The hall of the Kiranti palace buzzed with quiet tension. King Balambha sat at the head of the long wooden table, his face grave. Around him, generals, ministers, and advisors exchanged worried looks.
A messenger had just returned from the northern watchtower, bringing news of the Chyarung clans gathering near the border.
"This cannot be ignored," said General Sangpo, a tall man with a scar across his cheek. "The clans have not moved in five years. Their sudden activity means war is near."
King Balambha nodded slowly. "We must prepare. But rushing into battle without knowing their true intentions could cost us dearly."
Minister Pemba, the kingdom's chief diplomat, added, "I will send envoys to nearby allies. If the Chyarung move against us, we will need support."
Yalamber sat quietly in the corner, watching the serious faces of the adults. His heart pounded with both fear and curiosity. The world he was beginning to understand was growing darker and more dangerous.
Later, in his private chambers, Yalamber spoke with his tutor Bhavik. "How can we stop a war when we don't even know why they attack?"
Bhavik sighed. "Sometimes, a war is about more than just land or power. Sometimes, it's about survival, pride, or making others listen."
Yalamber looked down at his hands. "I want to help. But I don't know how."
"Your time will come," Bhavik said kindly. "For now, you must learn. Watch. Listen. Prepare."
Outside, the wind whispered through the palace trees, carrying the weight of coming storms.