The sun hung lazily over Vedanpur, casting a soft golden haze over the village rooftops. It was a peaceful afternoon, the kind where time slowed and everything felt safe. On the edge of the village, in a clearing where the grass reached their knees, Zorawar and Vyuk wrestled with a broken wooden wheel, trying to convert it into some sort of battle chariot for their imaginary crusade.
"No, no," Vyuk grunted, trying to wedge a rock beneath the wheel. "If we add one more spoke here, it won't spin. It'll break."
Zorawar frowned. "You just don't see the vision."
Before Vyuk could argue back, a boy no older than them came running down the dusty path, hair sticking to his forehead, panting with urgency.
"Vyuk! Zorawar!" he shouted. "You won't believe it!"
They both stood upright, wiping sweat from their brows.
"What is it, Nishu?" Vyuk asked.
The boy caught his breath. "The Holy Knight! Karunik! He's coming to our village!"
