The morning mist clung to the valley like a silvery veil, softening the scars left by battle. Kiranti was alive, but shaken. Villagers moved cautiously, repairing homes and tending to the wounded. Soldiers drilled along the ramparts, their movements sharp but weary.
Yalamber walked among them, bow slung across his back, his eyes scanning faces etched with exhaustion and fear. He had seen the cost of war and the price of leadership. Yet, he also saw determination, a spark that no Chyarung raider could extinguish.
From the southern plains, Nabin and his hill warriors had arrived, settling in the foothills and clearing paths through the dense forests. Their axes and bows were sharp, their eyes sharper. Yalamber watched as they trained alongside Kiranti soldiers, teaching mountain warfare, ambush tactics, and survival in harsh terrain.
King Balambha called a council in the great hall, the room filled with leaders from both Kiranti and allied tribes. Elder Pahang sat near the head, his presence a steadying force, while Nabin and his lieutenants spoke of the geography, customs, and fighting styles of the surrounding clans.
"The Chyarung are only the first," Nabin warned. "The Khungri to the east watch from their hills. They respect strength but crave spoils. The southern valleys hold tribes who trade in secrecy, loyalty shifting with gold. And beyond all, other kingdoms stir, unseen yet aware of Kiranti's defiance."
Yalamber nodded, absorbing every word. "Then we must not fight as Kiranti alone," he said firmly. "We need unity. Every clan that honors these mountains, every tribe that respects its people we bring them together."
Bhavik, standing behind him, placed a hand on Yalamber's shoulder. "Your first true act as a leader," the tutor said, voice low, "is to inspire trust. Strength is nothing without loyalty, and loyalty is forged through shared purpose."
Over the next weeks, emissaries were sent to nearby clans. Some were wary, others curious. The Khungri scouts reported the movements of distant tribes, mapping the terrain and opportunities. Slowly, word of Kiranti's resilience spread, drawing allies and cautious observers alike.
During this time, Yalamber spent long hours in the training fields with his mixed forces. Kiranti soldiers learned the guerrilla techniques of the southern hill tribes; Nabin's men discovered the discipline of Kiranti formations. Lhakar trained at his side, laughter sometimes cutting through the grim work, reminding the prince of the boy he had once been.
One evening, as the sun bled orange across the western peaks, Yalamber climbed the eastern watchtower alone. From that height, the valley was a patchwork of rivers, forests, and villages. Fires flickered in distant encampment some friendly, some unknown.
"This is only the beginning," he murmured, eyes fixed on the horizon. "The mountains are alive with more than wind. They hold warriors, alliances, and secrets waiting for those brave enough to claim them."
A messenger arrived with news that a Khungri envoy had arrived at the northern ridge, willing to parley. Yalamber's heart quickened. If successful, the combined strength of Kiranti, the southern hill tribes, and the Khungri could stand against the Chyarung and any other clan seeking to dominate the mountains.
He clenched his fists, feeling both the weight and the pulse of responsibility. Kiranti had survived its first clash, but the coming days would test them in ways no training could prepare for.
The mountains whispered promises and threats alike. Yalamber, heir of Kiranti, would answer.