Morning in the Bronze Drum Camp smelled like woodsmoke and roasted nuts—warm, earthy, like something that'd wrap around you like a blanket. The big bronze drum still hummed faintly, as if it hadn't fully let go of last night's rhythm, and Tan Kai woke to the sound of kids laughing—high, bright, chasing each other around a pile of drumsticks that looked like tiny logs.
He sat up, rubbing dew from his eyes, and found Bright's blanket empty. The mango sack was open by the rock, half its contents gone. "Figured he'd be up first," Tan Kai laughed, shaking his head.
Agus was already by the fire, talking to Old Drum. The two held clay cups of tea, steam curling up to fog their glasses, and Old Drum's drumstick leaned against his chair—carved with tiny lotuses, the wood worn smooth from years of use. It looked like it could've been Lina's work.
"Morning," Agus said, waving Tan Kai over. "Old Drum's filling me in on the Bone Forge. The Court's been sending more scouts there—they're gearing up to melt something big. Probably corrupted spirits they rounded up from the valley."
Old Drum nodded, pushing a cup of tea toward Tan Kai. The liquid was amber, smelling like lotus and mint, and it warmed his palms through the clay. "Lina warned us about the Forge, years back. Said it's not just a place to make weapons—it's a prison. Spirits get trapped in iron cages, then melted down into metal. Ugly work. Last year, one of our boys went to scout it out—came back with a scrap of that metal stuck to his arm. Turned his skin gray before we could burn it off."
Tan Kai took a sip. The tea was sweet, with a hint of honey, and it settled in his chest like sunlight. "Can we stop it? The Forge?"
Old Drum tapped his drumstick on the ground, the sound sharp but soft. "With your spear and our drums? Maybe. Our drums don't just scare wolves—they shake corruption loose. The rhythm breaks it up, makes it weak. Pair that with your lotus light? We've got a chance. But it won't be easy. That Forge's got guards—big ones, with armor lined in that corrupted metal."
A crash echoed from the other side of the camp, followed by Bright's yell—loud, dramatic, like he was being chased by a monster. "Come back here! That's my emergency mango! For when we fight the big guards! You can't just steal it!"
They looked over to see Bright barreling around a tent, his hair messy, chasing a small kid—no older than Lila—who was clutching a mango to his chest, giggling so hard he could barely run. The kid darted behind a stack of drums, and Bright tripped over a drum stand, sending a wooden mallet rolling across the dirt.
Old Drum laughed, loud and deep, like the drum itself. "That's my grandson, Kip. Steals more fruit than the monkeys in the foothills. Don't worry—he'll give it back… eventually. Just likes to mess with folks."
Sure enough, Kip skidded to a stop by Lila, who was sitting on a log plaiting grass into a rope. He held out the mango, his cheeks pink with guilt. "Sorry. Smelled too good. My mom says I've got a sweet tooth."
Lila grinned, taking the mango and handing it back to Bright. "Next time, ask. He's got a whole sack. Won't miss one."
Bright huffed, tucking the mango into his sack like it was a treasure. "Emergency rations. For when we fight the Forge guards. You can't just steal emergency rations. What if I get hungry mid-fight? I'd be useless." But his lips were twitching—he wasn't really mad.
Yara and Nam wandered over, both carrying armfuls of herbs. Nam's apron was smudged with dirt, and she held up a sprig of golden lotus, its petals glowing faintly in the sun. "Found this by the stream. Old Drum says it's stronger than the green stuff—burns hotter, lasts longer. Good for fire traps. Lina used to dry it for us, back when she visited."
Her voice softened when she said Lina's name, like she was talking about an old friend. Tan Kai felt a flicker of warmth—he loved hearing stories about his mom, small ones that made her feel real.
Yara nodded, holding up a leaf with tiny hairs on its surface. "And these—drumweed. Old Drum says if we stuff it in the drum's holes, the sound gets sharper. Cuts through corruption faster. Tried it this morning—made my fire herb flicker like it was dancing."
Old Drum stood up, grabbing his drumstick. "C'mon. I'll show you. The kids are practicing—you can join. Gotta get the rhythm right if we're gonna take on that Forge. The Protection Beat's not just about hitting hard—it's about breathing with it."
They followed him to the big drum, where a group of kids—Kip included—were whacking it with mallets, laughing when they missed and hit the ground. The drum was taller than Lila, its surface shiny from years of hands, and when one kid hit it hard, the sound made Tan Kai's chest vibrate.
"Watch," Old Drum said. He lifted his mallet, slow, then brought it down—thump. The sound was deep, steady, like a heartbeat. "This is the Protection Beat. In… out… in… out. You don't fight the rhythm—you let it wrap around you." He hit it again—thump—and Tan Kai swore he felt the air around them hum, like it was pushing back an invisible wall.
"You try, Tan Kai," Old Drum said, holding out the mallet.
Tan Kai took it. It was heavier than it looked, and when he hit the drum, the sound was off—too hard, too fast. The kids giggled, and Kip yelled, "Wrong! Too loud! You're gonna wake the mountain!"
Old Drum clapped him on the back. "Breathe. Think about the lotus lake—how the water moves slow. Hit it when you exhale."
Tan Kai closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. In… out. He brought the mallet down—thump. This time, the sound was right. Warm, steady, and the air hummed louder, like it was happy. The kids cheered, and Kip yelled, "Better! Do it again!"
Yara stepped forward next, her fire herb glowing in her other hand. She hit the drum—thump—and the flame on her herb flickered, bright then dim, matching the beat. "Whoa," she said, surprised. "It's like we're talking to each other. The drum and the fire."
Bright pushed his way to the front, holding up a mallet like it was a sword. "Me next! I've got rhythm. I dance to mango-eating songs all the time—you know, 'chomp, chew, swallow, repeat'? Total beat."
He hit the drum—hard, fast, and completely out of sync. The sound was a mess, like a pot falling down stairs, and the kids laughed so hard they fell over. Bright's face turned red, but he laughed too, dropping the mallet. "Okay, okay—maybe rhythm's not my thing. But I bet I can carry the mangoes better than anyone! That's a skill, right?"
Old Drum shook his head, smiling. "The most important skill, kid. We'll keep you on mango duty."
They spent the morning practicing. Tan Kai got the Protection Beat down, his arms sore but steady. Yara synced her fire to the drum, making flames dance in time. Nam and Lila stuffed drumweed into the drum's holes, Nam telling Lila how Lina used to mix drumweed with honey to make cough syrup. Tong helped the kids stack firewood, and when one kid dropped a log, he picked it up and showed them how to balance it on their shoulders—quiet, patient, like he always was.
By noon, Old Drum called a break. The clan brought out bowls of stew—meat and carrots and lotus seeds, simmered till it was thick—and Bright piled his bowl high, then added a mango on the side. He ate so fast, juice dripped down his chin.
"Best stew ever," he mumbled, mouth full. "Even better than the mangoes. Almost."
Lila sat next to Kip, who was telling her about the glowing rocks in the mountain cave. "My dad says they're stars that fell down," he said, poking his stew with a spoon. "But my mom says they're just rocks with moss. Boring."
Tong smiled, wiping stew off his chin. "We saw glowing moss in the tunnels. It lit up the dark. Maybe your dad's right—maybe some rocks are magic."
Kip's eyes widened. "You went in tunnels? With monsters? Did you fight them? Did you use swords?"
Before Lila could answer, a shout cut through the camp. A man—tall, with a scar across his cheek and a bow slung over his back—rode in on a horse, his breath coming fast. "Scouts! Court scouts! Three of 'em, heading this way. Got dogs with 'em—tracking something. Smelled 'em from the hilltop."
Old Drum's smile vanished. He stood up, his hands tight around his drumstick. "Everyone move. Kids to the back tents—Kip, take Lila with you. Tan Kai, Yara—get your weapons. Agus, Nam—help me prop the drum at the entrance. Tong, you watch the east path—scouts love to sneak around. Bright—"
"I'll guard the mangoes!" Bright yelled, jumping up so fast his chair fell over. "They're in the big tent—safe and sound. No scout's gonna touch my emergency rations."
Old Drum nodded. "Good. If you see a scout, yell. Loud. We'll come running."
Bright saluted, grabbing his sack and ducking behind the nearest tent. "Emergency rations secure!"
They moved fast. Old Drum and Agus dragged the big drum to the camp entrance, propping it up with rocks so it faced the path. Nam stuffed handfuls of drumweed into the drum's holes, her hands quick, and Yara held her fire herb, the flame flickering low. Tan Kai stood beside them, the Lotus Spear in his hand, its blade glowing faint green—like it was waiting.
The air grew quiet. No kids laughing, no drums thumping—just the wind in the trees, and the distant bark of dogs. Sharp, mean, getting closer.
"There," Tong said, pointing to the hill. Three figures, silver armor glinting in the sun, walking down the path. Dogs trotted beside them, their noses to the ground, pulling at their leashes.
Old Drum lifted his mallet. "Get ready. When I hit the drum, Tan Kai—let your light out. Yara—your fire. Sync with the beat. Don't fight it."
The scouts got closer. Tan Kai could see their swords, their shields emblazoned with the Court's symbol—a silver sun. The corruption in their armor was faint, but he could feel it—cold, sharp, like the judge's venom. The dogs barked louder, their tails tucked.
Old Drum hit the drum.
Thump.
The Protection Beat. Slow, steady, vibrating through the dirt.
Tan Kai held up the spear, and green light burst from the blade—bright, but soft, wrapping around the camp like a blanket. The grass around the entrance glowed, too, turning green and lush, like the valley.
Yara blew on her fire herb, and flames shot out—orange, matching the drum's rhythm, landing in a circle around the camp. The fire didn't burn the grass—it just glowed, like a barrier.
The scouts stopped, surprised. The lead scout—tall, with a beard—snarled, lifting his sword. "Move! This is Court business!"
But his dog whimpered, backing away from the light. The corruption in his armor flickered, like the drumbeat was shaking it loose. He took a step forward, but his boots sank into the grass—slow, like the earth was pushing back.
"Turn back," Old Drum said, hitting the drum again. Thump. "This camp's protected. You won't get through. And that metal in your armor? It's killing you. We can burn it off—if you let us."
The scout spat on the ground. "Lies. The Court says you're traitors. We'll be back—with more men. More weapons."
Old Drum laughed, the sound loud and proud. "We'll be waiting. Bring 'em."
The scout glared, then turned to his men. "Let's go. Waste of time."
They walked back up the hill, the dogs still whimpering, and disappeared over the top.
Everyone breathed out—slow, relieved.
Yara let her fire die down, grinning. "That worked. The drum and the spear—they're a team. Like we've been practicing this forever."
Old Drum nodded, wiping sweat from his brow with his sleeve. "Good practice. The Forge'll be harder—more guards, more corruption. But we're ready."
Bright popped out from behind the tent, holding a mango. "Did we win? I guarded the mangoes the whole time—sat right by the tent, didn't move. Not a single scout came near 'em. Probably scared of my mango power."
Lila laughed, running over to him. "We won! Thanks to the drum. And Tan Kai's spear. And Yara's fire."
Bright huffed, but he was smiling. "Well, if the mangoes hadn't been safe, we couldn't have celebrated. So really, I helped too. Mango power's real."
No one argued.
That night, the camp celebrated. They lit a big fire in the middle, and the kids danced to the drumbeat—spinning, laughing, Kip leading the way. Old Drum told stories about Lina: how she once tricked a Court soldier into giving her his sword by hiding it in a mango tree, how she taught the clan to dry golden lotus for tea. Agus added stories of his own—about Tan Kai as a baby, grabbing Lina's hairpin and refusing to let go, even when he ate.
Tan Kai sat by the fire, sipping lotus tea, and pulled Lina's diary out of his pocket. He flipped to a page near the end, and there, in the margin, was a small note: The Bronze Drum Clan will have your back. Trust the beat. Trust each other.
He smiled, closing the diary. Trust the beat. He would.
Old Drum sat down beside him, holding out a small drum槌—carved with lotuses, the wood worn smooth. "Lina made this, years back. Said it was for her kid, if she ever had one. Said it'd help you find the rhythm when you needed it most."
Tan Kai took it. It fit in his hand perfectly, like it was made for him. "Thanks. I'll keep it safe."
Old Drum nodded, looking at the fire. "Tomorrow, we plan. The Forge is three days' walk from here. We'll need to move fast—before they melt whatever they're holding. It could be spirits from the valley. Could be worse."
Tan Kai nodded. "We're ready. All of us."
Bright yelled from across the fire, holding up the last mango. "Last one! Who wants it? I'll share—this time. But only because we won."
Lila jumped up, Kip right beside her. "Me! Me! I'll split it with Kip!"
Tan Kai laughed, watching them chase Bright around the fire. The drumbeat thumped, the fire crackled, and the air smelled like lotus and mango and woodsmoke.
For now, they were safe. For now, they were together.
Tomorrow, the fight would continue. But tonight? Tonight, they danced to the beat.
And when Bright finally split the mango with Lila and Kip, he didn't even complain. Much.