Vaidya trudged toward the camp's gate, flanked by four young men, their faces etched with exhaustion and sorrow.
Harman's camp wasn't as sprawling as Veer's—no grand fortifications or bustling crowds here. Instead, it stood modest and functional, with just two watchtowers in each direction, each sturdy enough to hold up to four people.
Tonight, though, the towers loomed eerily quiet. Most of the able-bodied men had joined the ill-fated mission, leaving only a handful of teenagers to stand guard.
The kids perched atop the wooden structures squinted into the dusk, their brows furrowing as they counted the meager group approaching.
So few returning? It didn't add up, but they shrugged it off. Maybe the rest had stayed behind at the old man's camp—closer to the path—to rest or divvy up whatever spoils they'd claimed.
What did catch their eye, though, was the stranger hobbling alongside the familiar faces.
