The morning in the Valley of Dand started like any other.Mist hung low over the hills, wrapping them in soft white ribbons. The air smelled of wet grass and fresh soil. From up high, you could see farms spread out like a patchwork — golden fields of barley, green rows of vegetables, and orchards full of ripe fruit.
Children ran around the paddies, laughing as they chased each other. Shepherds guided their sheep along narrow paths, their wooden sticks tapping against the stones. A small river cut through the center of the valley, its water shining like silver under the sunlight.
Vid had never seen a place so full of life. Compared to Green Hollow — now just ashes in his memory — this valley looked like something from an old story, too peaceful to be real.
Paras walked ahead of him on the dirt road, his bow slung over one shoulder. The old man's steps were steady, but his eyes kept moving, always alert, always watching.
"Is it always like this here?" Vid asked quietly, afraid that speaking too loudly might break the calm.
Paras nodded, not turning around. "The Valley of Dand is blessed," he said. "The soil is rich, and the people know how to care for it. But peace like this doesn't last forever."
They entered the village. The houses were built with stone and wood, the roofs thick with straw. Smoke rose from chimneys, and the smell of fresh bread drifted through an open bakery door. In the market square, traders sold baskets of vegetables, jars of honey, and rolls of colorful cloth.
It was market day. Farmers talked and laughed as they traded goods. Kids darted between stalls. A few old men sat under a tree, playing a board game and teasing each other after every move.
For a moment, Vid forgot everything — the smoke, the screams, the raid on his home. The sounds of life here made him believe maybe, just maybe, he could start over.
Then the bell rang.
It was deep and heavy. Once. Twice. Three times.
The laughter stopped. The whole market went quiet.
A man in a long green tunic climbed onto the wooden platform in the square. He held a brass horn in one hand and a scroll in the other. After blowing the horn, his voice carried over the crowd.
"People of Dand! By the order of His Majesty, Emperor Parth Vij of the Boomi Empire — listen carefully. The northern shores of Pascha are under attack."
A ripple of shock ran through the people. Paras's hand moved slightly toward the bow on his back.
"The Rakshas Empire," the man continued, "has crossed the Sea of Naraga. Their ships have landed at Fort Aral, and their army is marching south. All villages in the north must evacuate immediately."
Gasps filled the air. Mothers grabbed their children. Farmers dropped what they were holding.
"The gates of Dand will close by nightfall," he said. "Anyone still inside will be left behind. Pack only what you can carry. The emperor's soldiers will guide you south."
For a few seconds, nobody moved. Then panic spread. People started shouting, running home, pulling carts, and tying up their animals.
Paras grabbed Vid's shoulder. "We need to leave now," he said calmly. "The roads will fill fast."
"Are the Rakshas really coming here?" Vid asked.
"Yes," Paras said. His tone was steady but grim. "And they'll bring hell with them."
As they made their way through the chaos, Vid helped a woman lift a heavy sack onto her cart. She gave a small nod of thanks but didn't speak. Everyone's face showed the same thing — fear.
At the gates, guards were rolling huge wooden doors into place while archers took their spots on the walls.
From the north, dark clouds were forming over the mountains.
Then a group of riders entered from the southern road — imperial messengers wearing green-and-gold armor. Their horses were covered in dust. The lead rider jumped down, handed a scroll to the announcer, and left again without even resting.
The man read it quickly, then shouted, "The Rakshas have already taken Fort Aral and are advancing faster than expected! Their front lines could reach this valley in two days! I repeat — the gates will shut by sundown!"
Vid's stomach turned cold. Green Hollow had been destroyed in less than an hour. Two days felt like no time at all.
By noon, the main road south was filled with people. Carts piled high with sacks and furniture moved slowly through the dust. Families walked beside them, clutching their children's hands.
Paras and Vid stayed near the edge of the road, watching the hills carefully.
"What happens to the people who stay behind?" Vid asked softly.
Paras didn't look at him. "They won't see another sunrise."
As they climbed the southern ridge, the horns sounded again — long and low. Vid turned around one last time. The valley still looked calm and green, as if nothing had changed. But the dark clouds over the mountains told a different story. The peace was already breaking.