The market in Nanda Parbat was a vibrant tapestry of colours, sounds, and scents. Nestled high in the mountains, the secluded city’s bazaar was a place where ancient traditions mingled with the daily lives of its inhabitants. Stalls overflowed with exotic spices, silks, and intricate handicrafts. In the midst of this bustling scene, you and Damian moved gracefully, with your children darting around you both with wide-eyed curiosity.

Damian, with his sharp eyes and a protective hand resting on the hilt of his sword, navigated through the crowd with ease. Your eldest son, mirrored his father’s vigilant demeanour, though his youthful curiosity often got the better of him. Beside them, your serene presence was a calming counterbalance. You carried your youngest, in a sling close to your chest, while your middle child, clung to your hand, her eyes wide with wonder.

“Stay close,” Damian called out, his voice firm yet gentle as his eldest son lingered by a stall selling ornate daggers.