Empire Ascension: The Rise of the Fated One

Ladakh, zojilla pass, morning of 28th April 1557

A faint breeze blew through the valley, carrying with it the crispness of dawn. The morning sun cast its golden brilliance over the jagged peaks of the Zoji La Valley. It illuminated the soldiers and their encampments spread across the rugged terrain.

Armored figures filled the camp as Ladakhi soldiers helped their Tibetan comrades settle into the tented areas. Almost every tent entrance had a small campfire burning, where soldiers gathered to socialize and exchange intel, seeking warmth in the bone-chilling atmosphere.

Chenje, a havildar from the Tibetan contingent sent as reinforcements by the Guge Kingdom, sat close to one such fire, rubbing his hands together for warmth. Beside him sat two Ladakhi soldiers, comrades he had befriended shortly after their meeting.

Wangmo, his new Ladakhi friend, handed him a bowl of soup with a casual grin. "Here, take it," he said, sipping his own meal with exaggerated relish. "Morning meals are the best."

Chenje eyed the bowl of millet soup with hesitation. Taking a tentative sip, he gagged and spat it out, his face contorting in displeasure. The taste brought back memories of the third-rate food he had eaten before joining the royal army. He never thought he’d encounter it again, but hunger left him with little choice. Swallowing his frustration, he complained, "I thought our army had brought sufficient supplies. Why are we being served beggar’s food?"

The second Ladakhi soldier, Jamwal, chuckled, revealing a broken front tooth as he tore a piece of bread and offered it to Chenje. "Ah, brother, this is all we have for now. The better rations are likely being saved for lunch. Take this—I saved it from last night’s share."

With a resigned sigh, Chenje reached into the pouch tied at his waist, pulling out three strips of chicken jerky. He offered one to Jamwal. "Here, take it. No need to make that face." He handed the second strip to Wangmo.

Jamwal’s eyes lit up at the sight of meat, his grin widening. "Good brother, I won’t treat you poorly for this." He set his bowl down, stretched his arms, and stood up. "Let me bring out something special I’ve been saving. It’ll be more fun to include with this." With that, he disappeared into the tent.

Chenje raised an eyebrow, while Wangmo chuckled softly. "Pfft... this guy is a real hoarder. At least he’s in good spirits now."

Chewing on the jerky, Chenje turned to Wangmo. "So, how’s the war going? Tell me some details."

Wangmo sighed, his expression growing serious. "I’m just a foot soldier summoned from Demchok. By the time I arrived here, the fighting had already started. The plain-dwellers were trying to break the blockade and storm the pass. It was the bloodiest battle I’ve ever seen. They we’re maniacs—fearless and relentless, charging ahead like moths to flames. I shot down thirty of those crazy bastards myself before they finally retreated. But their eyes..." He shuddered. "They were full of bloodlust. I can’t forget that sight. If they’d broken the blockade then, we’d have been overrun—our forces weren’t even fully assembled yet."