Dulgun marched into the yurt and bowed deeply.
"Father, you called for me?"
The Great Khan nodded. "Indeed, I did."
He then raised his voice with authority. "Guardian of the Silk Road!"
Dulgun bowed once more, waiting.
"I command you to deliver this letter to the Khans of the Ten Tribes," he said, then paused.
Thinking that was all, Dulgun quickly responded, "Yes, Father."
But the Great Khan wasn't finished.
"And," he continued, "I appoint you the bearer of the flag."
The sentence hit her like a broken radio wave—faint, distorted, and unbelievable. She raised her head slowly, searching her father's eyes to confirm what she had just heard. But his gaze was steady and resolute. Her hands began to tremble.
"Father... I can't," she stammered, her voice laced with fear and hesitation.
The Great Khan said nothing, merely observing her. Then Kul Tigin stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"It's okay to be scared," he whispered with a smile. "I'm here with you."
Dulgun looked into his eyes and found reassurance.
Tonyukuk cleared his throat loudly, breaking the tender moment between the two.
Gathering herself, Dulgun said, "Father, I'm inexperienced. Why not entrust this duty to Commander Kul Tigin instead?"
Her father's eyes narrowed. "Since when do soldiers voice opinions in matters of politics?"
Immediately, she bowed her head. "Forgive me, Father. I am but a soldier. I meant no offense."
The Great Khan's stern expression softened. "Dear Dul, it was Tonyukuk—my esteemed military strategist—who suggested this course."
"You flatter me, Great Khan," Tonyukuk said humbly.
The Great Khan turned to Dulgun, his voice now lighter, even teasing. "If we were to send Kul Tigin, it would mean war—no need for letters then. But if we send you, there's still hope for peace."
Dulgun smiled faintly, understanding her father's intent.
"But Father," she asked hesitantly, "why give me the Flag of Terror?"
The Great Khan fell silent. His voice turned low and emotionless. "It serves as a reminder for those who have forgotten who I am. Clearly—they've forgotten."
He stood and walked over to the ceremonial sword, his fingers brushing its surface. A chill ran through Dulgun's spine. Tonyukuk stepped forward and handed her the flag and the letter.
She bowed deeply. "Thank you, Father, for your trust."
As she turned to leave, her father called out, "Dul."
She paused and looked back. "Yes, Father?"
"Annihilate whom you must."
She gave a slight nod, signaling she understood, then walked out of the yurt beside Kul Tigin, who couldn't stop smiling at her. She didn't meet his gaze, her shyness betraying the toughness she usually displayed.
The Great Khan watched them leave and muttered to Tonyukuk, "Children grow fast... Even Kul Tigin likes her."
Tonyukuk smiled. "Indeed."
The Great Khan sighed. "But she still needs a few more years to become a woman."
Then, as if a thought had just struck him, Tonyukuk suddenly knelt and said, "Brother, I know I once hurt your pride. But your elder daughter Khishigjargal has captured my heart. Please, grant me her hand in marriage."
The Great Khan stared at him silently, then said, "I was thinking of offering her to you after the naming ceremony of my youngest… but it seems you couldn't wait."
He pulled Tonyukuk into a tight embrace.
"I've always wanted you as family—for the wisdom you gave me when I was lost, and the loyalty you showed when few dared stand with me."
Tonyukuk's joy could not be described in words—only in the way he clung to the Great Khan.
In that moment, the Great Khan knew he had finally found the right way to reward his most faithful adviser.
And he remembered the words of Cousin Amir:
"When a man finds someone who sees the light in him when the world only sees shadows, make him family."
Meanwhile in the battlefield, The campfire crackled under the iron pines, and warriors of the Wolfborn Horde sat in worn furs, sharpening blades, stitching wounds, murmuring prayers. Snow fell like ash on their helmets.
Khan Baatar Zuun, old yet unbending, sat on a stone, watching the flames. His face was weathered like carved rock—each wrinkle a tale of war.
From the dark, a shadow approached.
Tall, cloaked in a robe of muted gray, face masked in embroidered silk, she knelt beside him.
"Grandfather," she said softly.
"Khishigjargal," he whispered, eyes gleaming. "I wondered when the howl would return to save the day the war was at our disadvantage. "
She removed her mask only halfway, showing her lips, still curved in that polite Tang-trained line.
"I was tending the fevers in the southern village."
"And how are they?"
"Fever broke. The children call me 'The Wind's Sister' now."
He chuckled. "Do they know the Wind's Sister shattered the arm of the Tuvshin general without ever raising her voice?"
She didn't respond. She only handed him a leather pouch. Inside were herbs. And a small carved wolf tooth.
"I made this for you," she said. "Mother said your bones ache more than your temper these days."
He smirked. "Tell your mother I still outwrestle boys in their twenties."
"I saw," she replied. "They limped for days."
He paused. Looked at her with pride, but also sorrow.
"You wear the silk of Tang," he said. "But beneath it… there's bone armor, isn't there?"
"Always," she said.
"Will you fight tomorrow?"
"No. But they will think I did."
She stood and looked toward the horizon where banners of war flapped.
"I don't need to lift a blade to conquer fear," she said. "Let the tribes speak. Let the wind carry stories. They will respect our bloodline not because I'm loud—but because no one knows when I'll strike next."
He smiled. "They say you are legend. That you haunt battlefields."
She bowed slightly.
"I just want to be a daughter my mother is proud of," she said.
And then, without sound, she vanished into the night.
By night in the battlefield, she nursed the wounded soldiers as the the humble princess of hearts and by day she led the army in her tall frame masked beneath the dark veil that made her both shadow and myth called the masked vigilante.
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