The cold deserts of Leh hid more than just frostbitten winds and endless dunes of white silence. Beneath one of its forgotten cliffs, far from any map, an ancient seal pulsed with a soft emerald glow — a light that hadn’t flickered in centuries.

Inside a hidden cave carved by time itself, a group of five nomads stood frozen in awe. At the center of the cave, embedded in a wall of crystal and stone, was a magnificent figure: a dragon, emerald green, wings folded tightly, bound in glowing runes.

A woman stepped forward, eyes wide, heart pounding. Her voice trembled with excitement and fear.

"Th-The book… the book was right," she gasped, taking a shaky step forward. "We found it. We actually found it!" Her eyes shimmered with awe and panic. "It’s the moment. We must do it, otherwise—" She began breathing heavily.

A hand, warm and calming, rested on her shoulder. A soft voice followed.

"Relax," a tall man said gently, stepping beside her. "It will end now."

Others slowly gathered behind, whispering, nodding, some with nervous smiles.

"Yeah," one murmured, eyes locked on the emerald glow. "This is it..."

But the calm shattered.

"LOOK OUT!" another woman screamed, pointing at the runes.

Bright lights cracked through the air. Screams echoed. One by one, the explorers were pulled away — vanishing into flashes of magic, swallowed by the ancient traps.

The cave went silent. The seal pulsed once more — and darkness returned.

---

A week passed.

Snowflakes drifted down in soft silence. In the camp’s corner, Khano sat alone, staring at the fire, eyes empty. He clutched a pendant — his mother's — tightly in his small hand.

"Where are you, Mom and Dad?" he murmured. His voice cracked. "I’ll find you. No matter what."

Tears rolled down his cheeks. His sadness burned into fury. He stood, eyes blazing, and stormed off toward the chief's tent.

Inside, Chief Jhanji Bhuto sat quietly near the hearth, wrapped in a heavy robe, eyes reflecting the flames.

Khano burst in, voice breaking. "If you can’t find them… then let me do it myself!"

The chief looked at him solemnly.

"Khano," he said with a soft tone. "I know what you’re feeling. I’m doing everything in my power to find them. I’ve sent men, searched every ridge, and prayed for signs."

"Then at least let me go!" Khano’s eyes brimmed with tears. "Please! I’ll find them myself!"

Jhanji sighed, deeply.

"And how are you going to do it? By getting yourself killed?" he said, his voice rising for a second before softening. "I made a promise to your parents — to protect you. I won’t allow a child to walk into the mountains alone."

"But I can—" Khano’s voice cracked.

"Enough." The chief raised a hand. "You must stay here. That’s final."

Khano’s chest heaved. His fists shook. He turned, silenced, and walked out.

---

Outside, snow stung his skin. Khano ran blindly through the cold.

"I’m sorry, Mom… Dad…" he sobbed. "I couldn’t win against fate…" His tears froze against his cheeks.

He collapsed near his tent, kneeling. Then, the wind paused.

A presence — calm and cold — emerged from the shadows. A cloaked figure stood before him. His face was hidden, but his voice echoed clearly.

"You seek what others fear."

Khano gasped, lifting his head. "Who are you?"

"The truth lies ahead… where sunlight never dares to fall," the figure replied.

Khano stood, eyes wide.

"What do you mean?"

"Find the Seventh Hill," the stranger said. "From the foothills of the Himalayas… where the sun does not shine. There you will find your path."

The pendant around Khano’s neck glowed faintly.

He blinked — the figure vanished.

---

Khano stumbled back inside his tent. His heart raced.

"Seventh hill… foothills… no sunlight…" he repeated over and over, staring at the pendant.

He looked at the old map his father once used. Slowly, things made sense.

He closed his eyes — a memory surfaced.

A younger Khano sat beside his father, worried about a game he feared he’d lose.

"Fate is a word made by humans," his father had said. "Humans can be decisive even with themselves. Just do what is needed. Don’t think about what can’t be controlled, ok?"

Khano whispered to the darkness, "Right… Dad."

Determination returned.

He packed what little he had — rope, knife, dry food, his mother’s red scarf — and wrapped himself tightly.

Opening his tent flap, the wind howled fiercely.

But Khano didn’t flinch.

He stepped forward into the unknown.

The journey had begun.