Yoga returned to his usual habit of fishing. He lived on the outskirts of Kulsast City, not far from the pier that bordered directly with the village of Nelvaya. A peaceful fishing village, full of stories. Nelvaya was known as the birthplace of skilled fishermen who often ventured into the sea to find the finest catch.
As the end of the year approached, the entire city would often hold an annual festival. Now, with only three months remaining, the townspeople had already begun preparing for the celebration. The streets were decorated, lights were hung, and laughter began to fill the air once more.
The festival was known as a moment of togetherness for the townspeople, gathering to feast on the abundance from their harvest and the sea. Agriculture, farming, and fishing were the lifeblood of this land. After the feast, all families would gather in the square to watch fireworks dancing in the night sky.
The festival was not just a celebration it was a form of gratitude for the blessings of land and sea, and a hope for prosperity in the coming year. A tradition that had lasted for decades.
Back then, Yoga used to celebrate the festival every year with his father. But since the painful incident in the past, he never set foot in the festival again.
News of the refugees' arrival spread like a gust of wind within a single night, dozens of villages and several towns had already heard of it.
They were no ordinary refugees. They were former German soldiers remnants of the Nazi forces numbering an estimated 521. Now, they had been placed in a settlement zone in the city of Helm, a place that resembled an endless stretch of farmland more than a proper city. Helm was known for its boundless rice fields, fertile land that grew not only crops but also rumors and a slowly blooming fear.
Several days had passed since their arrival.
Those unfamiliar faces were now becoming a common sight to the locals. Between the markets and the fields, faint laughter and brief conversations in foreign tongues could occasionally be heard. But not all hearts were ready to accept them. Sharp glances still flickered from behind windows, and watchful eyes followed them suspicion lingering in the air, as if the past could repeat itself with a single wrong step.
That morning, the air in the city of Kulsast was still wrapped in a light mist. The chirping of wild birds echoed in harmony, accompanying Galdar's steady steps as he made his way toward the city square. His destination was clear: a meeting with Yereom, the mayor.
Upon arriving at the veranda of the official residence,
Yereom was already waiting.
"Good morning, Lord Galdar," Yereom greeted,
gesturing for him to sit.
"Morning," Galdar replied briefly, then took a seat beside him.
Without much small talk, Galdar got straight to the point.
"I came to ask for your help. I need you to inform the other mayors about the arrival of the refugees."
Yereom nodded slowly, listening intently.
"I've already asked my father—the Supreme Leader—for permission to grant them shelter. He agreed, but with one condition: they must comply fully with all the laws that apply in this region."
He paused for a moment before continuing.
"And three months from now, as usual, we'll be holding the annual festival. I plan to ask the refugees to assist the citizens in preparing and carrying it out. It will be their first step toward integration."
Yereom gave a faint smile and nodded firmly.
"Very well, Lord Galdar. I will carry out your request."
After the brief conversation, Galdar departed from Kulsast and made his way to the city of Helm to meet Tin Quebe. However, upon arriving, he could not find him. He asked around both residents and other refugees but they all gave the same response: no one had seen him.
Before continuing his journey, Galdar met with Zacri one of the refugees he knew well. He entrusted him with a message for Tin Quebe.
"If you see him, tell him I wish to meet. I'll be waiting in the capital, Sink," Galdar said as he handed over a small piece of paper containing his temporary address.
Zacri accepted the paper respectfully and promised to deliver the message.
Galdar then walked away from the city of Helm, a faint sense of disappointment quietly stirring in his heart.
With slow steps toward the pier, Tin's gaze fell upon an old house, crumbling and frail with age.In front of it, a middle-aged man was knocking on the door and occasionally peeking inside, as if searching for something or someone.
Tin, watching from a distance, quickened his pace, confusion etched on his face.
In German, he called out, "What are you doing here, old man?"
The man looked at him, puzzled, and slowly shook his head.
"I don't understand what you're saying," he replied in a language unfamiliar to Tin's ears.
Tin tried to communicate with hand gestures, hoping to make himself understood. But the more he tried, the more bewildered the old man's expression became.
Finally, the man spoke in fairly fluent English, "I don't know what you're doing here, stranger."
Relieved to hear a language he understood, Tin quickly switched to English.
"What are you doing here, old man?" he asked.
The man sighed.
"I'm looking for Yoga. He told me his boat was broken and asked to borrow mine. But he took the one with a small leak. I'm worried. So I came here, hoping he hadn't gone out to sea yet."
"Yoga…" Tin murmured, his mind drifting back to the moment he first arrived in this place.
"Where does he usually go fishing?" Tin asked again.
"Probably near the reef. It was his favorite spot when he used to fish with his father."
Tin looked at the old man with curiosity. "How do you know all that?"
The man gave a faint smile.
"Because I knew his father. But now's not the time to talk about the past. Please… can you go after him?"
Without hesitation, Tin nodded. "Of course."
The two of them hurried toward the harbor, the sea breeze growing stronger as if nature itself was urging them not to waste another second.