In silence, Bala knew they were on the right path. The hunt was more than just survival—it was a sacred ritual to honor Vasane Devi, the Sea Goddess, whom they believed had blessed both sea and forest alike.
Days passed, and their efforts bore fruit. They returned with rich spoils—mighty deer, wild boars, and other game prized by the people of Migase. It was more than enough to sustain the village for the coming celebration. Upon their return, Bala noticed the elders of Hergon gathered in the open field, deep in discussion.
Hergon, known for his skepticism toward the Sea Goddess' rites, approached Bala with a serious gaze. "Bala, I've seen your hunt. No threats from beasts or Balevad raiders? Then perhaps you were right—the forest is blessed. Maybe it is time we honor the Sea Goddess again, just as our ancestors once did."
Bala nodded with humble reverence. "That is our hope, Elder Hergon. We must preserve our traditions. The Goddess doesn't just give from the sea—she gives from the land, the forest, the world we protect."
As the sun dipped low, painting the sky in crimson hues, Hergon looked up thoughtfully. "I've doubted for so long… but today, I begin to believe. Perhaps harmony truly lies in honoring both land and sea. Let us prepare for the celebration, as it was meant to be."
With renewed conviction, Bala rallied the people. The villagers, long awaiting this moment, gathered in joy. Laughter and anticipation echoed through Migase. It was more than a festival—it was a return to dignity, a bond rekindled.
After ten long years, the Festival of the Sea Goddess returned. Lanterns danced over the bay, casting reflections like stars. Traditional music rose with cheers, and joy spilled across the valley. For the people of Migase—once captives in the Guava Valley—this freedom to sing, to dance, and to feast was a treasure beyond measure.
But behind the pageantry, shadows crept in. Elder Hergon's warnings rang clear: this was not merely a party—it was sacred. "The Sea Goddess has blessed us. Do not defile her name with excess." Yet those words were swallowed by revelry. Drunkenness became common. Indecency, once foreign to their valley, slithered in through the cracks.
Among the crowd, Bala watched in silence. Once a symbol of strength, he had become something else—someone who began to enjoy power too much. Slowly, his leadership shifted. He didn't rule like a tyrant, not openly. But his command over Migase's warriors gave him unchecked privilege. Tribute was demanded in the name of security. Laws bent at his word.
That evening, Bala sat in his lavish house, built just for him. A cup of sea-wine in his hand. Behind him, Minora—a stunning woman from Guava Valley—curled her arms around him. Her touch was a poison he didn't want to resist.
"Bala, you know I'm the most desired woman in Guava," she whispered, fingers trailing his neck. "Every lord in Whiteheaven invited me to dance. Yet I'm here, with you."
Bala smiled faintly, dulled by wine. "I know. I'll bring you pearls, draw them from the people if I must. Anything you desire."
Minora smirked and stepped in front of him, facing him head-on.
"I lived in luxury back in Whiteheaven. Wealthy merchants queued for me. I don't care about your dull wife. I am your priority now."
Bala's eyes stared into his cup. He knew her demands mirrored his own greed. Still, her allure… her voice… her presence clouded his judgment.
"Fine," he murmured. "Whatever you want, Minora. It's yours."
Outside, laughter rang through the village. But inside, a decision had been made. One that would carry weight far heavier than Bala imagined.
That night, as twilight bathed the village in gold, Bala returned home. His wife, Praniyen, waited with their three children. She had felt something was different. Bala was not the man she once knew.
"Ayah's home!" cried their youngest, Balaraniyan, rushing into his arms. Bala kissed the child's head, but his eyes barely met Praniyen's. He passed her wordlessly.
Praniyen forced a smile, but her heart ached. She had long accepted his duty. But lately, there was more—a distance she could no longer deny. Minora was back. And with her, came the unraveling.
That night, when the children had fallen asleep, Praniyen approached him by the hearth.
"Bala, we need to talk." Her voice was soft, but firm.
Bala looked up, silent.
"I know you love our children. I know you try to be a good father. But Minora… her presence has changed everything. I can't pretend anymore."
He sighed. "It's not that simple. My duty—"
"She is not your duty!" she snapped. "I am your wife. I've stood by you, given you children, held this house together through war and pain. And now I must compete with a ghost from your past?"
Silence.
"I don't ask you to put me above all. Just… respect me as your wife. Don't let this wound grow deeper."
Bala looked away. His fists clenched. "I… I don't know what to do."
"You do," Praniyen whispered. "You just choose not to."
She rose, tears glinting in her eyes, and left him by the fire. Outside, the wind howled like a song of sorrow.
And deep down, Bala knew: the festival may have brought joy, but it also stirred ruin. A storm was coming—and he was at its center.