The fires at Tlangthar were smoldering into the night, casting wavering shadows in the town square. Laughter and song clung to stray pockets of people, but by and large they had retired. Only a handful of revelers remained—such as drunks with their last bamboo-fermented brew, families whispering near the dying coals of their firepits.

Near one of the larger pits, a circle of figures sat on low stools carved from Xiaxoan wood. Zakop, his advisors, Myrith, Lysara, and Larin huddled together, lit up by the dying light. The air was heavy with the smell of roast rice and the faint tang of ash, and felt both solemn and intimate.

Zakop leaned forward, his voice low but firm. "You wanted to know about Xiaxo's history as it related the Kirat Empire. It is a story we know all too well, yet many of the more unsavory recollections have been overlooked by the younger generations. But you should hear it, Auquans. You will understand why we are the way we are.".

Lysara nodded, her bioluminescent eyes glowing softly in the dim light. "We are here to learn. What happened to Xiaxo was not unique, but the spirit of your people—is rare. Tell us.".

Zakop cast sideways to Larin who sat silent on one side, with a thoughtful face which reflected introspection. "You know part of it, boy but not all of it. Kirat Empire didn't take over Xiaxo overnight; they creep, creep insidiously, with stealth, stealthy vines.

He stared at the fire. Flames burned in dark eyes. "First, we saw them only as merchants, carrying goods of no like of our own; bright silks, powders that could shift the flame, mysterious contraptions carved to slice wood easily through. We opened our doors to them just as we do to any with an interest in trade. And it was mere barter.

Zakop's voice came hard. "But trade was not their ultimate goal. They began demanding more-than-land, to set up their "trading post" which soon came to be fortified. Then came the demand for tribute, in the form of our harvests of our minerals and-of our women.

Lysara set her jaw, her knuckles white on her fists at her sides. Myrith narrowed her eyes, as if piercing something through Zakop.

We refused, Zakop continued. At first, we thought our defiance would end the matter. But they returned with armies-columns of soldiers with glittering weapons and war machines powered by something we didn't understand. They swept through the Pamchai Plains and the Xiaxoan Forests, burning villages and enslaving those who could not escape.

One of Zakop's advisors, a wiry man with deep-set eyes, spoke up. "We fought back with what we had—bows, spears, traps hidden in the underbrush. Our warriors became shadows, striking at their supply lines and disappearing into the forests before they could retaliate."

Zakop nodded. "It was a guerrilla war-one we fought not to win, but to survive. We had heroes, of course. Names that still echo in our songs and prayers. There was Anzi the Shadow, who led a band of hunters into the heart of the enemy's camp and returned with their commander's head almost every attack. And Muima the Flamebearer, who set their supply wagons ablaze with nothing but a single torch and a spell of concealment for years on end."

"And there were others. Heroes whose names are forgotten now, but whose sacrifices made it possible for us to be here," Larin said in a low voice, leaning forward.

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Zakop's face softened. "Yes, Larin. Thousands of warriors died, and their names went to oblivion, but not their deeds. In those times we performed the Thih ritual over the dead. It was a sacred ritual of paying respects to those who sacrificed everything for Xiaxo. Their bodies, if in one piece would be saddled in the house's open space given symbolically the food and alcohol of the place and people would dance around the corpses. There were some who had to luck and bravery of being processed in our special ways, the Shadow Dwellers of Zima did it, they would take the dead and would put them in wooden or granite tombs and fires would boil the tombs, melting all the flesh and organs, leaving behind only the bones, these are ancient practices. The vapor would ascend into the heavens and inform the spirits that yet another brave soul had joined their ranks."

Myrith cocked her head to one side. "And now? Do you still practice this rite?"

Zakop hesitated. "Not nearly as often as we used to. The young ones think it's a relic of the past, and the Kirat Empire has tried to stamp out a lot of our old practices. But some of us remember. We keep the traditions alive, even if it's only in whispers.".

One of the counselors, an old woman with a squeaky wooden voice, interjected, "We used to have, back then, the Feast of Remembrance. It was yearly for all who died, a night of tales and songs. But even that is disappearing now. We only celebrate victories, and forget the price.".

Lysara's voice was soft but firm. "Perhaps it is time your people remembered. Not just the triumphs, but the sacrifices that allowed for those triumphs. You have endured so much and yet still remain."

Zakop stared back at her. His expression unreadable. "We remain because we have no choice. Surrendering would be losing everything-our homes, our families, our identity.".

Father, I have seen what lies beyond Xiaxo. The galaxy is great, and the forces are greater still than we ever imagined. Yet what we have here—it is something worth protecting, worth remembering," Larin spoke, his voice steady but trembling with emotion.

Zakop looked at his son with softened eyes. "You have grown, Larin. Maybe even more than I thought. You speak as someone who has known the world and returned with something. I hope you are right.

Myrith leaned forward, her sharp eyes aglow. "What you have described reminds me of battles we've fought in other worlds. Tactics, resilience, unbreakable spirit-it is not unique to Xiaxo, but it is rare. We can learn much from you."

Lysara nodded. "And perhaps we can help you too. The Kirat Empire may be defeated for now, but its shadow lingers. And House Seafoam has enemies as well, you fall under our jurisdiction and we will do all we can do help you."

Zakop listened to the two Auquans, his face solemn. "You speak the truth, and I do not doubt your intentions. Trust is not something to be given lightly. For now, let us share what we are able to, and see what the future brings."

The group sat for a moment in silence. The crackling of the fire was all through the room. Finally, Zakop's ancient mentor spoke again. "There is one more story you must hear." It is a story of loss, not triumph. During the Great War, there was an elder who spoke out against war. This Tuan had thought that with words, we could live side by side with the Kirat Empire. The first village to be conquered was his. He lost his life, fighting for the people he did not believe we could save with words. It was a reminder that even those desiring peace had to fight, at times.

Lysara bowed her head. "A lesson we know well."

The conversation became lighter with the passage of time, but the burden of Xiaxo's past weighed upon it. For the first time in a long time, Larin felt a sense of purpose that was not just for himself, but for his people. It was not only about being strong because they had the ability to be resilient, but also to remember and pay their respects to their past.

As the embers of the fire pit grew dim and the first light of dawn painted the sky, Zakop rose to his feet. "Thank you for listening. And thank you for bringing our son back to us."

Myrith replied ,"Your son and a lot of new generations will pioneer your world and the stars, you will only have to wait. And for now, please, tell us more about your stories, we are eager to learn."