Still, Sira didn't stop.
Even as she grew—she never stopped searching.
The moment her small stall turned a steady profit, she put aside a portion—not for clothes, not for food, not for herself—but for him.
For Uga.
She didn't know if he was still alive. Didn't know if he'd stayed in the forest.
But she had made a promise, the kind made not with words but with tears. And she would keep it.
Not just for her brother. For her sake as well.
The day Sira could finally afford to hire help, she did.
Hunters, guides, mercenaries, even shady trackers who claimed they knew the southern hills better than the deer that roamed it—anyone who might know the forests near Darun.
And she sent them out.
She went with the ones she could.
At least four times every year, without fail, a team was hired.
A week's search at a time.
At first, she focused only on the area she remembered.
The place where she last saw his wide-eyed face, where she whispered, "Don't move."
