Two and a half years ago, on the grassy steppes near Salkha village.

The cloudy sky was endless. Aboard the horse Entya was riding, the steppe wind swept against her cheeks, tousling the strands of charcoal hair that were partially braided on the side of her head. Her teal-blue eyes seemed bright and glittering. Her light blue deel (traditional coat) fluttered, blending with the clear sky above.

Beside her, Yul calmly spurred his stallion. His long hair, tied back with a low ponytail, streamed in the air. His sky-blue eyes swept the horizon. The scent of fresh grass carried by the wind was both calming and invigorating for Entya.

They had been riding since mid-morning, traversing the endless Salkha grasslands.

"There, Entya!" Yul exclaimed, his voice deep yet spirited, pointing towards a small mound in the distance. A groundhog had just emerged from its burrow, sniffing the air.

The bow was drawn, the string taut against her fingers. She held her breath, the world narrowing to herself, the bow, and her target. From the corner of her eye, she saw Yul shaking his head, a silent signal.

The first arrow flew too high. Without hesitation, she drew a second arrow. This time, its tip landed precisely next to the groundhog, which instantly vanished into its hole.

"Aish!" Entya muttered, her bow falling limply. Frustration washed over her.

"Almost hit it," Yul nodded, a slight smile touching his firm lips.

"Next time, I won't miss."

Yul stopped his horse and turned towards Entya. "It's not your fault. That groundhog is tricky," he said, dismounting and approaching her. "Look, when you draw the bow, your body leans slightly. Balance is crucial."

Yul took the bow from Entya's hands, his posture straight and steady. He demonstrated the correct movement: back straight, shoulders relaxed, and a strong yet controlled pull of the string.

"You are already strong, Entya. You just need a slight correction in posture. It's not your arm that pulls, but your back. Imagine this bow is an extension of your hand. And the arrow, a part of your soul flying towards the target." He looked into Entya’s eyes, giving her unspoken encouragement.

Entya nodded, absorbing every word and movement of Yul. She took her bow back, feeling the heat in her cheeks. "I'll try again."

As if answering her determination, a rabbit bolted across the grass. Yul pointed with his chin. "New target."

Entya took a deep, centering breath, recalling his every movement. Posture perfect. Eyes locked on the brief pause of the rabbit. She raised her elbow, feeling the pull not in her biceps, but across her spine. The string felt steady, centered. She released the arrow.

Whizzz!

The arrow flew straight, swift, and true. It struck the target. The rabbit collapsed.

Entya's eyes widened, then a radiant smile broke across her face. "Did you see? I did it!" she cried, her voice joyful like a bell.

"That’s it!" Yul nodded in satisfaction. His sky-blue eyes gleamed with pride. He approached Entya, gently ruffling her charcoal hair. "Well done, Entya! You’ll be beating all the old men in Salkha soon!"

Entya's laugh echoed, free and unrestrained. But it was cut short. A large shadow passed over them. Entya looked up. Dark clouds were moving swiftly from the west, devouring the blue sky. The distinct smell of wet earth began to fill the air, a sign that a storm was coming.

Yul looked at the sky, his expression turning serious. "A storm is coming. We ride back now."

Entya pouted. "But I still want to—"

Yul shook his head. "No time, Entya. Your body won't endure it."

"My horse can, but you can't. It's the third month of the full moon." There was a firm yet worried tone in his voice. He knew the curse that awaited her every quarter.

Hearing that, Entya’s hunting enthusiasm vanished instantly. The image of the familiar pain—like cold needles carving her bones—loomed. She sighed, surrendering. Yul was right. Always.

"Come on," Yul urged, leading their horses.

They spurred their horses into a frantic gallop, racing the wind that now howled behind them. Faint lightning flashed in the distance, and the deep rumble of thunder accompanied their journey back to Salkha village.

The roar of the wind was deafening, savagely shaking the ger walls. Lightning struck, briefly illuminating the darkness that enveloped the village. Entya gasped, convulsing with an intense shiver. Her damp deel felt cold and clinging to her skin, but beneath it, a fever began to spread, burning her small body from the inside out. The familiar icy needles now throbbed in every joint.

She managed to reach her ger, stumbling inside, greeted by the warm, comforting scent of spices. Beihe, her foster aunt, rushed to her, her soft eyes filled with alarm. "Get inside, quick, Entya. Change," the wise woman ordered, helping her shed the soaked clothes. "Auntie will prepare a warm remedy," her voice filled with worry.

Moments later, Entya lay beneath multiple thick blankets, yet her body was still trembling. Her forehead felt burning hot, and her breathing was ragged. Beihe soothed her with a cold compress, gently stroking the girl's charcoal hair. "Your fever is running so high tonight, child," she whispered, deep worry lining her face.

The door opened, letting in a draft of cold air. Yul entered, his own dark deel soaked, his long hair plastered to his temples. He’d been securing the village gers against the escalating storm.

"How is she?" Yul asked, his voice low. His sharp eyes looked at Entya with raw concern.

Beihe sighed. "The usual. But I fear this is worse than last three months." She glanced at Yul. "Can you stay with her for a moment? She needs someone to keep her company while I prepare the remedy."

Yul nodded instantly. He shed his wet outer coat and sat by Entya, grasping her small hand. Her scorching fever heat burned into his own damp, cold skin—a painful contrast. His large, sturdy hand enveloped her fragile one.

Entya felt the touch, and through the haze of fever, the agonizing awareness pierced her heart. She was eighteen, but her body was frozen at twelve. In Yul's eyes—the handsome man desired by the village girls—she was just a "little sister" to be protected. The constriction in her chest was worse than the fever. How could she possibly dream of a future with him when she was trapped like this? He was here out of kindness, out of childhood loyalty. Sympathy. Nothing more.

"Yul... you don't have to stay," Entya whispered, her voice hoarse. She tried to pull away, desperate to avoid his pitying gaze. She hated being viewed as weak.

But Yul tightened his grip. Her rejection stung him, yet he knew it was directed at her own vulnerability, not him. "I'm staying," he stated simply, his voice low and uncompromising. "Auntie Beihe is preparing another remedy."

Entya weakly shook her head, eyes still squeezed shut. "Go... you must be tired," she insisted, this time with a hint of forcefulness. She didn't want Yul to see her in this weak state. She didn't want to be cared for like a sick child.

Yul didn't budge. He gently wiped the sweat from her brow and replaced the compress. "The storm is still raging outside, Entya," he said, his voice soothing. "I will not leave you alone in this storm."

Entya turned her face away, choosing silence. She desperately sought sleep, hoping to escape the dual agony of the fever and her heart. Yul’s presence, meant to comfort, only deepened her internal conflict. Practicing archery with Yul, she could play the role of student and mentor. That was their comfort zone. But being accompanied like this, witnessed in her weakness, was torture. Especially with the memory of his recent, unspoken rejection still fresh, making her feel helpless.

Finally, she succumbed to sleep, her breathing still heavy. Yul stared at her face, his grip on her hand hardening. He felt something hotter than the fever raging in his own chest: helpless rage. He could hunt, survive the wild, tie down gers against hurricanes, but against this fever, his strength was useless.

This quarterly curse was an enemy he could not shoot, a curse that ritually snatched away the girl's cheerfulness.

In the quiet ger, accompanied by the roar of the storm outside, Yul's jaw hardened. He pressed his knuckles to the space between their joined hands and prayed. "Tengri, Great Sky Deity... Give me a sign for what I must do."

He bowed his head, a sound like a muted growl tearing from his throat. "Anything... command me to do anything..."

But there was no answer, no sign. There was nothing to be commanded. Only silence and Entya's pain. The only power left to him was to hold her hand tighter. Amidst the raging storm, all Yul could only be present. And he swore, he would never leave.