The valley of Kiranti buzzed with the rhythm of training, spears clashing and boots stomping on frosty fields. Days had passed since the shrine's chilling carving Betrayer and Yalamber's order to silence the whispers still echoed in the villagers' wary glances. Scouts ran tirelessly, their horses kicking up dust along the Gorge of Fire and Black Ridge, searching for signs of the vanished Chyarung. The air smelled of pine and tension, the mountains watching like silent judges.
On August 2nd, 239 AB, three months after the battle with the Chyarung in the Gorge of Fire, King Balambha appeared in the palace. His sudden return drew gasps in the royal courtroom, but he stood silent, his face lined with age and secrets, answering no questions. The council General Sangpo, Elder Pahang, Bhavik, and Minister Pemba watched him, their eyes heavy with hope and doubt. Yalamber's heart raced as he followed his father to the balcony overlooking the dense forest, where birds chirped softly in the morning mist.
"Father," Yalamber said, his voice low, "why do you keep disappearing? The people need you. I need you." His mind flashed to the shrine's carving, the hawk-etched spear, the word Betrayer burned into his thoughts.
Balambha's eyes, gray as the peaks, met his son's. "There's a traitor in the palace, Yalamber," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Someone close. I don't know who, but they're watching, waiting."
Yalamber's breath caught, his heart pounding as he remembered the shrine's warning. "A traitor? What do you mean, Father?" His voice trembled, fear and shock mixing like a storm.
"Yes, son," Balambha said, gripping the balcony's stone edge. "I've seen signs letters misplaced, whispers in the halls. We can only wait, watch, and be ready."
Yalamber's hands shook. "Wait? That's it? Was this why you've been gone?" His mind spun, the hawk token in his cloak feeling heavier.
Balambha leaned closer, his voice dropping. "Listen carefully, son." He spoke words Yalamber couldn't grasp low, urgent, lost to the wind. When he finished, Yalamber's eyes widened, but the meaning stayed hidden, a secret locked away. "You're a great king, Father," he said, voice firm despite his confusion. "Even now, you're protecting our land and people."
Balambha coughed, a dry laugh escaping. "Great king? That's a big word, son. I gave up that title long ago."
Yalamber frowned, remembering Sangpo's words during training. "General Sangpo said you were a great king once, Father. He said the tribes we fight now Chyarung, others were your comrades until an incident fifteen years ago. What happened?"
Balambha's face darkened, his eyes distant. "Sangpo… the only general who stayed after that day. The tribes don't hate me without reason, son. I made choices, hard ones, and the mountains paid the price. I'm no great king not anymore."
Before Yalamber could press further, a scout burst onto the balcony, his face pale. "Your Majesty, Prince an emergency!" They hurried to the courtroom, where the council waited, tension thick as fog.
The scout knelt, breathless. "The Eulge Clan in the east and the Wada Clan in the west have joined hands with Dorje's Chyarung. Their banners were seen together at the Black Ridge."
The room erupted in gasps. Pemba slammed his fist on the table, his face red. "Your Majesty, why are you so calm? We're surrounded! We must act now!"
Balambha's gaze remained steady, like stone. Bhavik raised a hand, his voice calm. "Pemba, we saw this coming. They had to pick a side, and they chose to be our enemies. But now we face attacks from three sides north, east, and west. We need a plan, fast."
Yalamber's mind raced, the word Betrayer echoing. Was the traitor aiding this alliance? He glanced at the council, suspicion creeping in. That evening, at a prayer ritual, villagers lit yak butter lamps to honor the mountain spirits, their chants rising like smoke. Yalamber joined, but his eyes caught a glint under the altar a folded cloth, tucked in a crack, marked with a faint hawk outline. His heart skipped. Another clue, hidden in plain sight.
He slipped the cloth into his cloak, his voice steady as he ordered, "Double the scouts. Watch every pass. The traitor is close, and we'll find them before they strike."