Part 1: Storm in the Yurt
The aunt exited the Great Yurt
and entered the Katun's yurt. Instantly, the concubines stiffened, their flattering smiles fading as if a dark cloud had swallowed the light. Whispered excuses fluttered as they slipped away one by one, sensing the tempest about to erupt.
Her voice cut through the air like a jagged blade. "Look at you all-pathetic shadows clinging to the queen's skirts. At least your wormb did something worthy this time instead of wasting away like a rot." She jabbed a finger toward the concubines, her eyes sharp with disdain.
The queen's face tightened, the insult piercing deeper than any arrow. Silence fell like a shroud.
The aunt swept a cold gaze over the group. "See these lowly creatures? Tell me, where was I... ah yes." She let out a bitter laugh and asked sweetly, "Where did I stop?"
A naive concubine stammered, "At the insult, Aunt."
"Exactly." The aunt's smile twisted. "Seems Togtuun is far too kind on you all."
The air thickened; everyone braced for the next strike.
"If it were me..." She jigged provocatively, letting the words hang. "You know how I dealt with my husband's mistresses?" A dark glint flickered in her eyes.
"They're all dead," she spat.
A concubine rose, trembling, unable to swallow the venom anymore. The aunt's gaze snapped to her like a hawk. "And who's this insolent slut, with no respect?"
The girl faltered. "I-"
"Quiet!" The aunt snarled, cutting her off. "Just like your mother."
Tears welled up in the concubine's eyes. "You... you don't know her! You don't know-"
"Indeed," the aunt said softly, voice dripping poison, "I don't. But she's definitely a slut."
The girl broke, sobbing as she fled. The aunt's voice chased her like a whip. "And if you walk out that door, pack your things and return to your tribe!"
The concubine ran, tears streaming, the weight of exile heavy on her shoulders.
Turning back to the remaining women, the aunt's eyes blazed with ruthless fire. "You lot-useless, shapeless figures! At least your ring leader-the queen-has made use of her womb."
The queen shifted uneasily, the words scorching her like hot coals beneath her skin.
Sensing the queen's discomfort, the aunt stood, smirking. "I'm not that shameless."
The queen murmured bitterly, "Are you not?"
The aunt's eyes narrowed dangerously. "To the extent that I continue to sit when I'm no longer welcome? Yes." She rose and strode toward the cradle, her expression softening like ice melting.
"Oh, look at this little cutie-my beautiful grandniece." She lifted the baby's chubby cheeks, smiling with false warmth. "Granny's so pleased. Sister Yara would have adored you."
Her hand gently brushed the baby's cheek, but then she placed a blade near the cradle. "This will protect you until your naming ceremony. My little chief, you are now the holder of the Wulan blade. Be safe, little one."
The room's fragile calm shattered. The women's faces were masks of sadness, fear, and exhaustion.
The aunt's eyes swept the room. "Why the long faces? This isn't a funeral. Move it, when am still playing nice."
The queen whispered under her breath, "Since when were you ever playing nice?"
The aunt spun, eyes blazing. "What did you say?"
The queen clamped her mouth shut, but the aunt's warning was sharp: "Say another word, and you'll join the others."
The concubines scrambled to obey, shuffling out, their heads bowed, terror palpable.
"Faster! Before I lose my temper, you useless excuse of women your tribes are even troubling the heart of my little Batu.
As they left, she hurled her final insult: "In fact pack your things and return to your tribes. And if any of you dares look back-"
She brandished her hand, "I'll poke your eyes out!"
The threat landed. No one dared defy her.
Fear gripped the young women. The aunt always meant what she said. She marched out of the yurt with pride, convinced she'd done a marvelous job.
The concubines disappeared into the other yurts while the aunt left the yurt with the pride of a conqueror.
Inside, the queen sat alone, frustration burning in her chest, humiliated and the echoes of the storm still roaring in her ears.
Part 2: Togtuun's Leisure
Meanwhile, outside her yurt, Togtuun sat lounging by the doorway like a spoiled noblewoman, drinking Arkhi_ a distilled liquor. Her posture screamed arrogance, as though the world belonged to her.
When she spotted the concubines fleeing the queen's yurt, she turned to her handmaid. "Delbee, what are those creatures scurrying about?"tribal burdens. Troubling the heart of my little Batu!"
Delbee, ever loyal and equally mocking, replied, "Perhaps they were grazing, Princess-but the pasture's dry in that yurt."
Togtuun giggled. "Oh my, now they're goats? That's a beautiful name for them."
She shouted toward the group, "What's wrong? Didn't the gentle madam serve you Airag?"
The women walked on silently, their heads low.
"Ah, husband-snatchers," Togtuun scoffed. "Look at those wretched legs, Delbee."
Then she spotted the aunt strutting behind them. With a smirk, she raised her a toast "Thank you, Aunt Odval, for making my day easier."
Aunt Odval dipped her head slightly, as if accepting praise for a job well done maybe because they were birds of the same feather indeed .
---
Moments later, a young noblewoman approached the central yurt with dignity and quiet strength. Her eyes sharp and steady. Her armor was neat, with a sword at her side and that shone in the sunlight. Her hair was tied back so it wouldn't get in the way, and her face was calm but firm. Besides her was a woman with elegant garments, she was Consort Bolorma, the Crystal Mother, and Dulgun's proud mother.
With glowing pride, she took her daughter's hands. "Dul, you've raised my head in this harem. Go now-make me and your grandmother proud."
The reserved Dulgun replied simply, "Yes, Mother," and entered the yurt.
As Bolorma turned to leave, she passed by Enkmaa's yurt. Enkmaa, seated drunkenly, Bolorma gave her a courtesy. Enkmaa replied "Oh, now you see me? Earlier, you passed as if I were invisible. Save those empty courtesies of the central plains for Soyolma-she enjoys them."
Then she laughed to herself. "Ah, Delbee, birds of the same feather."
Bolorma calmly nodded and told Delbee, "Please take your lady inside. She's clearly drunk."
Enkmaa scoffed, "Ah, the quiet lady now speaks, ever since her daughter won the Silk Road war. She dares look me in the eyes and talk back. Oh dear, what audacity."
Bolorma said nothing and walked on. Delbee gently took her lady's hand, guiding her inside.
Nothing in this world hurts the pride of a retired worrier than disrespect.
---
PART 4: The Song of Regret
As Delbee helped her inside, Enkmaa began to sing drunkenly:
"Ooh Delbee," Enkmaa slurred with a crooked smile, clutching her cup like it held her soul, "look at her... the quiet lady now has a voice. Ever since her daughter won the Silk Road war, she walks taller, dares to speak back, looks me straight in the eyes-as if I were nothing."
She chuckled bitterly. "Ooh, dear Delbee... tell me, what has the world come to?"
Bolorma passed her without a glance. Her silence was louder than thunder, her poise an insult in itself. Delbee's eyes flicked between them, then gently caught her lady's trembling hand. She said nothing, only led her inside the yurt.
Inside, Enkmaa hummed a tune, a broken lullaby wrapped in bitterness:
"My husband Batu went to war... and returned with Baigalma, the spirit of the earth, who stole the beat of his heart from me.
He rode again and brought the snake-Bolorma.
He left again and came back with Soyolma, the seductress.
And then Kaltma... the witch who laughed like thunder."
She threw her head back and laughed-but the sound cracked like ice underfoot. Then, like a candle melting under its own heat, she slumped down and whispered, "I'm pathetic, aren't I?"
Delbee, voice hushed, heart heavy, answered, "No, princess. You've just had to carry more than anyone ever should."
At those words, the wall inside Enkmaa finally gave way. Tears spilled. Shoulders shook.
"I am a laughing stock, Delbee," she wept.
"When Baigalma died, he didn't mourn long-he married her sister and crowned her Katun, over me."
She clutched her chest as though her heart might fall out.
"Tell me, what sin have I committed in love?
I loved him when he couldn't contribute anything.
I married him when he had nothing in his name and believed in him when it seemed to everyone he was dreaming.
Her voice rose-then cracked again, thin and breathless.
"And what did I receive? I took in his mistresses like sisters. I fed Baigalma's son from my own breast. I raised him, loved him, named him.
And when he could walk and talk and ride...
he gave him -to the queen mother. As if I were just a nursemaid."
Her eyes were red now, her voice shaking with a grief so deep it frightened the air itself.
"Am I cursed, Delbee? Was it because I bore no sons then?
Did I not suffer quietly when he said he wanted to be 'filial' to a concubine?
He gave her sister my crown, my name, my honour-while I stood clapping like a fool.
He honoured her... more than me, his wife."
Her voice became a rasp, no longer a whisper but not a cry either-just the raw sound of defeat.
"I shouldn't have married Batu. I should've married cousin Tömörjin...
At least he would've honoured me. At least our tribes wouldn't be tearing each other apart like starved wolves."
Delbee reached for her but stopped. The pain was too much to touch.
Enkmaa wiped her face with the back of her hand and looked away, her pride flickering in the ruins of her dignity.
"Don't pity me," she whispered, "I am the Princess of the Wolfborn Horde... daughter of Khan Baatar Zuun. My bloodline wears war howls and bone armor. We do not break. We shatter and return sharper."
Then, like a storm finally stilling, she collapsed into the bedding. Her breathing slowed. She was asleep-or beyond tears.
Delbee stood frozen, staring at the crumpled figure of her once-fierce lady. Her voice broke into a prayer of regret:
"Look at what has become of my lady... so pitiful, so mocked...
Even Bolorma dares to meet her gaze now.
Even the wind dares speak louder than her name.
She should've married among the Stone Banners-where honour still breathes in tents, not silk."
She dropped to her knees, her fists clenched.
"I should have stopped the wedding. I should have begged her.
Now... now she lies in silence, and I-"
Delbee pounded her chest.
"I am nothing but a maid who couldn't protect the only star she had ever served."
She cried, her body folding to the ground like a flower trampled in the storm. The yurt, once proud, was now just a cradle of broken dreams.
---
Bolorma walked humbly toward her yurt. As she reached the doorway, she whispered to herself,
"Now, I stand equal to Enkmaa. No more lowering my head. No more shame for not bearing a son."
She lifted her chin proudly.
"Dulgun... I've finally raised my head."
Then she laughed-quiet at first, then louder, as if she owned the world.
But beneath that laughter echoed a deeper sound: the ache of longing, the bitterness of years spent trying to fit in, and the quiet cruelty of the woman she had become.