Although victory had been secured, Yara couldn't fully celebrate. Her eyes scanned the battlefield—bodies strewn, open wounds, and the quiet groans of the dying churned her stomach. It was a scene she knew all too well; it brought back memories of her own Naavi hunters, destroyed in the same way. It reopened wounds she thought had healed.
Without a word, Yara sprang into action. She opened her herbal pouch and began treating the wounded. She sprinkled drying powder into gashes, wrapping them with leaves and clean cloth. Words weren't needed—she pointed at wounds, mimed healing gestures, and showed them how to apply the poultice.
Some Migase warriors hesitated at first—but after feeling the herb's soothing relief, trust blossomed. Yara moved quickly from one person to another; her hands were sure, her expression filled with compassion.
Rogg helped as best he could. He cut fabric strips for bandages, applied pressure to bleeding wounds, and offered quiet encouragement in simple gestures. Though they didn't fully understand each other's words, his presence brought a sense of security to the wounded warriors.
Migase had endured Balevad's cruelty for years—forced tributes, stolen youths, brutal ritual duels called "Kombat Balaidos." Every time they fought, they lost.
But today was different.
They had won. And all because of a stranger they barely knew.
Rogg.
A whisper began: "Lokahita Visaka…"
The bringer of justice. The one foretold in ancient prophecy as the liberator. To many, Rogg was more than a hero—he was a sign.
A leader among the Migase—a tall man in tattered robes, scarred from conflicts—stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"Welcome, sir," he said firmly. "Your arrival is a prophecy fulfilled. We prayed for you in hope and suffering. Today, we believe… you are the one prophesied."
Rogg didn't catch every word, but he recognized the honor behind the gesture. He glanced at Yara.
"They truly see you as someone special," she whispered.
Rogg merely smirked. "I don't even know where they come from—or their names."
The leader, called Bala, motioned for them to follow toward the main village of Migase—Teluk Migase. He gave concise directions to his men: ready the pulley carefully. It was their only descent from the cliffs of Kavusi, and it had been damaged during the battle.
A wooden and rattan platform was attached to thick ropes. Two operators stood guard over the pulley above. Rogg and Yara stepped on; the platform swayed and descended slowly down the cliff.
Yara gripped Rogg's arm in panic. "If this falls… we're done."
Rogg glanced over and smiled. "Relax. I'll hold the rope with my teeth if I must."
"Rogg, I'm serious!"
"I am too."
While Yara fretted, Rogg was captivated by the mechanism. "This rope is strong. That pulley wheel is smooth—they really know what they're doing," he murmured, impressed.
Below, the sea's turquoise waves crashed against the rocks. White foam hissed in the surf. They stepped onto the sandy shore, and a soldier rushed to inform the village elders. Bala directed them to follow.
They walked along a stone path lined with coconut and palm trees. Stilted wooden houses lay neatly by the water's edge, their roofs swaying gently in the sea breeze.
Noticing Rogg's pale, exhaustion-dulled face, Bala called out to his men. "Bring fresh coconuts!"
In moments, the villagers returned with cracked coconuts. They handed them to Rogg and Yara.
Rogg accepted one hesitantly. When the cool juice touched his lips, he gasped. "This… is incredibly refreshing! Sweet, not sour—and so cold."
The warriors cheered, offering more freely. Rogg accepted gratefully.
Yara finally tasted one too. After her first sip, she looked at Rogg in disbelief. "We should bring back an entire barrel of these."
After resting briefly, they continued toward the main village.
In the distance, the heart of Migase appeared—rows of light-brown wooden homes following the curve of the bay. Small boats were moored along the shore. Women dried fish, children played by the water. The place felt simple yet warm.
Yara took a deep breath. "This… is not what I expected."
As they approached the entrance gate, Rogg and Yara fell silent at the sight. The gate was crafted from hardwood and adorned with polished skulls—bear, deer, bird of prey—each intricately carved. The skulls told a story of the Migase's courage and will to defend.
Along the path, colorful banners fluttered. A fragrant scent of flowers mingled with the singing of women drifting in the air. Petals carpeted the ground; young men sprayed fragrant oils from small gourds.
"Ambergris," Yara whispered to Rogg. "From whale vomit, refined into a holy perfume. They honor it deeply here."
Rogg nodded, eyes surveying the scene. Faces beamed with hope and gentle smiles—but something made him uneasy.
"Yara," he whispered, "have you noticed? Most people watching are women and children. Where are the men?"
Yara swallowed before answering softly, "They've lost many in war with the barbarians. Their men are nearly extinct in this place. They believe your arrival brings salvation after so much defeat."
Rogg stood silent. A weight pressed on his chest. Along the path, residents greeted them in unison with fervent cries: "Lokahita Visaka!"
Rogg turned to Yara, waiting for an explanation. Yara met his eyes briefly before replying, "It means 'The Liberator.' They believe you're the man from their prophecy—the one who will bring justice and freedom. Or maybe… a god?"
"Liberator, huh?" Rogg murmured, raising an eyebrow. "Sounds… familiar. You know, when I first arrived in your village, they also welcomed me with a ceremony."
Yara frowned. "Are you seriously comparing this? You were welcomed because you were being hunted… and about to be sacrificed."
"Exactly," said Rogg. "You all welcomed me with flowers and songs… and nearly slit my throat at the altar."
Yara held back a laugh. "Relax. This time, I'm here with you."
"That's what worries me more," Rogg teased. "You have quite the track record when it comes to 'welcoming' strangers."
They both chuckled quietly, still cautious as they walked deeper into the village.
Upon arriving at the central square, the atmosphere shifted to something more solemn. The village elders stood in ceremonial garments of leather and feathers, lined before a stone altar. As soon as they saw Rogg, the villagers bowed in unison. Some even dropped to their knees, chanting the same word again and again: "Lokahita Visaka."
Not knowing what to do, Rogg hesitated and bowed slightly. But Yara tugged his arm and whispered, "Choose one of the elders. Help him up. That's how you accept their honor."
Rogg obeyed. He stepped forward and reached out to the oldest among them, helping him to his feet. Instantly, the crowd erupted in cheers. Flowers rained down again, and the air was thick with sacred scents.
The elder beamed, then took a pinch of glimmering crystal dust from a stone bowl and gently sprinkled it over Rogg's head. Another elder approached Yara and did the same, using fine white salt.
Yara bowed respectfully, though she seemed puzzled. "Salt?" she murmured.
"A symbol of life and purity," whispered a villager behind her with a heavy accent.
When the ritual ended, Commander Bala shouted, "Bring them to the feast!"
At the banquet grounds, long wooden tables were laden with freshly harvested crops, grilled fish, exotic fruits, and traditional Migase dishes. Rogg sat down and immediately tasted a slice of spiced grilled fish.
"It's… unique," Rogg said as he chewed. "Sour, but soft."
But when he turned to his side, Yara wasn't eating. Instead, she was passing her plates to the small children seated nearby. One by one, the kids took the food hesitantly, then smiled brightly.
Her gesture made the elders exchange confused glances.
"She's… giving her food away?" whispered one of them.
But Yara remained calm. She gestured for the elders to join them. "Eat," she said, pointing to the empty plates before them.
After a moment of silence, one of the elders stood and proclaimed, "Today, we eat together!"
Cheers erupted. Villagers poured in with food from their homes. Storage huts were opened. Everyone—without exception—sat side by side and shared a meal.
That day became unforgettable.
For the Migase, it wasn't just about welcoming Lokahita Visaka. It was the first time they celebrated life without fear. A day when meals were shared, and children's tears turned to laughter.
The Balevad tribe—who had long ruled through force and fear—were now gone. The people of Migase could finally breathe, and dream again.
For Rogg, that day was a lesson—that being a hero wasn't just about wielding a weapon, but about offering safety and hope.
And for Yara, that day proved that even small acts—tending the wounded, sharing a plate of food—could spark the beginning of something far greater.