A warmth enveloped her. Entya stood in the center of their ger, illuminated by the golden glow of dozens of lanterns. She wore the Khaan Khuur, a silver head ornament, and a wedding dress in the shape of a deel in red, made of silk and gold thread woven by Beihe herself, a masterpiece that should not have been possible on the steppes. As she looked down, she saw her body. The body of a mature woman that she had longed for. Her waist curved perfectly, her chest was graceful, and her skin felt smooth beneath the fabric.

Yul’s warm, calloused hand held hers. He wore his finest deel, and his eyes—oh, his eyes, clear as the spring sky—gazed at her with deep, certain love, filled with devotion and pure affection. Their relatives and friends cheered, drinking Airag, a fermented goat milk beverage provided for the feast. This was her dream. Pure and perfect.

"Entya," Yul whispered, the sound intimate and profound. "My wife."

And then, the dream shifted.

The lantern light dimmed. The warmth in Yul's hand began to fade. Entya still wore the same dress, still in the same ger, but the guests' cheers had vanished, replaced by an awkward silence.

She looked at Yul. The love in his eyes hadn't disappeared, but it was now overlaid with something else—a weary sadness. His smile no longer reached his eyes. His grip on her hand loosened.

Nights passed in a blur. She would lie on one side of the bed, and Yul on the farthest side, as if an invisible chasm were separating them. She longed for his touch, but every time she tried to approach, Yul would tense up, not with rejection, but with a painful guilt.

Whispers began to creep from the corners of the village.

"It’s been years, but still no sign." "Poor Yul. A great warrior, but his bloodline will end with him." "He loves her, of course, but what kind of love can last without a future?"

She saw herself trying. Trying harder. Making his favorite food, waiting for him to return from the hunt with a forced smile, trying to start conversations about trivial things. But all she received were brief nods, blank stares, and a back that slowly moved away when night fell.

She saw a child's body in the mirror, a failed wife, a constant reminder of what she could not give. Their marriage was a necessary facade, a beautiful tomb where their love was buried alive. Yul hadn't left her physically, but his soul had long been gone.

"NO!" Entya screamed in her dream, her voice echoing in the emptiness. "I REFUSE THIS!"

The darkness swallowed her.

Then a sudden flash of light appeared—the start of another dream. She wore the Salkha wedding attire again, her body mature, with Yul beside her. This time, Yul turned, his smile warm and genuine, and he pulled Entya into a passionate embrace. "I will never leave you," he whispered, and it felt so real.

Entya was startled and woke up with her heart racing. She sat on the edge of the bed inside the silent, cold ger. Dawn was just breaking, coloring the sky a pale gray. She looked at her small, trembling hands, feeling hatred for her own body that had betrayed her.

That nightmare was her disease, and Nashr, somehow, felt like the most poisonous cure.

The ger door opened silently. Beihe entered, carrying a small leather bag. She didn't ask, simply sat beside Entya, offering a shared silence.

The time had come.

Eldeghai waited outside the ger. His face was hard, showing the stress of a leader who had made a difficult choice. There was no crowd, only the deep, sad silence of a village that had just lost one of its best warriors.

Entya paused in front of Beihe. Her aunt hugged her tightly.

"Remember why you are leaving, sweetheart," Beihe whispered into her ear. "Take the pain you felt here and use it as your foundation. Go and gain knowledge, but never forget who you are."

Then, she walked toward Eldeghai, who sighed deeply. "There is food and water inside," he said, handing her a larger bag. "Forgive me, my child. It is the only path left to us. Act with clear judgment."

Entya simply nodded, unable to speak because of the lump in her throat.

She was preparing to turn away when a second figure stepped out. It was Gerel.

Her red, swollen eyes looked empty, but a strong, firm determination was visible within them. She carried a small bundle in her hands.

"Gerel?" Entya whispered.

"Let me come with you," said Gerel, her voice soft but steady. She stepped closer. This village is crushing me. The reminders of Jochi are everywhere. I simply can't endure being here any longer."

She looked at Entya, a sincere smile on her lips. "You need someone to look after you, and I need a purpose to live for. Let's rely on each other."

"Thank you, Gerel," Entya replied, her voice trembling as she clasped her friend's hand.

The two of them walked toward the pickup spot. A remarkable, multi-terrain vehicle awaited them, fitted with both wheels for land travel and runners for the desert sand. It was the Talrakia Carriage.

Entya cast her final look upon her ger and her village. She bypassed Beihe and Eldeghai, her gaze clinging instead to the dark storage area, the physical space where Yul was held captive by his inability to speak.

Everything ended here. Despite the agony, despite the farewells, and despite the recurring nightmare, the hope remained deep within her. She clung to the thought that Yul would, against all odds, eventually come for her.

Entya climbed into the carriage, and Gerel settled in behind her. The door slammed shut, sealing her away from the only world she had ever known. With a gentle surge, the carriage glided away, the runners made a low, continuous scraping sound as they glided over the desert sand.

Entya looked back, where her village was slowly swallowed by the horizon. She did not cry. The little girl died in the nightmare of her marriage. The girl who rose from the ashes had no name. Her only goal was to learn to turn ashes into power.

Far behind, Beihe stood by herself. She watched the carriage until it looked like a tiny speck in the distance, then whispered her words into the wind.

"Your destiny has begun, Holy Maiden."