warning. If this signalled a new foe, then he must act swiftly to end this encounter and turn his focus to the hidden threat.

  “You cannot win,” Zeya warned, giving them a final chance. “Surrender now and I will let you live.”

  The men before him read his intent and tightened their grips, bdes raised in trembling hands. Zeya shifted his stance, sword steady, every sense sharpened.

  If they truly wished to die, then so be it.

  “Run!” Someone shouted in the distance.

  That command was meant for his two opponents, and they bolted at once. Zeya started after them, but instinct told him there was imminent danger. He raised his sword just in time. Silent, swift, and sinister, arrows flew out of nowhere. Zeya’s bde whirled, dancing in his hand as he struck them aside. One after another, he cut them from the air, the shafts splintering across the ground.

  “Take cover!” Khin Yu cried out.

  Zeya darted to the shelter of a crumbling wall, pressing his back against the cool, moss-covered stone. Peering around the jagged edge, he glimpsed Khin Yu, who pointed in the direction of the attack. Without hesitation, Zeya headed towards the heart of the temple ruins, taking advantage of a brief pause in the arrows. A bird startled by his approach flew away, its harsh cry echoing across the broken walls before fading into silence. The soft thud of boots reached him as Cetan and his men emerged from the undergrowth, providing solid backup.

  Before Zeya could issue a command, another wave of arrows glided silently, weaving and twisting through the air. To those watching, they appeared unnatural, with an intelligence of their own, striking unpredictably from every angle. Zeya sensed their intent and let instinct take over. His bde fshed, steel cshing against wood as he shattered the arrows in a rapid, controlled flurry.

  One cttered against Khin Yu’s shoulder, the impact jarring him, though it did not pierce. The men scattered immediately, taking cover behind bushes and jutting rocks, hearts pounding, both awed and unnerved by the skill and stealth of the unseen archers.

  As Zeya crouched low behind a thorny shrub, his stomach lurched. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he gnced at a fallen shaft that had bounced off Khin Yu. It looked no different from a slender piece of bckened bamboo, with no arrowhead, no fletching, and no sign that it was a weapon. Curious, he reached for it. The shaft flickered to life. Zeya blinked, recoiling in disbelief, but it was too te. The arrow struck his forearm, piercing him despite having no sharp point.

  An icy sting cut into him, followed by a creeping numbness racing up his arm. It forced him to drop his bde. As the chill spread like a virus to his chest, each breath became boured. He grappled for his sword with his left hand, trying to draw a deep breath.

  Footsteps approached. He knew at once it wasn’t one of his men. He stood to defend himself, then froze. It was Bayin.

  The shock and surprise caused Zeya to momentarily lose his bearings, and all he could mutter was, “What? You?”

  His legs buckled, and he sank back to the ground. The cold spread through him, numbing his body and mind alike. Was this how it would end?

  But why had he conjured Bayin instead of Sein in his final moments? Was she real, or merely some cruel illusion? His thoughts faded like autumn leaves, slowly consumed by a menacing presence seeping into every corner of his being.