Bala stood with clenched fists before the council table, his eyes burning with questions. He stared directly at Elder Hergon, one of the oldest and most respected leaders of the Migase tribe.
"I still don't understand..." Bala said quietly, his voice tinged with disbelief. "How could someone—a complete stranger—suddenly appear in the middle of battle and turn the tide like that?"
Elder Hergon met his gaze calmly. "Tell it from the beginning. Let us understand."
Bala nodded and began. "He was wounded, but fought like he didn't feel a thing. His spear pierced through the Balevad warriors' shields like brittle wood. And when he faced those wild beasts… none of us thought he'd survive. But he didn't just survive—he destroyed them."
The elders seated in a circle listened in silence. Some nodded slightly; others just stared at the floor, as if trying to reassemble the shattered fragments of long-lost hope.
"He came like an answer to our prayers," Bala continued. "That victory… it wasn't ours, Master Hergon. It was his."
At last, Elder Hergon spoke. "Then perhaps the time has come. That prophecy wasn't just an old tale."
Bala lowered his head. "I know what you're all thinking. But there's one thing that keeps troubling me." He lifted his gaze. "The prophecy of Lokahita Visaka says his blood comes from our tribe. But he… he doesn't look like one of us."
The oldest elder on the right let out a deep sigh. "We've waited for years. Every child born was raised to fight, to think clearly, to endure hardship. But none of them brought change."
Another elder, voice weak yet sorrowful, added, "We put our hopes in the next generation. In you, Bala. And your younger brother. But we lost him. And you know how many of our young men we've lost…"
Bala nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, masters. I've tried to be the best I can. But my body was never forged on the battlefield like theirs. I'm no divine savior. I'm just a soldier."
Silence filled the room. Even the flame in the stone torch seemed to shrink. But finally, Elder Hergon spoke again—his voice calm, filled with certainty.
"No one asked anyone to be a god. But actions, Bala. It is through actions that belief is born. You remain our commander. But he… he came bearing hope. And that is more than enough to call him Lokahita Visaka."
Another elder added, "The prophecy spoke of someone who would come—not necessarily born here—but arriving in our darkest hour, bringing light."
"And he isn't alone," said a female elder. "The woman by his side… she looks as though she's woven from sea and sky. The two of them… it's as if nature stitched them together."
"Their clothes, their weapons, their presence—none of it is ordinary," said another. "Perhaps they don't know it yet, but they've filled a void we've carried for too long."
As agreement swept across the room, Elder Hergon stood. "Tomorrow morning, we will make the announcement. He will be named the new leader of the Migase tribe. If he is not Lokahita Visaka, time will reveal the truth. But for now—he is our hope."
Meanwhile, night felt different for Rogg and Yara. The air was warmer than usual, unlike the cold mountain nights they were used to. Inside the stone dwelling prepared for them, a small flame flickered in a white ceramic bowl. No breeze, only silence draped over the village.
Rogg sat beside the fire, eyes fixed on its steady glow. "What fuels it?" he murmured. "There's no wood, yet the flame stays alive."
Yara slept nearby. Beside her bed lay gifts from the villagers—woven cloth, handmade crafts, jewelry of stone and bone. Rogg glanced at them, then looked at her.
He smiled softly. "I don't know where this luck came from. But seeing you here… I know it was all worth it."
The next morning, the air was fresh and cool. A sliver of sunlight touched the rooftops, soft rays filtering through the bamboo walls.
Rogg stirred awake, rubbing his eyes. He dressed simply and grabbed the small knife always tucked at his waist. Without waking Yara, he stepped outside, walking past the halls and shrines now dark from extinguished torches.
He passed through the great gate of the village, down the stone path toward the beach. Fishing boats drifted like shadows in the distance.
At the shore, he removed his shirt and slowly waded into the sea. The water was different from rivers or lakes—saltier, warmer.
He submerged to his shoulders, then gazed out at the horizon. The sun was rising, casting golden light across the ocean.
Rogg took a deep breath. "If this is my destiny… I'm ready."
He didn't yet know that this morning would mark the beginning of an even greater responsibility. But for now, he let himself be swallowed by this rare peace—before the next storm would come to shake their world once again.
At the edge where sky met sea, where morning light kissed the jagged stones of distant islands rising from the ocean, Rogg sat alone at the shoreline.
His gaze swept across the calm horizon, as if trying to quiet the storm inside his head.
He picked up a few pebbles and tossed them, one by one, into the sea. Plok… plok… plok… The sound repeated in rhythm, like a farewell to memories slowly sinking with the ripples.
In his mind, the image of Robb—his younger brother who had once been his shadow—reappeared.
His laugh, his chatter, the fearless way he swam against the river's current.
All of it, now, lived only in memory.
Rogg let out a long breath. Then he began humming softly.
"Robb… you always thought you were the strongest, the fastest, the smartest. But where are you now?
You vanished… and I was left behind in a world spinning without direction."
He stacked a few stones, forming a small cairn. Not a grand monument—just a marker.
He sat beside it, staring into the climbing sun, then closed his eyes for a moment.
Meanwhile, the Migase village hall had erupted into chaos.
"Where is he?!" Yara shouted in panic, her eyes darting around the empty chamber.
Villagers tried to calm her, but she didn't listen. She flipped over mats, flung open doors, even searched through supply storage.
"Rogg!" she cried again, her voice nearly breaking.
Elder Hergon and Bala approached, but Yara spun around and pointed an accusing finger at them.
"You're hiding him?! Or did you force him into something?!"
"No, Miss Yara," Bala replied calmly, giving a signal to his men. "We're looking for him too. He didn't tell anyone where he was going."
Yara grabbed Bala's arm. "If anything happens to him, you'll all answer to me!"
Suddenly, the entire hall fell silent.
One by one, heads turned toward the door.
Heavy footsteps echoed closer.
Rogg appeared in the doorway, his body dripping from seawater, his hair wet, his eyes sharp and clear.
The villagers immediately dropped to their knees—elders included.
Yara froze where she stood.
"What are you all doing?" Rogg asked, his voice puzzled as he halted. "Why are you bowing?"
No one answered. Bala bowed deeper.
Yara just stared at him, her eyes brimming with tears. She didn't say a word.
Rogg walked toward her. "You know something, don't you? What's going on here?"
Yara took a deep breath.
"You'll find out soon enough…" she whispered.
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