Changez wanted to beat Kazam today.

  They circled each other in the yard, wooden swords cracking as they traded blows. Dust rose beneath their feet, and sweat stung Changez’s eyes. His father, Fazel, stood nearby with his arms crossed, watching in silence.

  He has to see I’m strong, Changez thought.

  Changez pressed forward, forcing Kazam back step by step. His strikes were fast, desperate, driven more by pride than patience. For a moment, he believed he had him.

  Then it happened.

  Kazam twisted aside and brought his wooden sword down hard on Changez’s hand. Pain shot up his arm. His grip failed. The sword slipped from his fingers and hit the ground with a dull thud.

  Before Changez could react, Kazam’s blade was at his neck.

  “You’re dead,” Kazam said calmly.

  Heat flooded Changez’s face. Shame wrapped around him like a cloak. He wished the ground would open and swallow him whole. He had asked his father to watch—and he had lost.

  Fazel’s voice cut through the silence.

  “Well done, Kazam,” he said, stepping forward. “As sharp as ever.”

  He placed a firm hand on Kazam’s shoulder. “You’ll be a nightmare for your enemies in real battle.”

  Kazam flushed, straightening with pride. “Thank you, Commander.”

  “Go,” Fazel said with a nod. “Get something to eat.”

  Kazam left the yard smiling.

  Fazel then turned to Changez. He knelt, picked up the fallen wooden sword, and pressed it back into his son’s hands.

  “You did well,” he said quietly. “You’re getting better.”

  “How can you say I did well, Father?” Changez blurted out, his voice tight with frustration. “If this were a real battle, I’d be dead.”

  Fazel studied him for a moment before replying. “Then it’s a good thing this wasn’t a real battle,” he said calmly. “That is the purpose of training—to fail here, so you don’t die out there.”

  Changez nodded, though the shame still burned in his chest. His clothes were smeared with dust and sweat, the fabric stiff with dried dirt. Even his father looked worn—dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders heavier than usual. Since returning from the last raid, Fazel had been buried in meetings with Karma, and not even Aryan had been summoned to serve as cupbearer. That alone told Changez how tense things had become.

  “I thought I had him, Father,” Changez said quietly.

  “You did,” Fazel replied. “For a moment.” He placed a firm hand on Changez’s shoulder. “But you were fighting to prove you were better. You wanted victory to be seen.”

  Fazel’s voice hardened slightly. “Listen to me, son. War is not about pride. It is not about glory. War is about survival. You fight to live—and to make sure the other man does not. The moment you start thinking about how you look, you stop thinking about how to survive.”

  Changez listened in silence, absorbing every word.

  “Still,” Fazel added, his tone softening, “it was only training. No blood, no graves. You will learn. Time teaches what words cannot.”

  He exhaled slowly, glancing at his own dust-covered sleeves. “Now come. I think we both need a bath.”

  They walked down to the river, where several men were already bathing in the shallow water. When they noticed Fazel, they straightened and bowed their heads in respect. Fazel acknowledged them with a brief nod and continued on.

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  Both he and Changez removed their clothes and slid into the small stone pools carved naturally beside the river. The water was cold, biting at first, then soothing as it washed the dust and sweat from their bodies.

  Changez hesitated, then gathered his courage.

  “Father… you’ve been busy lately. All those meetings. What is happening?”

  Fazel shrugged slightly, resting his arms on the edge of the pool. “If all goes well, we’ll be leaving this Ghost Forest soon, son. Before winter, we’ll be sitting inside the city walls.”

  Changez’s heart stirred at the thought. Fazel fell silent after that, his gaze drifting, as if pulled into deeper thoughts. After a moment, Changez spoke again.

  “Why do they call this place the Forest of Ghosts?”

  Fazel’s lips curved into a faint smile. “That is an old story. Long before you were born, forest tribes lived here—wild people. They came at night, raided nearby villages, looted, killed, vanished before dawn. People began calling them ghosts.”

  He paused. “Your grandfather led the campaign against them. He hunted them through these trees and wiped them out. I was with him.”

  Changez swallowed. “Then… are we the ghosts now? We do the same things.”

  For a brief moment, anger flashed in Fazel’s eyes—sharp and dangerous. Then it faded.

  “No,” he said firmly. “We do not kill without reason. We take only what we need. And when this is over—when we succeed—we will repay what was taken.” He placed his hand over Changez’s. “Do not burden your mind with that.”

  Changez nodded, but another thought pressed at him. “Father… once you told me that you bring in new children because that is how loyalty is earned. Can you explain that?”

  He felt foolish the moment the words left his mouth.

  Fazel exhaled slowly. “Your grandfather was spared by the old king father during the conquest of the capital. Mercy earned him loyalty—not just for him but for old king as well .”

  His voice grew heavier. “Your grandfather died for them. Still, they called him a traitor.”

  He looked away. “Many of my personal soldiers are men your grandfather once spared. Their loyalty is mine now. They would die for me—and I would die for them.”

  He turned back to Changez. “The children we take in… they will one day feel the same. Many of them had no one. Without us, they would be dead.”

  Then, after a pause, he added quietly, “Your mother was one of those children your grandfather spared.”

  A chill ran through Changez—not fear, but awe. His father had never spoken of his mother before.

  “Tell me about her, Father,” Changez said quickly.

  Fazel rose from the pool. “I will,” he said as he began to dress, “when you are older.”

  Changez tried to protest, but his father was already walking away.

  “Good days are coming, son,” Fazel said over his shoulder. “Trust me.”

  “I trust you, Father,” Changez thought—but he only nodded.

  Fazel left. Changez remained in the water for a while longer, listening to the river, before finally climbing out.