Chinua kept her eyes locked tight, a prisoner of her own choosing. She let her body sway limply with the rhythm of the carriage, feeling every jarring jolt of the wheels against the mountain path.
She heard the low, jagged murmurs of her men outside and the hollow, rhythmic thud of the horses' hooves. She could smell the metallic tang of the medicine on her breath and the faint, earthy scent of the damp straw beneath her. Every sound, every smell, was a needle pricking at her skin, trying to goad her back into the world.
Yet, she refused to look.
She knew that the moment she opened her eyes, the darkness would vanish, and the truth would solidify. She would have to see the blood-stained prisoner's rags on her brother; she would have to see the shrouded, silent shape of her mother in the corner of the wagon. To open her eyes was to accept that the Empire had fallen, that her father was murdered, and that she was now a ghost leading a company of the dead.
She clung to the darkness behind her eyelids, a fragile prayer that if she didn't look, her world might remain unbroken. But with every jarring lurch of the wheels, the truth thickened. It settled over her like lead, pressing against her ribs and tightening around her throat until the very act of breathing felt like an impossible labor.
The carriage lurched to a halt as Naksh raised his hand, the wooden wheels groaning one last time before falling silent. He looked toward Mönkhbat and gave a solemn, respectful nod. The time had come.
"Here is where we part," Mönkhbat said, his voice deep and steady. He looked toward the carriage, where Eunuch Tong held the drape aside. Batsaikhan sat within the shadows, his eyes red-rimmed but alert. "I must return to Lao-Da Pass with all haste."
Tong's face paled. "Your Highness, you would not stay to avenge His Majesty?"
"No," Mönkhbat said, shaking his head firmly. "My time here is already spent. If news reaches the border that the General is no longer at his post, Xin Jianping and his sons will descend upon the pass like wolves." He fixed his gaze on Batsaikhan, his expression hardening with a mixture of love and expectation. "This kingdom is yours now."
His eyes drifted past the prince to the motionless form of Chinua lying in the back of the wagon. "I promised our father that I would guard the southern border for the rest of my life, and for the generations yet to come. I will not ride with you to reclaim your throne. You must do this on your own. This is a battle where I cannot—and will not—intervene."
"I understand," Batsaikhan said. He gave a small, dignified nod.
He watched as Mönkhbat turned his horse, pulling the reins toward Cong. As the General began to move away, a sudden surge of emotion hit the prince. He scrambled from the interior of the carriage, crawling onto the wooden platform.
"Mönkhbat!"
The General pulled his horse around to face the prince once more. "What is it?"
"Thank you," Batsaikhan said, his voice thick with gratitude. "I will never forget what you have done for me. You saved my life."
Mönkhbat offered a rare, weary smile. "If you want to thank me, then be the king our father always wished you to be."
Batsaikhan didn't speak again. He simply nodded, a silent vow passing between them. As the brothers exchanged that final look, they understood that their paths were now separate: one was the Shield of the Empire, and the other was its Soul.
The prince sat on the platform, his prisoner's rags fluttering in the breeze, as he watched Mönkhbat and Cong gallop into the distance. They rode south, disappearing into the afternoon wind, leaving the prince and his sleeping sister alone to face the storm.
As the rhythm of the retreating hooves faded into silence, Chinua's eyelids fluttered. She opened them just enough to see the world through a haze—drifting dust suspended in the light and the retreating backs of Bastsaikhan and Tong. A long, trembling sigh escaped her as she finally looked the truth in the face; it was a reality far too jagged to bear. She drifted her gaze upward to the wooden slats of the carriage ceiling, staring until they blurred. With a slow, deliberate breath, she let her eyes close once more, choosing to slip into sleep for the very last time.
Chinua did not know how long she had been adrift in the dark, but she was pulled back to the world by the rhythmic hissing of night crickets and a firm, warm weight anchoring her right hand. She turned her head, her eyelids fluttering open to a soft, flickering light.
"Chinua..." Khunbish whispered. His eyes were bright with unshed tears, yet his face broke into a radiant smile. "You've finally decided to return to us."
"Khunbish," Chinua croaked, her voice paper-thin. "You disobedient dog..."
Khunbish let out a wet chuckle, the sound full of relief. He slid his arms beneath hers, lifting her with effortless care to sit against the headboard. He worked with a gentle efficiency, feeding her the medicine bowl before unwrapping a piece of candy. When he tried to press the sweet against her lips, she turned her head away.
"No need," she murmured.
"You have always hated the bitterness of medicine," Khunbish said softly, his voice a caress.
"Now I understand," Chinua said, her gaze drifting to the shadows in the corner, "that there is nothing more bitter than having a family member stab you in the back."
The silence that followed was heavy. Khunbish's smile vanished, his face turning to stone as the weight of her words settled between them. Seeing that look—the reflected pain of her own soul—Chinua finally broke. The iron walls she had built around her heart crumbled, and she leaned forward, burying her face in his chest. She let her weakness crash into him, her strongest pillar.
"Go on," Khunbish whispered, holding her tight and patting the back of her head. "Crying is part of the healing."
"I no longer have a mother or a father," Chinua sobbed, the words muffled against his tunic. "The dream of us all sitting at the same table... it's gone. What is the point of fighting so hard when the family I dreamed of rebuilding is drifting further and further away?"
Khunbish gently pushed her back, holding her by the shoulders so she had to look at him. He wiped the salt from her cheeks.
"But Chinua, your family has always been here. Everyone who guards you night and day is your kin. That old dream may have drifted apart, but the family waiting outside is still waiting for the head of the house to take her seat. The girl I met with only two guards never gave up. Why should the general with ten thousand soldiers and friends across the land give up now?" He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "The Chinua I know is the strongest soldier because she believes she can achieve anything she sets her mind to."
"So..." Hye's voice cut through the air as the front door swung open. "You finally decided it was time to wake up." He walked in with a casual air, setting his medicine box on the table and pouring a cup of water.
Chinua looked up at Khunbish. "I am hungry."
Knowing she needed a moment of a different kind of strength, Khunbish nodded, rose, and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Chinua watched Hye sip his water in silence. After a long moment, she attempted to swing her legs over the edge of the bed. She took one tentative step, but her knees buckled immediately, sending her falling back onto the mattress. She knew she was weak, but the jarring impact of the bed against her skin was a cold reminder of just how far she had to go.
"Oh..." Hye frowned, dragging a stool over to sit directly in front of her. "So... what's next?"
Despite her trembling limbs, Chinua's eyes began to sparkle with a predatory light. "Do you remember what you told me in the Central Military camp?"
Hye tilted his head. "I said a lot of nonsense in that prison. If you don't remind me, I won't remember."
"You said," Chinua repeated, her voice gaining strength, "that if I desire Nue-Li City, you will ensure I keep it. That if there are obstacles in my path, you will obliterate them. And if I wish to rule Hmagol... you would give it to me."
Hye took a slow sip of water and nodded. "Mmm. So, what is it you want?"
Chinua looked him in the eye, her gaze fiercer than the fever that had nearly taken her. "I want Dzhambul's life. I want the lives of every soul who stands with him. I want every inch of land his feet have ever touched."
The corner of Hye's mouth curved into a dark, satisfied smile.
"Okay."