The golden horizon of Shamballa glowed like a painted dream, but there was no calm in Princess Meena’s heart. The Anangsi people—those radiant, otherworldly humans who seemed to belong more to legend than the world—stood around her small party in serene clusters. Their faces reflected no panic, yet their eyes held an ancient knowledge of danger.
An elder woman with hair like spun silver stepped forward. She wore a flowing robe the color of starlight, and when she spoke, her voice carried the gentle weight of centuries.
“Princess of the outer lands,” she began, “the earth has whispered. The battle approaches.”
Meena frowned, clutching her shawl tighter against the mountain wind. “The earth… whispered?” she repeated softly.
The elder nodded. “This land is alive. It speaks to us as it has
