13th Day of the Twelfth Moon, Year of the Iron Boar
The northern frost spared nothing.
Six riders cut through the white vastness, their heavy fur cloaks snapped by a howling western gale. At the front, Chinua rode with her chin low and gaze fixed, her face framed by hoarfrost that clung to her dark brow. Beside her, Khunbish moved like an iron monument atop his stallion, his broad shoulders heavy with dark bear hide. Behind them, Timicin, Och, Erden, and Terbish rode in tight formation—their warhorses exhaling thick, synchronized plumes of steam into the sub-zero air.
It had been one day since Möndör's unit had ridden south—one day before Chinua's own departure west. While the southern vanguard was already leaving the snow behind for humid lowlands, here in the upper north, winter held the world in an iron grip. The terrain beneath their hooves was treacherous—a jagged expanse of frozen tundra and slick, blue-tinged river ice. Every breath burned like swallowed needles; every mile was bought with biting cold that seeped through leather, chainmail, and bone.
14th Day of the Twelfth Moon
As dusk settled on the second day of their ride, the oppressive silence of the dead wilderness began to fracture.
Out of the swirling snow haze rose the massive, towering stone ramparts of Ntsua-Ntu. The capital of Hmagol stood like a leviathan against the dark mountains, its colossal timber gates thrown wide under the glow of dozens of roaring iron braziers.
The moment the six riders crossed under the shadow of the outer archway, the bitter isolation of the wasteland vanished. Warm air, thick with the scents of roasted meat, sweet grain wine, and burning pine, washed over them. All around the snow-dusted stone streets, crowds of citizens thronged the market stalls—their faces flushed from drink, laughter ringing out over the chatter of merchants and the cheerful tunes of fiddlers playing near the bonfires.
Chinua reined her horse to a slow walk, the melting snow dripping off her shoulders as they entered the grand thoroughfares. Upper-class citizens strolled leisurely through the district, flanked by servants carrying heated bronze and copper braziers to keep their masters warm, while those less fortunate walked with hands tucked tightly inside fur pouches.
As the horses slowed, the crowd parted smoothly before them. Though the citizens were accustomed to luxury, the sight of six battle-hardened riders clad in military armor commanded immediate deference. By imperial custom and law, civilians always yielded the right of way to soldiers on active duty.
Chinua's sharp eyes scanned the vibrant, decadent crowd, her mouth tightening into a thin line. Out on the frontier, men were freezing to death and eating river silt to survive; here in the heart of the empire, wine flowed like water.
"Those who bleed for the realm are scavenging for scraps, cutting their rations down to dust just to keep our borders from being stained—yet here, those who have never shed a single drop of blood feast with entitled greed," Timicin muttered, his knuckles white against his reins as his dark eyes swept over the laughing nobles.
"That is precisely why we are here," Chinua growled, her voice a low, terrifying rumble as she rode beside her five subordinates. Her gloved hand tightened around the heavy iron shaft of her spear, the metal cold against her palm. "The court has slept comfortably for far too long. It is time they wake to the cost of their comfort."
Khunbish didn't say a word, but his jaw set like granite as he nudged his warhorse closer to Chinua's flank. Behind them, Och, Erden, and Terbish adjusted their heavy cloaks, their hands resting naturally on their weapon hilts. The six of them moved through the warm, opulent streets like a dark thundercloud rolling over a sunlit meadow—an unyielding reminder of the brutal war raging at the edges of the world.
As they neared the inner gates of the grand palace, the guards on duty froze, their eyes widening at the sight of Chinua's unmistakable frost-worn face advancing upon the imperial plaza.
The guards held their heads high, awe washing over them as they realized who stood at the threshold: the Eastern General, the highest-ranking woman in Hmagol and a commander whose authority was eclipsed only by the King.
A deep greeting of pride and admiration echoed from the ranks. To every soldier in Ntsua-Ntu, Chinua was a titan—a warrior whose shadow lengthened across every territory she conquered in the name of the empire.
Seeing the guards step back to clear a path for their horses, Chinua turned toward Timicin.
"You don't need to enter the palace grounds with Khunbish and me tonight," she said smoothly. "Take the others and rest at your estate. I will see you all at tomorrow morning's court session."
A warm grin tugged at the corner of Timicin's lips. "You have always been generous and considerate," he said, lightly rapping a gloved fist against the solid iron of her shoulder armor. "See you tomorrow."
Timicin reined his stallion about, leading Och, Erden, and Terbish off toward his family's manor in the upper district, while Chinua and Khunbish rode onward through the towering open gates of the inner palace.
The bustling warmth of Ntsua-Ntu's outer avenues faded behind them as Chinua and Khunbish dismounted, handing their reins to the palace guards at the inner gates.
They walked in silence down the long, red-tiled colonnade that led toward Chinua's original courtyard—the quiet enclave in the old wing of the palace where she had been raised. Heavy snow clung to the curved roofs above, but the covered walkway was dry, sweeping past high timber arches and silent, frost-dusted gardens that looked unchanged by time.
Her boots made a slow, rhythmic tap against the flagstones. Beside her, Khunbish adjusted the heavy fur across his shoulders, his large frame filling the corridor as he matched her unhurried pace.
For a moment, the weight of the upcoming campaign, the impending council meetings, and the fate of Tailin City slipped away.
Chinua's eyes drifted toward a snow-dusted inner courtyard framed by lattice windows. In her mind's eye, the silence vanished, replaced by the faint echo of distant laughter—the sound of her younger self, breathless from sparring alongside Khunbish and Khenbish.
A subtle, nostalgic curve touched the corner of her lips.
"You're thinking about the old days," Khunbish observed, his deep voice breaking the quiet like a low hum.
"I'm thinking about us, in this lonely, forgotten outer courtyard where even the servants hated coming," Chinua said quietly, her gaze fixing on an elevated pavilion across the garden wall. "Over that wall was where I used to climb just to catch a glimpse of the princesses when they walked down to enjoy their afternoon tea in the gardens." She scoffed lightly.
Khunbish let out a short, low rumble of a laugh. "Were you the one who hid in the shadows so they wouldn't call the guards to chase you out?"
"I was just curious," Chinua said, her eyes softening as she recalled the bright silk gowns, the scent of jasmine oil, and the soft, aristocratic chatter of the court's young women gliding past while she hid in the shadows—covered in dirt and practice sweat, mesmerized by their effortless grace. "They always looked like creatures from another world. So delicate. So far removed from the dirt and the steel."
She paused at the entrance of her old bedchamber, looking up at the familiar moon gate. The wooden door was weathered now, but the bronze ring on the latch was worn smooth by her own hands from a lifetime ago.
"And now?" Khunbish asked softly, standing beside her in the quiet snow.
Chinua placed her palm against the cold wood of the door, looking back down the long walkway one last time before pushing it open.
"Now... I build the world that protects them." She stepped inside her bedchamber.
Khunbish looked at Chinua's back and called out gently, "Chinua."
Chinua turned around, raising an eyebrow in silent acknowledgment.
"His Majesty was right about one thing," Khunbish said, his dark eyes steady as he looked at her. "You are the rarest beauty among all women in Hmagol, and men kneel when they hear Chinua's name."
"Let's make one thing clear," Chinua said, a fierce, brilliant aura igniting in her eyes as her voice rang out with absolute conviction and cut through the silence like a drawn blade. "I have no desire to see men kneel before me. I only want the enemies of Hmagol on their knees when they hear my name."
"Soldiers!" a young maid's voice called out sharply from outside the doorway.
Chinua and Khunbish turned to look at the young maid who hurried into the room, her eyes darting between the two armored warriors. Realizing they wore no ceremonial crests of the royal house, she frowned. "You two are not palace guards!"
Chinua shook her head slightly, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "Who are you?"
"I am the head maid assigned to clean Her Highness's bedchamber," the maid declared defensively, taking a step forward. "You are trespassing! This is private quarters—let me lead you out before you end up beheaded."
"And who is this 'Highness'?" Chinua asked, raising her brows playfully as she leaned against her spear shaft. "May I ask?"
"Her Highness, the fourth princess," the maid answered, her voice softening with a touch of bashfulness under Chinua's gaze. "Please leave before the Queen arrive."
"Young maiden," Chinua murmured with a warm, mischievous smile. She stepped forward, gently placing a gloved index finger beneath the girl's chin to tilt her face up. "You would make a fine wife."
The young maid gasped, flushing bright crimson as she scrambled back three steps. Chinua threw her head back and broke into ringing laughter.
"I didn't know that after all these years, you still disapprove of the servants I assign to you," Bastsaikhan's amused voice echoed from the doorway.
"She is far too pretty," Chinua replied, turning around with a grin. "I don't like pretty maids fluttering around my courtyard."
Recognizing the King, the young maid instantly dropped to her knees, bowing her forehead against the wooden floorboards as she begged for forgiveness.
"Rise," Chinua said warmly. "I was only testing your nerve—and," she glanced back at Khunbish with a chuckle, "trying my hand at playing matchmaker."
"Welcome home," Bastsaikhan said, his eyes filled with warmth as he stepped into the chamber alongside Queen Yargui.
Chinua's smile deepened as she walked over to greet them. Her gaze immediately drifted downward, resting upon Yargui's visibly rounded waistline. "How many months?"
"Seven months," Yargui replied with a serene smile. She looked up at Chinua fondly. "Will Chinua grace this child with a name as well?"
Chinua burst into laughter, waving her hands in mock protest. "I already took that honor from the third royal brother by naming his firstborn! I would not dare steal it a second time. Where would I stand if I offended both the King and his grand Southern General?"