The night deepened around them, folding the forest into a quiet shadow world where even the stars seemed to hold their breath. Mihir sat close to the flickering fire, watching the commander's taut silhouette framed by the amber glow. The man's chest rose and fell unevenly, pain simmering beneath the surface like a restless river.
Mihir broke the silence with soft, easy words, "The path ahead is long, but you don't have to face it with a clenched fist."
The commander's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. Mihir smiled faintly, remembering the bamboo groves of southern China—the way the slender stalks swayed gracefully with the wind, bending but never breaking. "Even the strongest bamboo bows in the storm."
The commander's eyes flickered toward him, the slightest trace of something unreadable surfacing before retreating. Mihir pressed on, "Pain is not weakness. It is a reminder that we live, that we fight. And sometimes... it means we must trust."
The silence lingered, thick as the mist that crept slowly through the trees beyond the firelight.
Mihir shifted closer, careful not to crowd.
"May I ask your name?" he said gently, voice like a calm river smoothing over rough stones.
The commander's gaze sharpened, surprise flashing briefly before he answered, voice low but steady, "Zhang Zheng."
Mihir nodded thoughtfully. "Zhang Zheng," he repeated, tasting the sound. "A name like iron and earth."
Zhang's lips twitched—almost a smile, but gone before Mihir could be sure.
Mihir exhaled slowly and let the firelight warm his fingers. "I am Mihir."
Zhang's eyes met his then, steady and searching.
The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of jasmine and pine, faint and sweet. Somewhere nearby, a lone crane called—a haunting, echoing cry that seemed to ripple across the hills like a delicate silk ribbon fluttering in the breeze.
Mihir felt the tension between them soften like mist dissolving in morning light.
He reached out, brushing a stray leaf from Zhang's shoulder. "We carry many burdens, but sometimes, sharing them makes the load lighter."
Zhang's gaze faltered, and for the first time, Mihir saw the fragile man beneath the warrior's armor.
"Your wounds will heal. " Mihir said quietly.
Zhang swallowed hard, then nodded. The fire crackled, sending sparks swirling like fireflies into the dark.
In the stillness that followed, Mihir thought of the ancient pine trees, their roots entwined beneath the earth, silent but unyielding. Like them, perhaps Zhang's strength lay hidden, waiting to grow again.