Turo's pyre burned bright and hot.

  Marnoell stood before it, arms crossed tightly over his chest, lips pressed into a thin line. His tears had dried a while ago. He had carried his beloved son’s lifeless body to this forsaken place with the utmost respect, set him on the pyre… and then, he had searched for Nox.

  Losing his only son—born after years of prayers and hardships—was already unbearable. But lighting his own son’s pyre? That was a cruelty no father should endure. It was supposed to be the other way around. He had believed, or at least hoped, that Nox would step forward, that he would do what a brother should. After all, Nox was more than just Turo’s cousin—he was like a brother to him. So, when the time came, Marnoell had called for him, holding out the torch, offering him the honor of sending Turo off.

  But Nox never came.

  Panic crept into the gathered men. The sun was sinking fast, and the pyre had to be lit before nightfall. Yet Nox was nowhere to be found.

  Marnoell was confused but not angry—at first. He reasoned that Nox must have had a good reason, that he had simply stayed behind for something urgent, that he would arrive soon.

  Then Khotal was pushed forward, Malok shoving him roughly by the neck.

  "Tell him," Malok ordered. "Tell him what you just said."

  Khotal hesitated, his eyes darting around as if searching for an escape. He had mumbled, "Nox… he’s not coming. He chose Samora over Turo."

  The words struck Marnoell like a blow.

  He had expected resistance when he forbade the men from helping with Samora’s funeral—he wasn’t naive enough to think everyone would obey without question. But in his mind, there had only been two possible outcomes. Either Bouma, faced with no options, would come begging to him—at which point he would grant her permission, subtly reinforcing the lesson that defying tradition had consequences. Or someone would cave to her grief, help her in secret, and he would make an example of them—exiling them and their family for atleast ten years so that others would learn the cost of disobedience.

  But never—never—had he imagined that the one to betray him would be Nox.

  Now, standing before Turo’s burning pyre, he regretted ever issuing that decree. He had lost one son today. And if things continued this way, he would lose another.

  But words, once spoken, could not be taken back.

  So he had steadied himself, masked the turmoil in his chest, and reassured the men that there would be a hearing that night. Nox would have the chance to explain himself before any final decision was made.

  Still, as the fire crackled before him, grief pressed against his ribs, sharp and aching.

  Turo was gone.

  And soon, maybe, Nox would be too.

  Marnoell clutched his chest, flinching at the pain.

  Just then, Nox came running—only to stumble to a halt, his breath hitching as his gaze locked onto Turo’s burning body. His heart shattered. He had missed his chance to see Turo’s face one last time before the flames consumed him, before he was reduced to nothing but ashes.

  But Marnoell’s anger flared once more, fierce and unrelenting. The regret, love, and longing he had felt just moments ago vanished in an instant.

  If he cared about Turo so much, why didn’t he come earlier?

  The fury burning in his chest was not just anger—it was love twisted by betrayal. He couldn’t stand there any longer. With a sharp, pointed look at Nox, he ordered him to come to the Great Banyan for a hearing, then turned and walked away without another word.

  On his way, he gave swift orders to Malok and Hiyan. "Gather everyone from the village beneath the holy tree."

  He couldn’t hold out any longer. He needed to know why Nox had chosen Samora over him. Now. Not that it would change anything.

  A short while later, the entire village had gathered beneath the sprawling branches of the Great Banyan. Among them stood Nox, Bhola, Khotal, and Creda. The latter looked drenched, her clothes clinging to her like a second skin. Marnoell guessed her mother had doused her with a barrel of water, an attempt to wash away the 'evils' of the cremation grounds. But there had been no time to dry off or even change before the summons reached them.

  Marnoell settled onto the root-entangled mound at the center, motioning for the other elders—Phyto, Kaius, and a few more—to join him.

  The crowd murmured in hushed tones, gossiping about Nox’s blatant defiance of the chief’s orders. Some speculated about deeper conspiracies, whispered theories about why he would go against the decree.

  The sun had long since set, and the hearing, which should have taken place in daylight, was now unfolding under flickering torchlight. A bonfire crackled at the center, casting long, wavering shadows across grim faces.

  It was unusual for such matters to be settled at night. But Marnoell had insisted. The weight of it was too heavy, the betrayal too deep. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—wait until morning.

  Phyto cleared his throat. “We should begin. It’s getting late, and we don’t know how long this will take.”

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  “Yes,” Kaius agreed. His sharp eyes landed on Nox. “Step forward.”

  Nox obeyed without hesitation.

  Kaius studied him for a moment before speaking. “Tell us, son. Do you know why we’ve gathered here?”

  Nox nodded. “I do. Because I went against Uncle’s orders and—”

  “Relationships have no place in the face of justice,” someone cut him off.

  Nox inhaled sharply, steadying himself. “…I went against the chief’s orders,” he admitted.

  "Is there a reason for that, son?" Kaius prompted. "Do you have anything to say before judgment is passed?"

  Nox met his gaze, his voice unwavering. "No, Elder, I don’t. Except that I fulfilled my duty to my family."

  Phyto scoffed. "Isn’t it also your duty to obey the chief’s orders, Nox? Or did you think you were an exception to the rules?"

  A murmur rippled through the crowd. The villagers gasped, some whispering amongst themselves.

  Creda exhaled sharply. "The rule was ridiculous in itself. You can’t keep a corpse overnight—"

  "Speak when it’s your turn, young one." Marnoell’s voice thundered over the gathering.

  "I’m just expressing my opinion! How is that wrong?" she shot back.

  "It isn’t," Marnoell said, his tone cold. "But speaking out of turn is. Stay silent until someone asks you a question. This is not your home, where you can spout whatever comes to mind."

  Creda pressed her lips together, falling into reluctant silence. All eyes shifted back to Nox.

  "It was… complicated," Nox began, choosing his words carefully. "I couldn’t disobey the chief’s orders, but I also couldn’t abandon my family when they needed me most. So I—"

  "Did they ask you to help them?" Kaius cut in.

  "No," Nox admitted. "I volunteered."

  "Then you accept that you deliberately defied the order, don’t you?" Phyto pressed.

  "No! It’s not like that. I helped them because—"

  "Because he wanted to woo Creda now that he’s put Turo out of the way," Malok sneered.

  A stunned silence fell over the gathering. All attention turned to him.

  "Didn’t you see how he called Turo family just last night?" Malok continued, voice dripping with disdain. "Yet when it came to choosing between him and Samora, he picked her. One day, Turo was his brother. The next, a stranger."

  Marnoell felt something shift inside him. A slow, unsettling realization, like a veil of smoke lifting. He had dismissed Malok’s accusations every time before. But now… now, the words dug into him.

  Had he been blind to something crucial?

  Still, he was cautious. He was the chief, the judge. He couldn’t afford to be swayed by emotions alone.

  "Shut up, Malok," Creda snapped. "No one asked for your opinion."

  Marnoell’s gaze snapped to her, sharp and unforgiving. "Creda, this is my final warning. Do not speak out of turn again."

  "Then why is he allowed to?" she challenged. "If I have to follow the rules, so should he."

  "He has my permission," Marnoell stated flatly. Then, turning back to Malok, he gave a slow nod. "You made a bold accusation. What makes you think that? Do you have any concrete evidence?" His voice was steady, but his grip on his knee tightened. "We don’t deliver justice based on petty claims."

  "Not exactly, but I can prove it to you," Malok said.

  Marnoell shifted impatiently.

  "Truth isn’t that difficult to prove. Turo himself has told me."

  Marnoell's attention snapped back to him at the mention of his son's name, his forehead scrunched in confusion. "What did Turo tell you?"

  Malok hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. "That…" he trailed off.

  "Go ahead," Marnoell encouraged.

  "That Nox doesn’t have his best interests at heart. That Nox had tried to…" Malok paused again, casting a wary glance at Nox as if afraid of him.

  Marnoell cleared his throat to pull Malok’s attention back. He nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

  "That Nox had tried to kill him—several times."

  A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by a wave of murmurs.

  Enraged, Nox lunged at Malok, gripping him by the neck. "How dare you?" he seethed. Several people had to drag him away, restraining him. The bloodstained dagger lodged in his waistband moved slightly.

  "If you’re going to settle this between yourselves, then why do you think we’re here, Nox? Out of boredom?" Kaius scolded, his voice cutting through the murmurs.

  Just as Nox opened his mouth to protest, Kaius silenced him with a raised hand. "Wait. He has the chief’s permission to speak." He fixed Nox with a hard stare. "You’ll get your turn to explain yourself."

  Malok took a shaky breath before continuing. "But Turo was too afraid to tell you. Because—please forgive me if this sounds like disrespect—but these are Turo’s words, not mine. He said you favor Nox and that you wouldn’t believe him. So I promised to watch his back. We had this… silent pact to look out for each other. Everyone knew how much Turo used to follow Nox around. But lately, he’s been avoiding him."

  A fresh murmur spread through the crowd as people exchanged glances. They all remembered—Turo had indeed been fond of Nox. But recently, his behavior had changed. Many had dismissed it as the onset of adolescence, but now Malok’s words gave a new meaning to those memories.

  Nox’s mouth fell open in shock at the blatant accusation.

  "That’s why I protested against you sending Nox to find Turo last night," Malok said. "Because I feared he might do something to Turo with no one there to watch him. And look at what happened—Turo is no more."

  The crowd whispered among themselves, nodding, their expressions shifting between worry and doubt.

  Creda frowned. "That’s stupid. Nox didn’t do anything to Turo."

  Marnoell shot her a glare for speaking out of turn yet again, but she pressed on, undeterred.

  "Didn’t you people see Turo’s body? It was so drained of life. No can do that. It must be something else," she argued.

  She had never believed in the supernatural—just like her sister. But nothing logical could explain the state Turo was in when they brought him back. He was a mere husk, after all. Perhaps she had been ignorant all this time. The conversation she had with Calla last night replayed in the back of her mind. She couldn’t fully grasp what was happening, but one thing was certain—it couldn’t have been Nox. They were being ridiculous.

  Marnoell shifted slightly. "What do you say to that, Malok?" he challenged.

  As angry and disappointed as he was with Nox, he wasn’t one to accept such a grave accusation without solid proof.

  "I agree," Malok admitted. "No man could have done that. It must be something else. But he could have intentionally left Turo unguarded at the wrong time, right?"

  "Malok!" Marnoell’s voice carried a warning. "That’s an opportunistic claim. Turo isn’t here to attest to it, and there’s no place for speculation. I thought you had concrete evidence. Do you, or do you not?"

  "Just a moment more, Chief," Malok pleaded, scrambling for another way to attack Nox’s reputation. He scolded himself for not anticipating this kind of resistance. Nox had been the favorite of everyone for almost eighteen years—dragging him down wouldn’t be easy. Let alone replacing him.

  He needed a better strategy.

  Then it hit him. The pieces fell into place.

  "Chief, like I said, truth doesn’t need digging. It’s the lies that need covering up. We only need to peel back the layers."

  Nox stared at him in confusion.

  "Last night, you sent Turo with him to check on the women," Malok continued. "But only Nox came back. Not Turo."

  The murmurs started again, doubt seeping into the crowd.

  "He let Turo enter the birthing chamber knowing he would be cursed," Malok pressed. "Doesn’t anyone find that strange? Don’t you think Nox did it on purpose—as if he Turo to be cursed?"

  "What?" Nox mouthed, his shock evident.

  The crowd stirred restlessly. Marnoell’s forehead creased in thought, and Malok knew—he was finally steering the conversation in the right direction.

  So much has happened in just one night! And with only a few more chapters left in this book, we're nearing a turning point. But the story is far from over—stick around to piece together the bigger puzzle.