The days grew shorter, and the air carried a crispness that hinted at the coming winter. Hruaia had settled into a rhythm in the village, but the weight of the prophecy and Lianchhiari's warnings lingered in the back of his mind. He wore the talisman she had given him every day, its smooth stone a constant reminder of the path he had chosen.
One morning, as he helped Zaii repair a fishing net by the river, he noticed a change in the village. The usual sounds of laughter and chatter were replaced by hushed whispers and tense glances. Even the children seemed subdued, their games quieter than usual.
"What's going on?" Hruaia asked, glancing at Zaii.
The warrior's expression was grim. "A messenger arrived last night. The British are moving closer. They've already taken several villages to the west."
Hruaia's stomach tightened. He had known this day would come, but hearing it confirmed made it feel all too real. "What will we do?"
Zaii shrugged, his hands still working the net. "We will fight, of course. But Pu Thanga has called for a council meeting tonight. He wants to hear your thoughts."
Hruaia blinked in surprise. "My thoughts? Why?"
Zaii gave him a sidelong glance. "You are the one from the prophecy, aren't you? The elder believes you have knowledge that could help us."
Hruaia didn't know how to respond. He had studied the British colonial period extensively, but that knowledge felt distant and abstract compared to the reality of facing them here and now. Still, he nodded. "I'll be there."
That evening, the entire village gathered around the central fire pit. The flames cast flickering shadows on the faces of the villagers, their expressions a mixture of fear and determination. Pu Thanga sat at the head of the circle, his hands resting on his knees. Beside him sat Lianchhiari, her gaze steady and calm.
Hruaia took a seat near the edge of the circle, his heart pounding. He felt out of place, an outsider among people who had lived their entire lives in this time and place. But when Pu Thanga raised his hand for silence, all eyes turned to him.
"We have received word that the British are advancing," the elder began, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "They seek to claim our land and impose their rule upon us. But we are not powerless. We have the strength of our ancestors and the guidance of the spirits."
He turned to Hruaia, his gaze piercing. "Hruaia, you come from a time beyond our own. What can you tell us about these invaders?"
All eyes turned to him, and Hruaia felt a surge of panic. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. "The British are a powerful force," he began, his voice steady despite his nerves. "They have advanced weapons and tactics that we may not be prepared for. But they are not invincible. They rely on discipline and organization, and they underestimate those they consider 'lesser.' If we can use that to our advantage, we may stand a chance."
The villagers murmured among themselves, their expressions a mixture of hope and skepticism. Zaii leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. "What kind of advantage?"
Hruaia hesitated, then spoke. "We need to use the land. We know these forests and hills better than they ever will. If we can lure them into unfamiliar territory, we can ambush them and disrupt their supply lines. We also need to unite with other villages. Alone, we are vulnerable. Together, we are stronger."
Pu Thanga nodded slowly, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. "Wise words, Hruaia. But unity is not easily achieved. The tribes have long been divided by old rivalries."
"Then we must set those rivalries aside," Hruaia said, his voice firm. "The British will not care about our differences. They will see us all as the same—obstacles to be removed. If we don't stand together, we will fall one by one."
The elder was silent for a moment, then turned to the villagers. "What say you? Shall we seek alliances with our neighbors?"
The response was mixed, with some nodding in agreement and others shaking their heads. But before the discussion could continue, a sudden commotion erupted at the edge of the village. A young boy came running into the circle, his face pale and his breath ragged.
"They're here!" he cried. "The British—they're at the edge of the forest!"
The villagers erupted into chaos, their voices rising in fear and anger. Zaii leapt to his feet, his hand gripping the hilt of his spear. "How many?" he demanded.
"I don't know," the boy stammered. "But they have guns and horses."
Pu Thanga raised his hand, and the crowd fell silent. "Prepare yourselves," he said, his voice calm but commanding. "We will not let them take our home without a fight."
As the villagers scrambled to gather their weapons and fortify the village, Hruaia felt a surge of adrenaline. This was it—the moment he had been dreading and preparing for. He turned to Lianchhiari, who stood beside him, her expression unreadable.
"What do we do?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
She placed a hand on his arm, her touch steadying. "We fight," she said simply. "And we trust in the spirits."
Hruaia nodded, his resolve hardening. He didn't know what the outcome would be, but he knew one thing for certain: he would not let these people face the storm alone.