Little Balaraniyan, a five-year-old boy, slept soundly in the darkness of night atop a coconut tree. The wind howled through the branches, rustling the leaves and carrying with it a biting cold that cut to the bone. His small, frail body could no longer resist the creeping pain—bruises blossomed deeper on his skin, and the relentless bites of countless ants stung like tiny needles of torment. Yet all that pain paled in comparison to the wound that throbbed in his heart. His father, his mother, his brother Baluru—and his people—had been cruelly taken from him. Slaughtered by the forces of Balevad under the command of Billok, in a brutal assault that ignited a blazing hatred within the boy's chest.
As dawn broke, the first rays of sunlight pierced through the leaves, brushing Balaraniyan's dew-covered face. Slowly, he opened his eyes, fear still gripping his soul. He looked down from his perch, surveying the world below. Were the Balevad soldiers still roaming? Or had they finally left behind the smoldering remains of Migase—a village now reduced to ash and corpses?
But his hopes were crushed as he spotted, from a distance, another group of Balevad troops making their way back into the village. The morning light only sharpened the horror: lifeless bodies of villagers sprawled across the ground, blood dried on the dirt, and homes blackened by fire. Billok, their merciless leader, ordered his captain to descend from the cliffs once more into Migase, his gaze cold as ice.
"I want no living soul left in Migase," Billok commanded, his voice slicing through the morning air. "Search every corner of that valley. Leave nothing unseen."
"Yes, sir! We will carry out your orders immediately," a soldier replied with a salute.
They scattered in all directions, combing through every house, every shadow, every bush. But they found no signs of life. One of the soldiers returned to report, "We've checked everything. There's no one left alive."
"Check again!" the captain snapped. "Lord Billok will not tolerate a single mistake."
The soldiers swept the village a second time, even more thoroughly. They sank the villagers' small boats, severed the pulley lines that once connected the valley of Migase to the outside world, and torched the last of the guardposts. Nothing was spared from destruction.
Once they were certain all had been annihilated, the troops returned to their camp in the Valley of Sinear, carrying spoils of war and several prisoners destined for slavery. Billok, smiling with satisfaction, took the body of Bala—Balaraniyan's father—with him, intending to parade it before the people and King of Balevad as a symbol of victory.
When the Balevad army finally left, silence fell over the ruins of Migase. Alone, Balaraniyan slowly descended from the coconut tree, his small body trembling. With his tiny hands, he began dragging the broken bodies, gathering them one by one by the shore. Though his limbs were thin and weak, he worked tirelessly, digging shallow graves with his bare hands. For each body he buried, he marked a name on a wooden plank using charcoal he found among the wreckage.
Days passed. He survived on coconuts he managed to pluck and rainwater he collected. His tears never stopped flowing as he laid his father, mother, and brother to rest, placing them side by side by the ocean. He sat by their graves, hugging his knees, his little frame quaking with sobs.
"Father… Mother… Baluru…" he whispered. "I don't know what to do… but I promise… I will survive… for you…"
Beneath his fragile form, anger and resolve had begun to stir. The horrors he had endured carved deep scars within him, yet at the same time, they kindled a flame—a spark that, one day, would rise to consume every last injustice he had witnessed. Beneath the crimson evening sky, Balaraniyan stood, gazing far into the horizon. His falling tears bore witness not only to pain and loss, but to a vow of reckoning.
Little Balaraniyan could only gaze out at the endless stretch of ocean, hoping for a miracle to appear. He knew the only way out of Migase was through that vast sea. Deep in his small heart, he hoped his uncles—Nakhsa or Rogg—would return to Migase. Yet, Balaraniyan never blamed Rogg for taking most of Migase's warriors eastward to the continent of Megido. He understood that the decision had been made collectively, especially by Uncle Pragyan and Noster, who felt a deep responsibility for losing Yara.
Still, one of the reasons Migase had become so vulnerable was Nakhsa's departure for Whiteheaven, a consequence of the bitter conflict between Bala and his younger brother over Minora. Nakhsa had warned Bala that Minora was no longer the girl he once knew and loved. Besides, Bala had a wife and child—he was supposed to set an example for the people of Migase. But Bala had ignored those warnings. To him, whatever had changed in Minora was simply the scar left by her captivity in her youth. She had been a slave in Blacksand, and Bala believed that love could heal even the deepest wounds.
But Nakhsa saw a different side to Minora's story. He knew more about her past in Whiteheaven and the drastic transformation she had undergone. When Bala remained stubborn and dismissed his brother's counsel, the rift between them escalated. Eventually, Nakhsa chose to leave Migase, taking with him a number of followers sent by Lord Balin to return to Whiteheaven. His departure not only fractured their family, but also left Migase significantly weakened.
Amid all this, little Balaraniyan knew nothing of the feuds and disputes plaguing his family or his people. To him, those issues were distant, little more than shadows beyond comprehension. The only thing that filled his heart was a burning hatred toward the Balevad forces—especially Billok, the merciless commander who had destroyed everything.
Each morning, Balaraniyan stood at the shoreline, staring at the horizon with quiet hope. The sea breeze whispered memories and longing, while his small heart kept wondering if a miracle would ever come. In the silence, he clung tightly to the last flicker of hope: that someone—be it Nakhsa, Rogg, or even a force beyond mortal understanding—would one day come and change the fate of ruined Migase.
Weeks passed in darkness. The village of Migase remained soaked in the stench of blood and rotting corpses. The sea breeze, once refreshing, now carried only the scent of death. Amid such decay, tiny Balaraniyan kept moving, tirelessly. He buried the dead, one by one, carving their names into wooden planks using charcoal he scavenged from the ruins. The perseverance and courage of this five-year-old child became a testament to both unspeakable despair and unimaginable strength.
Far off on the horizon, a ship approached the shores of Migase. Hans stood on deck, his eyes scanning the silent, eerie village in the distance. Dread twisted in his gut.
"Look, Lora," he said to the young girl standing beside him. "Our village... but why is it so quiet? Some rooftops are just... gone. What happened here?"
Lora, still struggling with the Migasean tongue, tried to respond. "What… happened? So… quiet." Her face was stricken with fear.
Hans took a deep breath. "I don't know. But something terrible has clearly happened."
As the ship docked, Hans and Lora descended quickly. Hans led their small group toward the village with urgency in his stride. The Migasean soldiers who accompanied them also looked uneasy, their pace quickening as the stench of death grew stronger.
When they arrived, what lay before them froze their steps. The village was in ruins, homes reduced to rubble, and at the center of it all—a mass grave, reeking of decay. Hans stood motionless, his eyes wide with horror at what had become of his homeland.
"God…" he whispered.
From behind the rubble, Balaraniyan emerged. His face was pale, his tiny body smeared with dirt and dried blood. He walked with a limp, his eyes reflecting unspeakable sorrow. In his hands, he held a wooden board, the names of the villagers he had buried carved across its surface. With trembling arms, he held it out toward Hans.
"These are… all their names," his small voice quivered. "I don't want them to be forgotten."
Hans rushed forward and wrapped the child in a firm embrace. "Balaraniyan… the son of my dearest friend," he murmured with a heavy voice. "You've endured more than any child ever should. Forgive me… for being too late."
Balaraniyan said nothing. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks. And in Hans's arms, he finally surrendered to sleep—his exhausted body giving in to a moment of peace.
Hans gently laid Balaraniyan down on a piece of cloth. He brushed the child's head softly before rising and turning to his soldiers."Search every corner of the village. Find out exactly what happened here. Track down whoever is responsible for this massacre. If anyone has survived, bring them here."
The soldiers moved swiftly, combing through the ruins of the devastated village. Lora remained beside Balaraniyan, making sure the boy stayed warm and safe. Not long after, one of the soldiers returned with a report."Lord Hans," he said with a respectful bow. "We've found signs that the Balevad forces were behind this. They left traces around the houses, and several of their symbols are carved into the rubble."
Hans clenched his fists, his face tight with fury."Balevad," he muttered, his voice laced with hatred. "They struck while we were away. Their crimes will not go unpunished."
He turned to the remaining Migase troops, his voice firm with resolve."We can't stay here any longer. Take everything that can still be salvaged—including Balaraniyan's records. They'll serve as a dark monument to what has happened. Migase is no longer our home. This place is now a grave for those who fought and gave everything."
Lora looked at Hans with worry in her eyes."What… what do we do now?" she asked softly.
Hans gave a quiet nod, trying to reassure her."We go to Whiteheaven. We must inform Rogg—the king of Migase. He has to know what happened here."
The group began their preparations. They gathered what little remained, their hearts heavy with grief, and left Migase behind. Before departing, Hans stood at the edge of the shore, staring at the village that now existed only as a shadow of its former self.
"I swear," he whispered to himself, "no matter what it takes… Balevad will pay for this."
With determined steps, he led the group back toward the ship, carrying the still-sleeping Balaraniyan in his arms. As they sailed away, Hans couldn't stop thinking of vengeance—and the long road ahead to restore the honor of the Migase people.