'I don't understand... Did he really survive?'
Near the cave where Vio had nearly died the previous Furious Night, a camp sprawled across the rocky terrain. The sun had vanished behind jagged peaks, wisps of mist began coiling through the air, and precious little time remained before another Furious Night began.
Inside the main command tent, a group of grim-faced soldiers huddled around a table, studying a map peppered with markings and symbols. These weren't ordinary troops—they were the legendary "Kings of the Mountains," renowned for their intimate knowledge of this treacherous terrain and their unmatched tracking skills.
Yet even for them, searching for a body in this mountain was no simple task. The Furious Nights had a way of reshaping the landscape overnight, erasing tracks and leaving false trails in their wake. Despite these challenges, they'd managed to pinpoint Vio's last known location—a testament to their exceptional abilities.
"I don't understand this," Uncle growled, his weathered face twisted in frustration. "Everything in that cave screams that the rat was there. So where the hell is corpse?"
The question hung in the air like smoke. No one had an answer.
"Maybe..." Zaba's voice cut through the silence, her serious tone commanding everyone's attention. "Maybe he actually survived."
The thought wasn't new—it had crossed all their minds—but they'd dismissed it just as quickly.
"Lady Zaba," one soldier ventured hesitantly, "how could that even be possible?"
"Shut your mouth!" Uncle barked, making the soldier's head snap down in fear.
Throughout this entire search, Uncle had been taking his frustrations out on that particular soldier. Not that the man didn't deserve it—if not for his screw-up, they wouldn't be in this mess to begin with.
He was the one who hesitated to blow the horn, giving the rat just enough time to slip away.
"Don't talk nonsense, Zaba," Uncle said sharply. "You think everyone's like you?"
'Why did I bother staying with this fool? I should've gone with the husband,' Zaba thought, keeping her expression neutral despite Uncle's hostile tone.
"What if he's using a tent?" another soldier suggested.
"The rat has no spirit. How would he manage that?"
"Same way he summoned lightning spirit, I guess."
"I was thinking he might've found refuge in a village, but all the signs point to him being in that cave."
"Enough speculation about how he survived," Uncle cut in. "Let's focus on where he might've gone after leaving the cave."
The debate continued, theories flying back and forth, until the wind outside began its ominous wailing—the unmistakable herald of another Furious Night.
Everyone, including Uncle, wanted this meeting over. Nobody was eager to share a tent with the gray-eyed ones once the Furious Night began. For good reason.
"In any case," Uncle declared, "we will—"
Stopped mid-sentence, his entire body going rigid.
"Something's coming?" Zaba asked, her sharp gray eyes already scanning the tent's entrance. Uncle gave her a curt nod.
Everyone's unease became palpable. A message arriving in weather like this could only mean serious trouble.
Zaba ducked outside and returned moments later with a black owl cradled in her hands. She placed the dying bird on the table as all eyes turned nervously to Uncle, who began reading the attached message while the owl drew its final breaths.
These black owls were no ordinary birds—bred specifically in the mountain stronghold for their incredible endurance, they were reserved for only the most urgent communications. More often than not, especially during a Furious Night, the delivery cost them their lives.
"An attack," Uncle muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Someone's attacking the village."
"An attack? Who would dare?"
"Has to be the rat!"
"So he did survive!"
"That bastard—how dare he attack people under our protection?"
"ENOUGH!" Uncle roared, his voice echoing off the tent walls.
Tense silence filled the space as everyone's eyes turned to the map, focusing on the area under assault.
"The distance between the cave and that village is significant," Uncle said, pointing at the relevant section. "The path is treacherous even in good weather. If he didn't know the route intimately, reaching it would be nearly impossible unless…"
'Unless someone who knows the mountain helped him,' Zaba wasn't the only one capable of connecting those dots.
"Someone helped him," Uncle stated flatly, his gaze boring into Zaba.
The atmosphere in the tent grew suffocating. Everyone exchanged nervous glances, their eyes darting between Uncle and Zaba like spectators at a deadly duel.
"What exactly are you implying?" Zaba asked, her gray eyes radiating cold fury.
"Where is your husband?" Uncle asked, his suspicion written across his face.
"He went to hunt the rat."
"And this is how he hunts? By helping his prey?"
"Everyone knows how my husband thinks. If the rat needed help, he'd lose all interest in him."
"Since when does the Banigzmir bloodline think?"
"Watch your words."
"And what if I don't?"
A bone-chilling energy filled the tent, making everyone shiver involuntarily. Zaba's hand moved toward the lamp hanging above them, her movements deliberate and steady.
Uncle immediately ceased releasing his threatening aura.
Everyone grabbed the tent walls as tension reached its breaking point, sweat beading on their foreheads despite the cold.
Zaba might not be a match for Uncle in raw power, but during a Furious Night, she was the only one present who could survive the night's wrath unprotected. By reaching for that lamp, she was essentially threatening to remove the tent's protective enchantments—a move that would kill everyone inside except her.
"W-was this your plan all along?" Uncle stammered, sweat now pouring down his face. He'd only wanted to pressure her, not push her into such a dangerous gambit. What unnerved him most was knowing she could follow through without facing any consequences afterward.
"L-Lady Zaba," one soldier stammered desperately, the fear in his eyes betraying thoughts of imminent death, "Uncle didn't mean it like that."
'They have no real proof, and they wouldn't dare voice their suspicions openly. Still… I shouldn't have lost my temper. Killing them all would've only exposed my husband and me—left us wide open to our enemies.'
She released the lamp, recognizing her mistake.
"Uncle," Zaba said calmly, stepping away from the light fixture, "you and I both know there's something more pressing we should be focusing on."
Everyone visibly relaxed after collecting themselves, returned their attention to the map.
"Something doesn't add up," Zaba said, her voice once again drawing their focus.
"What do you mean?" Uncle asked, swallowing his irritation.
"He's supposed to be running for his life. Instead of lying low and trying to escape the mountain quietly, why would he attack a village?"
Her words cut through the lingering tension, jump-starting minds that had nearly ground to a halt.
"Maybe a villager spotted him," someone suggested.
"If none of us could track him down, how would just a human?" Uncle snapped, glaring at the speaker, who immediately shrank back.
"Even if someone did see him," Zaba continued, "his combat style favors quick, solo strikes. He could eliminate witnesses—hell, the entire village—without the mountain authorities noticing. At least not before the Furious Night ends."
"Maybe he's just an idiot," the unfortunate soldier who'd been bearing Uncle's wrath ventured. "Not everyone can be as smart as Lady Zaba—"
Before he could finish, a chill ran down his spine. He turned to see Uncle's murderous glare and knew that another word might very well be his last.
The tent fell silent once more.
"Is there any additional information..." Zaba breaks the quiet.
"No," Uncle cut her off. "A villager sounded the alarm horn. That's all we know right now."
Each village was equipped with an emergency horn whose call would reach a nearby Baniaasif scout, who would relay the message to headquarters for investigation. But this was absolutely the worst possible time to mobilize or conduct reconnaissance.
"I'll go," Zaba announced, and everyone's expressions shifted dramatically.
None of them looked at her like she was insane—they all knew she was the only one capable of navigating a Furious Night safely. But that didn't mean Uncle would permit it.
"Don't even think about it," Uncle said firmly.
He wasn't reckless enough to let someone as valuable as Zaba venture out alone. If anything happened to her, Uncle would never live to see another sunrise.
"This is our chance to catch him," Zaba pressed.
"We don't know the rat's true capabilities yet," Uncle replied, frustration creeping into his voice. "We don't even know who's actually attacking that village."
"It's an opportunity," she insisted. "If I take the tunnel, I can reach the village before dawn. I won't engage him directly—I'll just observe and determine what kind of creature we're dealing with."
Uncle fell silent, apparently weighing her proposal.
"He survived a Furious Night," Zaba added, reinforcing her argument. "Do you understand how significant that intelligence would be to the High Mountain?"
A sudden wave of determination swept over her. She constantly criticized Hamim for losing his rationality when enthusiasm took hold. Now, she failed to notice the same thing happening to her.
"Fine," Uncle said finally, "but no tunnels."
"I won't make it in time if I don't—"
"Have you memorized the safe tunnel routes?"
Uncle's question left Zaba speechless.
"I've memorized... some of them."
"Which means you haven't."
Zaba bit her lip, though no one could see the gesture through her veil.
Uncle knew she was intelligent and cautious, but his long life had taught him that many promising talents destroyed themselves in a single moment of arrogance or miscalculation. He didn't particularly care about her—in fact, he despised those gray eyes—but personal feelings aside, he knew what was and wasn't acceptable risk.
He couldn't trust her with this. Even Uncle hadn't memorized all the tunnel routes. He barely knew the essential ones and navigated them with trembling hands, preferring to waste time taking longer surface routes rather than risk the underground passages, no matter how "safe" they appeared. The horrors he'd witnessed down there still haunted his dreams.
For him, letting her take the tunnels would be no different from signing her death warrant himself.
'Why am I wasting my time here?'
Zaba sighed loudly enough for everyone to hear.
"As you wish, Uncle," she said. "No tunnels."
"Take the flying carpet," Uncle ordered.
Zaba left the tent and retrieved the carpet. It unfurled and rose unsteadily into the icy storm. Harsh winds battered it violently, and ice began creeping across its fabric, forming thin lines that cracked under pressure.
Zaba leaped onto it without hesitation. The moment her feet touched the frozen surface, the carpet steadied as the ice melted instantly and harsh winds vanished.
During the journey, her mind wandered.
'Should I ignore his orders and take a tunnel?'
Her common sense quickly reasserted itself.
'Am I losing my mind? Why would I put myself in unnecessary danger? Why do I become irrational every time I think about this rat?'
A wave of self-doubt surged through her, but she convinced herself it was simply her scholar's instincts overriding her usual caution.
As Zaba flew swiftly through the fading night, she finally arrived at her destination, completely unprepared for what lay before her.