*******************
Freed from all constraints, Yuvan departed his home with only the scant attire adorning his frame. Boarding a train bound for Lahore, he ascended to its rooftop, as anticipated, the vantage point sought by many exploiting the free journey from above.
Amid the densely packed throng that had claimed their positions at preceding stations, Yuvan searched intently for a vacant space. Navigating with care to avoid treading on others, he finally located an unoccupied patch and moved towards it. His attempt to settle in was halted by the man occupying the adjacent spot, who inquired about Yuvan's name. Among those riding atop the train, mostly lower castes, existed a further layer of stratification. The man's query aimed to determine Yuvan's social standing. "Juan, my name is Juan Shankar," Yuvan replied, adopting a name he had gleaned from a sahib conversing with a friend about a book, 'Don Juan.'
"A convert, I see." The man shifted his bag to allow Yuvan a seat. Missionaries, touting salvation and liberation from the clutches of the caste system, enticed many of the lower caste individuals—Dalits—to embrace alternate faiths. Through religious conversion, they could traverse roads once forbidden, enter restricted premises, and shed the stigma of 'untouchables' inscribed upon their foreheads; an almost magical transformation. Fear of the divine and devotion to their original religion held many back, yet thousands still sought deliverance from the curse erasing their human rights. A spiritual leader who witnessed this cultural invasion first-hand labelled it 'lunatic.'
"Where are you headed?" the man inquired.
"To Lahore! I'm going to assist my father at our tea stall," Yuvan replied, veiling his true purpose: to rendezvous with his idol, facing the gallows for his revolutionary endeavours.
Like everyone else, Yuvan shared the belief in the nation's revered leader as a potential saviour for his hero. Despite the leader's disavowal of revolutionaries and their extremism, public sentiment pleaded for the young man's reprieve from the executioner's grasp.
Enduring the sweltering day and chilling night atop the train, Yuvan eagerly absorbed tales of his hero's valour—his audacity, sagacity, integrity, and the unwavering spirit displayed throughout his one hundred and sixteen days of fasting. Nevertheless, the country's leader remained reticent, even as a rival caste leader and a British national championed his cause.
Despite the impending day of reckoning, Yuvan's faith in the great leader persisted, mirrored by the nation at large. For surely, a figure as illustrious as his hero could not succumb to an unfulfilled destiny at so tender an age.
*******************
Day one
In the inky depths of the pre-dawn hours, a shroud of darkness veiled the clan's ancestral estate. The world seemed to hold its breath, as if aware of the impending storm that was about to break. The moon's pale light cast elongated shadows across the landscape, while the whispers of the night rustled through the leaves like hushed secrets.
Within the opulent chamber of the young master, an air of tension hung thickly. The room's flickering candlelight danced upon the walls, creating a dance of light and shadow that mirrored the turbulent emotions within. Upon an elaborately carved bed, the young master lay, tangled in a restless slumber. His features, etched with defiance and passion, betrayed the tempestuous nature of his soul.
Abruptly, a firm knock echoed through the room, shattering the fragile tranquillity that had briefly settled. The chamber door creaked open, revealing the figure of the clan elder. His presence, a blend of authority and concern, cast a sombre light upon the scene. He approached the bed with a measured stride, his gaze never leaving the figure before him.
"Wake, young master," the elder's voice carried a weight that seemed to reverberate through the room. "The hour has come for you to depart."
As if roused by an unseen force, the young master's eyes shot open, their intensity mirroring the wild fire that burned within him. He sat up, his raven-dark hair tousled and his gaze ablaze with a volatile mixture of anger and defiance. The intrusion into his restless dreams seemed to intensify his already simmering emotions.
"Why now?" his voice crackled like a smouldering ember, carrying with it an undercurrent of resentment. "Why must I be woken from my slumber to face this… this farce?"
"Please, I implore you to find your composure, young master,"
"You expect me to find composure while that low-born scoundrel toys with me, and I'm surrounded by these useless, bumbling imbeciles?" The elders stood in uneasy silence, only fuelling Ethan's irritation further.
"Arrr!"
"Where is Geoffrey? Fetch him here immediately!"
"He's on his way, young master."
"Young master? I am the lord of this clan, and I demand you address me..."
"My sincere apologies, my lord."
"Do not interrupt me ever. Consider this as my final warning to you all."
One of the attendants hastily left the chamber to summon Geoffrey, meeting him in the hallway.
"Great elder, please hurry! The young master is causing quite a scene."
"Hmph."
"Very well," Geoffrey responded, hastening his steps alongside the attendant. He entered the room and offered a deep bow.
"Young master, I extend my utmost respect." Ethan's anger seemed to have reached a boiling point, as he erupted.
"Kneel!" his command sliced through the charged atmosphere.
"Young Master?!"
"Your incompetence should cost you your head. Kneel!"
To the astonishment of everyone present, Geoffrey immediately dropped to his knees and kowtowed.
"Lord, I humbly beg your forgiveness. I implore you to find your composure."
‘Insolent fool, you are going to pay a thousandfold for this humiliation.’
"Cease this pitiful display," Ethan's voice dripped with disdain. "Enough."
"Rise from the floor, Geoffrey."
Slowly, Geoffrey lifted himself, his gaze shifting towards the attendants. Without a word, they discreetly exited the room, leaving the tense atmosphere behind.
The chamber now contained only Ethan and Geoffrey, a suffocating tension hanging heavy in the air. Ethan could practically feel the weight of the atmosphere pressing against him, almost compelling him to retreat. However, it was Geoffrey who broke the silence first.
"Young Master," Geoffrey's voice carried a hint of calm authority, "the new lord orchestrated this situation deliberately, attempting to provoke you. He aims to test your mettle, to see if he can shake your resolve. We must endure this trial. Remember, he remains unaware of our dealings with the esteemed Naga clan. Allow him his moment of amusement, for in the end, it will be he who kneels before you, begging for mercy."
Ethan's lips tightened, his gaze fixed on Geoffrey. "Young master, listen to me..."
"Lord," Ethan corrected sharply.
"Forgive my impertinence, Lord. Permit me to continue." Ethan gave a curt nod, granting permission. "The journey to the academy is estimated to take around ten days. Any further delay could disrupt your carefully arranged schedule. We must not risk arriving late, as the allocated time slot for your entry is fixed. Failure to adhere to it would bring consequences."
A note of urgency crept into Geoffrey's voice. "We must ensure a smooth start, my lord. The carriage is prepared and waiting for you. I personally attended to your comfort during the journey."
Ethan's brows furrowed as he considered the upcoming days. "Am I to endure the confines of the carriage for the entire ten days?"
Geoffrey hastened to reassure him, "Certainly not, my lord. You will spend your nights at inns along the route."
Ethan's lips curled in a mixture of disdain and amusement. "Inns, you say? For every bit of discomfort I encounter, rest assured, you shall suffer a hundredfold."
Geoffrey maintained a composed demeanour, his response swift. "Yes, my lord."
"You may leave," Ethan's tone dismissed him, "I shall join you shortly."
As Geoffrey withdrew, Ethan's gaze followed him, a contemptuous murmur escaping his lips. "What a shameless man he is, every encounter only fuels my disgust."
Meanwhile, Geoffrey made his way through a sea of pitying glances, his steps unswayed by the eyes that dared to meet his. He reached the entrance where the awaiting carriage stood, surrounded by a curious crowd, drawn by the anticipation of a dramatic spectacle. Contrary to their expectations, Geoffrey exuded an air of calm composure, his posture unyielding, despite the blatant disrespect he had just endured. The crowd held onto hope, sensing a potential shift in the unfolding scene as they waited for the other lead to make his appearance.
Inside the chamber.
A maelstrom of conflicting emotions raged within the young master, a tempest that threatened to consume him whole.
Staring into the mirror, Ethan's mind was a whirlwind of contemplation. ‘It's no secret that everyone anticipates my failure at the academy. Their motives, I can decipher, but what drives Geoffrey? Why does that leech feeding on me, eagerly urging my departure? What lies beneath his intentions?’
A faint smile played on his lips, shadowed by suspicion. ‘I wouldn't be surprised if, being part of the losing faction, he grovelled at the feet of the new lord. That shameless man likely kowtowed just as he did before me. Assigned with sending me away to showcase his loyalty.’
"Yes, that must be it," Ethan mused, his gaze drifting toward a dark leather scroll retrieved from his space ring. ‘He must have taken pleasure in mocking me while he prostrated himself. An entire conspiracy to conceal their scheme of sending me off. But they've all misjudged one thing: it's I who yearns for the academy most fervently.’
His fingers traced the intricate patterns on the scroll, a sense of reverence and determination shining in his eyes. ‘This scroll, a gift from the heavens, shall be my ticket to triumph. With this, no obstacle will hinder my path to glory.’
He recalled the tales that whispered of blessings from above, reserved for those who succeeded within the academy's formidable walls. ‘They claim celestial favour grants passage through the academy's trials. Well, I must be favoured indeed, for I possess this divine scroll.’
Many had believed his father and elder brother perished during their ill-fated expedition—an assumption he himself shared for a time. We were all mistaken, their mission bore fruit, though it consumed them.
As death closed in on my father, he infused the last vestiges of his life force into this scroll and bound it to his own form. Only his true heir—me—can retrieve it. A legacy concealed within my very bloodline.
His body was riddled with tantras of many known and unknown paths. Though others did notice the traces the raktapada (blood path) tantra, but didn’t think it was his own. How could a leader of a second-grade clan of righteous faction engage or even know such forbidden arts? Lucky for me they didn’t delve deeper. They say it is hard to detect and defend against a tantra belonging to a path which you know nothing about, even for grandmasters.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
A faint sense of urgency tightened his resolve. ‘Were they aware of my possession, the floodgates of ambition and avarice would burst open. Regardless of allegiance—righteous or demonic—they'd pursue me relentlessly. Before unimaginable power, faction lines blur.’
Ethan's gaze returned to his reflection, his thoughts racing with strategic precision. "I must sustain this charade, allowing no glimpse of my true potential. I'm well aware that my departure will be met with silence, devoid of pomp and spectacle. Yet, their watchful eyes will linger, vigilant and perceptive."
He leaned in, his voice a determined whisper. "Wait and watch, for I shall return, a harbinger of astonishment. The sight of your astounded expressions will be a reward unto itself."
Day 2
Within the chambers of Elder Samarth in the heart of the Great Naga clan,
"Elder, the Silver Fang's young master has departed for the academy. Geoffrey, has attempted to contact you on two separate occasions earlier."
"For now, disregard that fool. Remind me, when is the assault scheduled?"
"In four days' time, as they approach the creek. Our operatives will strike under the cover of night."
"Ensure no trace of our involvement remains, no evidence to connect back to our clan."
"Understood, Lord. I've engaged mercenaries from the demonic faction, using Elder Geoffrey's name and seal. If apprehended, they can only reveal his identity."
"Hmm, should that fool attempt to reach me again, inform him that I am engrossed in a vital mission for the clan and will remain unavailable for several days. Afterwards, erase all records of our communication with him, as though our connection never existed. Notify the clan that I am entering a secluded cultivation phase, inspired and on the brink of a breakthrough."
"Is this true, my Lord? Are you truly on the brink of a breakthrough?"
"I have, in fact, attained a breakthrough a few weeks prior. I concealed the fact to capitalize on the perfect opportunity."
"Forgive my inquiry, Lord. Yet, why divulge conflicting statements? Why not inform Geoffrey of your secluded cultivation?"
"Fool! Who would retreat into seclusion while their scheme is in play, unless they anticipate failure and desire to dissociate? Geoffrey is astute; we must convince him of our unwavering alliance. He knows this venture is unauthorized, and the clan's decision to send me away could be construed as mere misfortune."
"Pardon my lack of insight, Lord. However, what if he uncovers our deceit?"
"With only a few days remaining, the gears are already set in motion. By the time he realizes, it will be too late. He will be left with no recourse but to flee."
"Could he not seek his clan leader's clemency and lay blame on us?"
"Geoffrey has been an eyesore the new clan leader Alfred, for some time. He would be branded a turncoat and perhaps met with execution, even if he exposes compelling evidence implicating us. In the most favourable outcome, he might be permitted a wretched existence as a slave. Given his ambitious spirit, he would likely prefer a thousand deaths. Flight is his sole alternative."
"Why, my Lord, this unyielding conviction, as though the plan is doomed?"
"If our plan succeeds, I may have overestimated Alfred's ability. To know your adversary is to forestall defeat. Alfred, as I discern him, would anticipate our scheme and prepare for the onslaught."
"My strategy hinges on the aftermath, whether triumph or setback. Internal strife is inevitable within the clan, the leader shielding his rival, while the great elder seeks to vanquish his master. Chaos will become our foothold to dismantle the clan and decapitate its leadership."
"And should the plan prove triumphant? What fate awaits Geoffrey?"
"Why retain a poison that can claim your life? Sometimes necessity compels retention; thereafter, its disposal is inescapable."
Day 3
Geoffrey's gaze was fixed intensely on the crystal communicator, his impatience growing with each passing moment. Three days had elapsed since his last conversation with Elder Samarth, and his tolerance was wearing thin.
Finally, a response flickered across the crystal's surface. Yet, it wasn't the awaited figure of Elder Samarth that materialized.
"Good morning, Great Elder Geoffrey," the voice greeted. But it wasn't the voice he had been yearning for.
"Who are you? Where is Elder Samarth, and why are you employing his crystal?" Geoffrey's tone was tinged with suspicion.
"Sir, the elder is presently engaged. He embarks on a vital mission for the clan. He instructed me to convey that he is vigilantly overseeing all proceedings. Maintain your focus on your designated tasks. He will make contact in the upcoming days."
"A few days? By then, it might be too late."
"I am but a messenger, sir. There is little use in venting your frustration upon me."
The communication terminated, leaving Geoffrey to slump back into his chair, his hand rubbing his temple wearily.
Meanwhile, within the expanse of the clan castle, preparations for an impending ceremony surged with fervour.
A cluster of children roamed aimlessly, their gazes searching as if for someone specific. One of them was intercepted by Yuvan's father. "What are you idling about for? Have you completed your duties?"
"Yes, uncle, I've finished my tasks. I was searching for Yuvan. Have you seen him?"
"No, I haven't. Now be off with you."
"Please, try to locate him. We're worried," the child implored.
"Move along and tend to your chores. Stay far away from Yuvan; he's a corrupting influence," Yuvan's father admonished, the sternness in his voice resonating with concern.
Day 4
Congratulations, my Lord! The moment we've long awaited is nearly upon us. With a weakened opposing faction and the absence of the young Lord, you will soon be able to rule without opposition and lead our clan to greater heights.
Indeed, tomorrow marks an important day in my life. However, the day after tomorrow is what truly matters.
Why is that, my Lord?
It's likely they'll attempt to assassinate the young master. They'll try to pin the blame on me.
How did you come to that conclusion?
It's the strategy I would employ if I were in their shoes.
That's why you delayed announcing the young Lord's name, isn't it?
Precisely, Edmund. I aimed to catch them off guard, giving them a limited window of opportunity in which they would likely make a mistake. Your understanding is commendable. Keep working diligently, and I will consider making you an elder in the future. The clan needs more talented individuals like you to propel us forward.
Thank you, my Lord. I am honoured by your consideration.
But how does the targeting of the young Lord benefit you?
It's a trap I've set for them, one I wouldn't have executed if not for the involvement of the Celestial Hawk clan.
Ah, so a first-grade clan is aiding us.
Not quite. The Celestial Hawk see us as a means to an end. They plan to use us to eliminate the Nagas and position themselves as a super-force. They've dispatched a group of elites to shadow the young Lord discreetly. We don't want to spook the attackers by getting too close.
My Lord, do you truly intend to save the young master?
Why would I let my most significant obstacle live? I have an arrangement with the Celestial Hawk. They'll act only after the young master is eliminated. They'll apprehend the assailants, blame the Nagas for behaving like a demonic clan, and launch an assault. With their assistance, we'll replace the Nagas as the dominant clan in the region.
But, my Lord, what if they employ mercenaries instead of their own operatives?
Planning to that extent to use only mercenaries would be a considerable challenge. Even if they did, they'd need to hire mercenaries from the demonic faction, which would leave a trail difficult to cover up. Given their limited preparation time, they will likely use their own members. In life, certain risks must be taken to attain certain goals.
Edmund, make arrangements for the day after tomorrow. As the attack will occur after nightfall, you will be stationed in the Chamber of Life that night—alone.
Why the Chamber of Life, my Lord?
Consider what the Chamber of Life contains.
It houses lanterns for each clan member... ah, I see. When the lantern beneath the young master's portrait extinguishes, we will know.
Exactly. We'll be alerted the moment he perishes. You will remain there until I instruct otherwise. I don't want anyone else to learn of his demise until I receive confirmation from the Celestial Hawk.
You're dismissed. Go check on the progress of the ceremony preparations.
Outside the castle,
Hey, Chief,
What is it?
Have you noticed the children? They're wandering about, searching for Yuvan. It appears they're playing games rather than attending to their chores.
That boy is nothing but trouble. Inform Yuvan's father to ensure he's carrying out his duties. Managing that boy is proving quite a challenge.
Chief!
What is it now?
Over there, Chief—Edmund, the right-hand man of our Lord. It seems he's here for an inspection.
Go and inform the others. I'll keep him engaged.
Hurry!
And do check on the children.
Day 5
The grand hall buzzed with anticipation as the ceremony of accession loomed. Elders representing various branch clans and neighbouring factions had converged to attend the event, symbolizing unity and diplomacy among the clans.
At the entrance, clan elders welcomed the arriving guests, guiding them to their designated seats. Among the gathering, the esteemed figures of the great Naga clan emerged. As they stepped forward to be received by one of the elders, their attention swayed elsewhere—to Geoffrey, standing regally at the entrance, an observer of the unfolding spectacle.
"Greetings, Great Elder Geoffrey. It has been a while, though I wish the circumstances were different," one of the dignitaries addressed.
"Indeed, my lord, the twists of fate are beyond our control. We must navigate through them and press on," Geoffrey responded with composed wisdom.
"Very true, Great Elder. Your perspective is commendable," the conversation continued briefly.
Seizing the opportunity for casual exchange, Geoffrey inquired, "I haven't seen Elder Samarth. Is he not joining us?"
Ah, Samarth, he is currently preoccupied with matters of importance," the lord replied.
"Yes, I've heard that he..."
"You're aware? How did you come by this information? Samarth only recently entered seclusion, hardly a day ago," the lord responded, a hint of suspicion colouring his words.
Taken aback by this revelation, Geoffrey swiftly clarified, "Seclusion? I heard he was fulfilling a mission for the clan."
The lord chuckled, placing a hand on Geoffrey's shoulder. "You surprised me there. I was curious about the extent of your information network. You were partially right; Samarth is indeed unavailable. He has embarked on a period of closed cultivation, inspired by our lord's guidance."
Geoffrey looked aside, indicating one of the elders to lead the guests.
With furrowed brows, the Naga elders followed the guide. "What's the matter with him? Perhaps the recent setback has taken its toll. Such a pitiable man, aspiring to be clan lord" he mused with a hint of derision.
"Great Elder Geoffrey, you seem unwell. Are you feeling alright?" an elder from another faction inquired, genuine concern etched on his face.
"I am slightly fatigued. A moment of respite in my office might rejuvenate me," Geoffrey admitted.
"Please do so, my Lord."
Geoffrey retreated, heading toward his office as the whispers of other elders trailed in his wake.
"Where is Geoffrey off to?"
"He does look rather drained."
"Understandable, given the recent blow our Lord delivered him."
Laughter erupted, the echoes of shared amusement ringing in the air.
Geoffrey entered his office, a palpable tension clinging to the air. His parched throat begged for relief, and he reached for a glass of water. But his mounting frustration betrayed him—gripping the glass too tightly, it shattered, shards cutting his hand and drawing blood. In his fury, he fixed his gaze on the attendant and bellowed, "What kind of incompetence is this? Is this how you present things on a Great Elder's table?" The broken glass was hurled at the hapless attendant.
A fragment struck the attendant's forehead, rebounding off with a thud, while another shard into his right eye. In agony and disarray, he staggered back, clutching his face, desperate to contain the pain. Yet, amid the chaos, a butler's training held firm—a veneer of calm masking his internal turmoil, lest he forfeit not only his position but his life.
"Ahhhh!" The rage found an outlet, momentarily appeased by his outburst. The attendant's reaction managed to anchor Geoffrey, reminding him of the situation. Doubt gnawed at him—could it be a misunderstanding?
"Arrrgh! Who in the world would turn to closed cultivation when a pivotal scheme is in motion?" His thoughts spun a web of uncertainty, a predicament of his own making.
Success or failure, his fate seemed sealed. All blame would be pinned on him; it was over. The sting of his own misjudgement pierced him; he had let down his guard, placed trust where it shouldn't have been. ‘I need to let him know. But how? There is no way I can contact him. I have to deal it on my own.’
Should he approach Alfred with the truth? Unveil Samarth's plan, perhaps saving the clan from an impending disaster? But the lack of evidence would earn him little more than a reprimand, while his name would forever be tainted as a traitor.
Years of painstaking progress, built atop betrayals, would unravel due to one folly. Rising from the depths, he should have been wiser.
Escape beckoned as an alternative. Time remained, decisions hanging on the balance. If the brat survived, negotiation might be an option. If the plan crumbled, his cards would be played out.
With resolve, he donned his mask and headed to the ceremony, avoiding the spotlight. Along the way, he caught sight of attendants tending to the injured, an unspoken pact formed as he tossed a gold chain their way.
Inside the grand hall, Geoffrey took his place, settling into his seat as the priests concluded their rituals. The new clan leader ascended the throne, Alfred's voice resounding as he addressed the gathering, accolades and congratulations streaming in.
However, elsewhere, in a nondescript motel room, another individual wrestled with restless slumber. Tossing and turning, frustration painted his expression. The image of his birth right being stolen haunted him relentlessly. Succumbing to his unrest, he rose from the bed, drawn to the window for solace.
The night breeze offered respite, quelling the storm within. Gazing at the distant mountains that lay ahead, a sigh escaped him. With a hint of suspicion, he thought he saw movement within the carriage nearby—a fleeting notion he dismissed in the presence of vigilant guards.
Shaking off uncertainty, he returned to his bed, hoping for sleep to claim him once more.
Late into the night, the sky was illuminated by a breath-taking display of fireworks, showering cascades of light that painted the heavens. The villagers erupted in cheers, the celebrations continued to surge through the village with unyielding energy. Amidst the jubilant atmosphere, the Chief and his companions indulged in a festive feast, relishing the success of the ceremony. Laughter and animated discussions filled the air as they basked in the glow of their achievements. However, the jovial ambiance was suddenly shattered by the arrival of an agitated figure.
"Chief! Chief! We are in grave trouble," the man exclaimed urgently, his voice laden with apprehension.
"Why trouble, my friend?" questioned the Chief, a frown creasing his brow.
"It's Yuvan."
The Chief's tone turned sceptical, "What has Yuvan done this time?"
"It's... complicated," the man hesitated, his eyes betraying a mix of concern and bewilderment.
"Complicated?!" The Chief's curiosity heightened, sensing the gravity of the situation. He motioned for the man to step aside, away from prying ears and curious glances.
"Speak now, what has transpired?" The Chief's voice lowered, an undercurrent of seriousness threading his words.
"I think he ran away, Chief," the man confessed, his expression grim.
The Chief's incredulous look swiftly shifted to disbelief, "You think he ran away? How can you be uncertain about such a crucial matter?"
As the man struggled to convey the situation, the Chief's frustration became palpable. He raked his fingers through his hair, his agitation growing.
"He ran away a few days ago, Chief," the man clarified, attempting to provide a more coherent account.
The Chief's exasperation deepened. "A few days ago? What on earth are you talking about? Are you even listening to the words coming out of your own mouth? Do you have any idea how utterly ridiculous you sound?
I know chief, but..
What do you mean, "but"? A young slave boy ran away days ago, and we're just finding out about it now? Why didn't anyone raise the alarm, not even his family? Someone should have noticed his absence. If he hasn't been here for the past few days, who's been doing his chores in the meantime?
The man hurriedly explained, "He had assigned his chores to other children, promising them ceremonial sweets in return."
"Sweets? You mean to say that a mere promise of sweets led the other children to undertake his responsibilities?"
"Indeed, Chief. He manipulated them into covering for him by promising them a share of the ceremonial sweets."
But how? How could the other children be so foolish? How much could they possibly gain if his portion were divided among them?
He promised them individually, keeping each unaware of the others. Then he divided his tasks among them, assigning different periods for each day, and instructed them to keep it all a secret, warning that if anyone found out, they would be severely punished.
The Chief's incredulity transformed into a mixture of amazement and frustration. "The audacity of this boy! How could he orchestrate such a scheme?"
"In his absence, the other children completed his tasks at different times, all the while keeping it a secret among themselves," the man revealed.
The Chief's amazement deepened, "He managed to execute this plan with such precision? This boy possesses a mind sharper than most."
The Chief quickly composed himself, his mind racing to find a solution to this predicament. "Go! Fetch Yuvan's father immediately," he instructed.
As Yuvan's father arrived, his features were etched with anxiety, the Chief's stern demeanour amplifying his unease.
"Chief, you called for me?" Yuvan's father inquired hesitantly.
Without a word, the Chief's open palm landed with a sharp slap across Yuvan's father's cheek. The successive slaps followed as the Chief's frustration found an outlet.
"Didn't I tell you to check on your son?" the Chief berated, each slap punctuating his words.
Yuvan's father's voice quavered as he answered, "Yes, Chief. I did, he completed his chores."
Another slap landed, "Did you personally witness him completing his chores?"
"No."
"When did you last see him?"
"I... I don't know."
The Chief's frustration grew, his hand striking Yuvan's father's cheek once more. "Your own son eludes you, and yet you dare call yourself a responsible father?"
As Yuvan's father's cheeks reddened from the blows, he struggled to answer, "I'm... I'm sorry, Chief."
The Chief's tone turned biting, "Sorry for what? For failing your own blood?"
Yuvan's father's gaze faltered, his voice barely audible, "For... for whatever he did."
"This clueless fool doesn't even realize his son ran away days ago."
"WHAT?!"
Slap! Slap!
"Apologies, Chief. As his father, I will take full responsibility."
"Full responsibility, huh?!"
"This matter affects the entire village. I might even lose my life over it. Don't you understand? We are under the authority of the Great Elder Geoffrey, and he's been in a foul mood lately. Just today, he gouged out the eyes of an unfortunate soul for no apparent reason. What do you think he'll do to the village?"
"If it were up to me, I'd have beheaded you and your family for bringing that demon into our village."
"I'm sorry, Chief. Punish me for his actions, but spare my family."
"I can't do that. If this news spreads, the entire village will be implicated."
"Please...please, Chief, spare my family."
"Idiot! That means I can't take any action against you or your family right now."
"Thank you, Chief."
"Prepare a funeral pyre."
"For what?"
"Shhhh! Just listen!"
"Tonight, burn the pyre when no one is around. If anyone inquires, tell them Yuvan died, and you're cremating him under my directive, citing signs of plague. Don't reveal anything else, not even to your family. Only the three of us will know, and there will be no further discussion on this matter. I will handle the rest."
"Leave!"
"Back around the time Yuvan was born, Geoffrey killed a family with a newborn, claiming they insulted him. Now, I wish he had targeted Yuvan's family instead; that would have solved most of our current problems," the chief said with a heavy sigh.