When news is born, it never comes alone… it awakens what has long slept in the shadows.
Night had softened its voice when Aram entered his home, as though darkness itself had chosen to step aside out of respect for what was about to be spoken. The small oil lamp in the corner cast a warm glow, and at the heart of that light sat Maliya, stiller than usual, as if she had been waiting far longer than the passing hours of evening.
The moment he saw her calm tinged with a hidden unrest his heart moved before her lips did. He approached slowly, his eyes reading her face as though searching for a mark that had not been there before. When she lifted her head, her voice came before her words:
"We have news… news that will change everything."
One heartbeat was enough.
A single breath in which Aram's eyes widened and his spirit inhaled in a way it had not for a long time. It felt as though Mount Kardon, with all its weight and stillness, had been placed upon his chest then suddenly lifted away. He understood before she continued. Understood the moment he saw that trembling light in her eyes.
His first child.
His hands shook despite his effort to remain steady, and he placed his palm upon her belly as though touching a promise not yet written. He did not speak. He did not need to. His face alone said everything: astonishment, joy, fear, and that sacred awe known only to those who realize their name will now flow in another's blood.
But the joy… did not settle whole.
For Maliya, despite her smile, carried in her eyes a shadow Aram had never seen before one that did not belong to happiness. She spoke softly, as if afraid the walls themselves might hear:
"There is something strange, Aram… something drawing near to the tribe. I don't know what it is, but my heart finds no rest."
He did not answer at once. Her words did not resemble the worries of other women of the tribe; this was not fleeting fear, but intuition rising from depths rarely opened an intuition bearing the breath of a mother who knows what is coming is not ordinary.
The following morning, as word of the pregnancy spread in whispers among the houses of the Tamran Clan, Aqqar, his right hand and trusted aide, entered the council as a man carrying a matter that could not wait. He sat close, his voice heavy with tradition rather than opinion.
"My lord… by the customs of the tribes, a leader must consult the seer upon hearing news of his firstborn. Insight is not inherited it is read before birth."
Aram showed no eagerness. He felt the time was ill-chosen, that remaining near Maliya and his mother mattered more, especially after the unease he had seen in their eyes. But Aqqar knew how to slip into places Aram preferred not to visit.
He said calmly, with deliberate care:
"If you wait longer, the rains and snow will come, and the mountain will close its paths. The seer reads fate only before the pregnancy matures. Leave now, and you will return before Maliya grows heavy. Delay… and you may lose the chance."
The words slid into Aram's chest like water into heated stone silent, but leaving a mark. He neither accepted nor refused. He began to think. And there is no weakness greater for a leader than when questions press upon his heart especially when the question concerns a child not yet born.
When he told his mother of his intention to leave, her face changed entirely. She grasped his hand tightly, as if trying to stop him with her body rather than words.
"Not now. There is something in the air that troubles me. Wait, my son… wait."
As for Maliya, the moment she heard the decision, she felt the shadows that passed their home each night draw closer. She took his hand, her voice steady despite its tremor:
"If you leave now… the road will not be as you know it. Something is unfolding. I cannot explain it but danger is approaching."
And yet… Aqqar returned before sunset with words more perilous than the journey itself:
"The winds are changing, my lord. If you do not leave now, you will not reach the cavern before the snows seal it."
Then Aram knew the moment he had been avoiding had arrived that he must choose between fear… and fate.
That night, he stood beside Maliya's bed, watching her quiet face, trying to convince himself that all would be well. But she was not asleep. Slowly, she opened her eyes and drew three items from beneath her pillow:
a small pouch of dark leather,
a ring engraved with a wolf's head,
and a glass vial filled with deep crimson oil.
She handed them to him and said:
"This pouch do not open it unless danger stands closer to you than your own shadow.
The ring will tell you when to wear it.
And this oil… you will need it when you wish to see."
Aram frowned softly and asked:
"What is in the pouch? How will the ring speak? And what is it that I cannot see?"
She shook her head slowly.
"I don't know. They were my mother's. She once told me these would protect the man I love… when no one else can. And yet, I pray my instinct fails, and that you never need to use any of them."
He took the pouch, the ring, and the vial, feeling a weight unlike that of objects a weight like ancient stories that begin small… and whose endings are never known.
Before sunset, the men of the tribe gathered in the great square to bid farewell to their leader. Unease lingered in their eyes, worry clung to words left unspoken. Aram stepped forward with steady strides, despite the storm within his chest. His mother embraced him, then Maliya took his hand and in that moment, he felt the urge to stay… but the road had already begun, even before he departed.
He grasped the reins of his noble horse, Wabar. Black-maned, broad-chested, calm of step, carrying in his movement the dignity of a king who knows his worth. Wabar was not merely a horse; he was Aram's shadow in travel, his eyes in the night, his heart when fear tightened its grip. A master breeder once said of him:
"This horse does not know retreat… only advance."
Like his rider, he bowed only to drink water then rose again, proud as a lesser mountain.
Aram rode out upon Wabar, ten of his finest warriors behind him men he knew and who knew him, each carrying a shared memory and a loyalty that needed no command, for true allegiance is never demanded.
With the very first step that carried him away from the tribe, Aram felt as though he were leaving behind the last safe breath of his life. The road ahead appeared calm… but it was no road at all.
It was something waiting.
And so the journey began
a journey no one imagined would mark the beginning of an ending,
or the birth of another man entirely,
different from the one who left the Tamran Clan that night.