A jagged lance of blue-white lightning ripped the bellies of the roiling clouds open, and the thunder that followed landed like a physical blow, vibrating deep within the ancient stone foundations of the inner keep. Then came the deluge—a freezing, torrential downpour that turned the ash-choked streets of Kark into rivers of rushing black mud in a matter of seconds.
Inside the sprawling courtyard of the inner keep, the misery was absolute.
Thousands of displaced civilians scrambled like ants amidst the ruins of what used to be their homes. Desperate, slick hands hauled at rough wooden poles, fighting the howling wind to stretch waterlogged wool and frayed linens over makeshift supports. Men and women threw the entire weight of their bodies against structural beams, trying desperately to pin down the corners of their pathetic shelters, but the driving rain tore effortlessly through the thin cloth, soaking bedding, clothes, and flesh indiscriminately. Shivering children were pressed tight against the damp, weeping stone walls of the keep, their small faces pale and terrified under the flashing sky.
But the fierce storm raging above was nothing compared to the slow, hollow ache grumbling in the bellies of the crowd.
Every scrap of food in the lower districts had been systematically looted or burned before they fled behind the inner walls. Now, desperate mothers wandered through the downpour, weeping, their hands outstretched toward anyone who looked like they might possess even a stale crust of bread. Men dug frantically through waterlogged crates and turned over charred debris, searching for anything remotely edible, their eyes wild with a quiet, rapidly growing desperation.
Standing along the elevated stone battlements and guarding the heavily reinforced storehouse doors, the Paayasian soldiers stood like unmoving iron statues in the rain. Water streamed continuously off the rims of their helmets and pooled at their muddy boots. They watched the suffering below with tight jaws and hollow, haunted eyes.
A young soldier gripped the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning stark white as he watched a shivering little girl huddle beneath a leaking cloth canopy just twenty paces away. He reached instinctively toward his hip, his fingers brushing the small, canvas ration pouch tied to his belt—but the seasoned veteran standing beside him suddenly gripped his forearm with crushing, unforgiving force.
The older soldier didn't speak a word. He merely shook his head, his face grim and completely darkened by the heavy shadow of his helmet.
The military orders handed down by General Leej were absolute. The lines of communication were severed, the Hmagol enemy was closing its trap, and the remaining grain in the inner keep belonged strictly to the vanguard. To share even a single handful of rice was a death sentence—not just for the individual soldier who gave it away, but for the entire army's defensive momentum. The soldiers could hold the walls against an empire, but against the agonizing hunger of the very people they were supposed to protect, they could do nothing but watch.
For the starving Paayasian soldiers and civilians trapped inside the inner keep, watching the man across the bridge through the endless downpour was pure torture. It was a brilliant, cruel, and highly effective way to systematically break their will to fight without shedding a single drop of blood.
While the bellies of the people groaned against the relentless roar of the storm, the suffocating ache of hunger grew louder than the clashing of swords.
Yet, sitting just outside the keep in the dead center of the raging storm, Hye remained completely untouched by the surrounding misery. He sat comfortably beneath a wide canopy crafted from the finest, water-resistant Paayasian silk, calmly sipping steaming tea and cracking open roasted peanuts. Through the shimmering curtain of driving rain, his dark, calculating eyes intently watched the drenched, shivering Paayasian soldiers standing guard on the stone battlements.
Beside Hye's table sat a massive, steaming barrel of thick rice porridge, its rich, savory scent drifting directly across the rain-slicked stones and up into the nostrils of the defenders. Arranged in neat, orderly rows on the wooden table before him were dozens of empty bowls.
He sat there with absolute, terrifying patience, letting the warm steam rise into the freezing air. His intention was devastatingly clear to every single soul watching from the walls: if they chose to throw down their weapons, walk out of that gate, and surrender, their immediate reward was a bowl of warm porridge that would keep them alive.
Inside the inner keep, the desperate whispers of hungry civilians filled every crowded corner as they watched the man in the plain robes return to the exact same spot, surrounded by bowls of warm food.
A young man watched his elderly mother's purple lips tremble as the freezing rain soaked her through, running continuously down her chin. He knew all too well that this was only the beginning of the torrential monsoon season before the summer peak; there would be many more freezing, rain-drenched days ahead. If they stayed here, she would not survive. Making his choice, he stood up, hoisted his frail mother onto his back, and marched resolutely toward the main gate.
"Captain Nib," the young man said firmly, addressing the guard officer. "I wish to step out of the inner keep."
"Young man, what are you talking about?" Nib asked, his heart nearly stopping. He looked at the boy, then darted his eyes toward the gate. "Don't be fooled by that man sitting out there. The moment you step past these doors, you will be butchered alive by the Magoli."
"I have made up my mind," the young man replied, standing his ground, his grip tightening on his mother's legs.
Nib looked at the starving elderly woman, then back at the boy. His jaw clenched in silent conflict. "I cannot open the main gates for you without the General's direct order," Nib whispered, leaning in closer. "But... you can crawl out of the dog hole."
He pointed toward a small breach at the base of the wall, just wide enough to fit a person. Nib waved his hand to his trusted guards, and the soldiers quickly and quietly pushed a heavy stone aside to clear the opening.
The young man carefully set his mother down on the muddy ground to let her crawl through, but the mother stopped him, insistently pushing her way forward to go first to protect her son. Within a few agonizing minutes of scraping through the dirt and stone, both mother and son successfully emerged onto the rain-slicked earth on the outer side of the inner keep wall.
The young man lowered his back once more. His mother climbed aboard, and holding her tight, he began the slow, terrifying trek across the bridge toward Hye, who still sat patiently beneath his silk canopy.
After what felt like a thousand agonizing steps through the downpour, the young man and his mother finally came face-to-face with the strategist. The boy's heart hammered against his ribs. He knew he had thrown his life into a massive gamble, betting everything on the legendary reputation of the Eastern General. He braced himself, fully expecting Hye to call out hidden soldiers from the surrounding abandoned houses to shackle them, drag them to a dungeon, or execute them on the spot.
Instead, Hye's very first word caused the young man to freeze, his mind going completely blank.
"Hungry?" Hye asked with a gentle, disarming smile, looking up at the young man and the weary woman on his back.
The young man carefully let his mother down from his back, looking at the strategist before nodding slowly. Without saying another word, Hye stood up and lifted the heavy wooden lid of the steaming barrel. He picked up a large wooden ladle and efficiently filled two empty bowls to the brim with thick, warm rice porridge.
"Now, kid," Hye said, a warm smile gracing his features. "You and your mother eat this first before you make your final decision. Once you are finished, tie your hands with a strip of white cloth." He gestured toward a woven wooden basket resting beside the barrel. "After that, you may either walk straight back to your home here in the city, or walk directly out of the southern gates toward Ngabo City. If you find that your house was destroyed during our siege..." He chuckled softly. "...simply pick a room inside one of those luxury hotels in the upper district. Once everything is fully settled, Chinua will help you rebuild a proper home. But remember, if you choose to stay, you will no longer be a citizen of Payapasa. You will be a Magoli."
He smiled and tapped the young man's shoulder gently. A quiet sense of pride swelled within Hye's chest. After so many grueling days of waiting in the storm, only two people had walked out of that gate—yet he felt as though his monumental task was already halfway accomplished. He stepped back beneath the dry shade of his canopy, sank into his wooden chair, and casually cracked open another roasted peanut, tossing it into his mouth.
The young man turned to his mother, his bowl empty. "Mother?"
"Ngabo is a long, treacherous way from here, and besides, we don't have any kin left alive there," the old woman murmured, her hands trembling as she held the warm bowl. "Furthermore, our home here was the lifetime savings of your late father and me. I... I do not wish to leave a lifetime of memories behind for someone else to claim."
Hye's smile softened, and he turned his face back toward the mother and son. "Madame, your memories are yours to keep, and your hard-earned belongings are not for others to take. As I said, if your home was not damaged by our initial assault, it remains completely untouched by our men," he assured her gently, before turning his gaze back toward the towering stone walls of the inner keep.
The mother and son quickly finished the remainder of their porridge, took two pieces of the white cloth from the basket, and carefully tied them around their wrists. Hoisting his mother onto his back once more, the son walked away from the silk canopy, stepping back into the rain as they navigated the alleys toward their old neighborhood.
Inside the inner keep, a desperate audience of both soldiers and civilians had watched the entire exchange. They had seen the mother and son drink the warm food and walk away completely unharmed. In an instant, a spark ignited the crowd. Families with small, weeping children began to violently fight their way forward through the ranks, pushing toward the front gates, desperate to escape the suffocating hunger of the fortress.
The rising chorus of chaotic voices and the desperate struggle from inside the keep brought a serene smile to Hye's face.
He knew all too well the strategic weight of this moment. If these people were willing to peacefully surrender to Hmagol, it meant the vanguard would not have to leave precious soldiers behind to occupy and control a rebellious city. And if any of them chose to walk toward Ngabo City, the sheer volume of refugees would put catastrophic logistical pressure on the Paayasian general guarding its gates.
Hye smiled, picked up his cup of steaming tea, and drank it peacefully. As he listened to the steady, rhythmic drumming of the rain against his silk canopy, a profound warmth settled in his chest, realizing that letting go of Nabi's ghost had truly, finally put his heart at peace.