Under the sharp thud of hooves, creaking of wheels and the distant calls of the creatures - the cart trailed on towards its far destination, leaving behind the ruins of a past story.
The wheels rolled on. And so, quietly, did everything else.
Soon, the green surroundings, which had seemed never-ending, began to disappear behind the veil of night. The gaps between the branches above allowed faint moon-rays to slip through, illuminating the dark sea of trees.
Inside the carriage, only silent fatigue accompanied them. The continuous, drum-like thuds of hooves slowly wore on the tired children.
Aniket, leaning his back against the carriage, eyes shut, would occasionally wake up as his head suddenly fell to the side and ask "Have we reached yet?" Only to growl and close his eyes again after Hi'um's reply , "Just a bit farther."
Chandra, on the other hand, sat with his head leaning against the side of the carriage. His half-closed eyes carried nothing but the weight of a long day. Too tired to even wonder how much farther, he hadn't let a single word pass his lips.
Meanwhile, Ipsha slept without a care, her head resting against the King's arm. Hi'um, without moving an inch, simply gazed outside into the passing darkness.
As time passed, the darkness slowly began to fade. The moon-rays that had once been little more than glowing slivers cutting through the dark now spread across the vast land, their silver light flowing like a rising tide.
"We are almost there," Hi'um said, gently patting Ipsha's head.
The little girl stirred.
"Hmm...?"
She slowly opened her eyes, rubbing them with both hands as she looked around sleepily.
"Are we there?" she murmured.
"Almost," Hi'um replied with a faint smile.
Aniket and Chandra, awake for some time now, had already pressed themselves against the windows, their eyes fixed on the road ahead. The cold night air brushed against their faces and sent their hair flying behind them, though neither of them seemed to care.
They had been travelling through the darkness for hours, seeing little more than trees and the occasional glimpse of the moon above. But now, something else had appeared.
Far ahead, near the horizon, a warm yellow glow flickered beneath the moonlit sky.
At first, it was barely visible, like the twinkling stars in the winter sky.
"What's that?" Ipsha asked, now fully awake.
"Khalingla," Hi'um said.
The children stared.
The carriage continued along the winding road, and with every passing moment, the distant glow grew larger.
One light became several.
Several became dozens.
Soon, faint outlines of buildings began to emerge beyond the trees. More lights appeared along the slopes and roads, scattered across the darkness like fireflies.
Aniket leaned farther out of the window.
The warm glow they had been chasing for the past hour was now close enough to make out its source — lamps, hundreds of them, lining the rooftops. But as the carriage drew nearer, the light began to disappear behind something else entirely.
Before the children could make sense of it, tall walls rose out of the darkness ahead — worn down by time, vast and unhurried. The walls swallowed most of the sky, leaving only a thin strip of stars above, and the city behind those walls showed itself only in blinding glimpses through the gate.
Ahead, a line of carriages and travelers waited their turn. Their carriage slowed and joined them.
From where they waited, the children could see caravans carrying flags of distant places they did not recognise, merchants with laden carts, warriors on horseback, and travellers bent beneath bundles twice their size. Guards moved between them with practiced ease, checking papers, waving some through, and stopping others.
The children simply stared.
It was the most people any of them had ever seen gathered in one place.
They slowly followed behind the caravans before coming to a halt right beside the guards entrusted with checking the documents.
"May I ask where you have come from, and what is the purpose of your visit?"
"Esteemed sirs, my employer has been working as a bodyguard for a merchant from the east, and is now returning to his sick parents in Kamarupa — along with his three children," Tushnim replied, handing over a sheet of paper along with a metal plaque.
The guard thoroughly read the document, glanced inside the carriage, then gestured for them to pass.
The children were already at the windows before the carriage had fully crossed the gate. Along the roads stood columns of stacked clay lamps — each tier ablaze, swaying and holding and swaying again in the night breeze, their light climbing upward like fire reaching for the sky.
As the carriage moved slowly forward, the children looked around, their eyes wide and gleaming.
People moved at their leisure, stopping at one stall before drifting to the next. Merchants called out for customers with honeyed words, their hands moving through displays of every kind. Crowds gathered around men performing tricks.
"That man has snakes around his neck!" Ipsha exclaimed.
Aniket leaned out for a better look —
"BOO!"
A masked face lunged at the window.
"MONSTER! MONSTER!" Aniket fell back onto the carriage floor.
The masked man laughed. Ipsha and Chandra laughed. Hi'um, who had been trying very hard not to, laughed too.
"He's a mimic," Hi'um said, once he had composed himself. "He wears masks to entertain people."
"O — okay," Aniket managed, one hand over his heart.
"Look at that stall," Ipsha said, pressing her face against the window toward a display of wooden dolls.
"We'll come back after we've dropped our things and changed," Hi'um said, while Ipsha remained submerged in the colours bleeding in from outside.
Before the children had even noticed, the carriage turned off into a narrow street away from the city centre — the kind of street that empties quickly after dark. But these were the days of one of the most important festivals of the year, and the authorities had taken effective measures. At every corner, two armed guards stood watch, their eyes moving over anyone who passed.
"Are we not going to an inn?" Aniket asked, noticing the change in their surroundings.
"We are," Hi'um replied.
The children exchanged a confused look.
"And you shouldn't be sticking your heads outside now," he added.
Through these dark alleys, echoing with distant barks, only the creaking of the wheels followed them, and behind it, the faint sounds of the festival they had left behind.
After a few turns, the carriage came to a halt. Tushnim stepped down and opened the door.
"We have arrived, my lord."
"Alright."
Hi'um helped the children down one by one.
"Finally," Aniket sighed, stretching his arms.
Ipsha rubbed her eyes. Chandra yawned, blinking at the dark street around them.
"But where are we? Is this the right place?" Aniket asked, looking around.
Before them stood a rundown, old-looking building — worn down by time, its walls darkened and its wood weathered, but still standing.
Outside it, a young man sat whistling softly to himself, tossing dried meat scraps to a small pack of dogs gathered at his feet, their tails moving in lazy arcs. At the sound of the carriage, they looked up — and then came bounding forward, sniffing at the children's feet without ceremony.
Ipsha grabbed Hi'um's hand immediately.
The young man glanced at the carriage. Then at the group standing beside it. He took them in for a moment — the children, the travel dust, the quiet man holding the little girl's hand — before looking away again.
"The inn is already closed," he said, without turning around. "You may look somewhere else."
He took a step toward the door.
Then he heard it — a voice, low and unhurried.
"The night is long, and so is the path ahead.
This bird seeks its nest by the moonlit flame."
The young man stopped.
A beat of silence. Then he turned, composing himself.
"So fly high, for the night is young,
And the moonlit sky is yours to claim."
Hi'um's voice came again, quieter than before:
"This little bird flew fast across the moonlit sea, vast,
Tired, it now seeks its nest —
For the night is long, and so is the path ahead."
The young man looked at him for a long moment.
"You may enter."