Ayisulu's grandmother did not believe in gentle urgency.
If she said, "Come home right now," what she actually meant was:
"If you don't appear in the next five breaths, I will personally drag you here with the force of my disappointment."
So Ayisulu ran.
She crossed the village in record time, dodging goats, laundry lines, and one confused neighbor carrying a chicken that clearly wanted a divorce.
Their family yurt stood on the edge of the settlement, slightly larger than the others and decorated with old, faded symbols. Some villagers said they were just patterns. Others whispered they belonged to an ancient bloodline.
Ulpan always said, "They're just pretty."
Which meant, of course, they were absolutely not just pretty.
Ayisulu lifted the felt door cover and stepped inside.
Warm air, the scent of herbs, and one very unimpressed old woman greeted her.
Ulpan sat cross-legged by the brazier, stirring something that smelled medicinal and slightly dangerous.
"You're late," she said.
"I came as fast as I—"
"You're late."
That ended the discussion.
Temir slipped in behind Ayisulu, panting. "I…brought her…like you asked…"
"I asked Ayisulu," Ulpan said. "You just followed the smell of food."
Temir looked personally offended but remained silent.
Ayisulu knelt in front of Ulpan.
"What happened? Is someone ill?"
"Yes," Ulpan said. "My patience."
Ayisulu exhaled slowly. "Why did you call me then?"
Ulpan stopped stirring and lifted her gaze. For a moment, the usual sharp-tongued grandmother vanished, replaced by the woman who raised Ayisulu after her parents died—tired eyes, wise hands, a mind that never slept.
"You were talking in your sleep again," Ulpan said quietly. "Loudly."
Temir perked up. "She said something about a prince and fire and falling and—"
"Temir," Ayisulu said sweetly, "stop."
He closed his mouth.
Ulpan watched Ayisulu carefully.
"You dreamed again."
It was not a question.
Ayisulu lowered her gaze.
"Yes."
"The serious kind," Ulpan said. "Not the kind where you predicted Temir would fall into horse dung."
"That was sabotage," Temir whispered.
Ayisulu pretended not to hear.
Ulpan motioned with her spoon. "Tell me."
Ayisulu hesitated. Saying dreams out loud made them heavier, more real—like signing a contract with fate.
But hiding things from Ulpan was impossible.
So she described the burning caravan, the flames, the shadowed stranger, the blade, and finally… Arslan falling.
When she finished, Ulpan was expressionless. Temir looked terrified.
"How many times?" Ulpan asked.
"Three," Ayisulu whispered.
"Then it is close," Ulpan said. "Or stubborn."
Temir raised his hand. "Is the prince definitely dying or just falling dramatically? It matters."
"No idea," Ayisulu muttered.
Ulpan tapped the brazier.
"And yet"—she fixed Ayisulu with a stare—"you walked with him today."
Ayisulu blinked. "How did you—"
"My bones are old, not deaf," Ulpan said. "The whole village is gossiping. 'The prince looked at our Ayisulu.' 'The prince spoke to our Ayisulu.' 'The prince inhaled the same air as our Ayisulu.'"
Temir snorted.
Ulpan leaned forward.
"Listen carefully. Dreams are tricky. Some you ignore. Some you cannot. Anything with fire and important men? Cannot."
Ayisulu swallowed.
"So… I should warn him?"
"No."
Ulpan's voice was firm.
"You should think. A prince is not a goat. He doesn't run because someone shouts, 'Danger!'"
Temir nodded wisely. "True. Goats listen better."
"Out," Ulpan said instantly.
Temir shuffled out.
Ulpan turned back to Ayisulu.
"For now, stay close enough to see what happens. Far enough to deny everything."
"That sounds impossible."
"Good," Ulpan said. "Impossible things suit you."
---
Ayisulu barely slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the flames again.
At dawn, with dark circles under her eyes, she stepped outside with Temir trailing behind like an overeager duck.
"You look terrible," he said cheerfully. "Ready to meet the prince?"
"No."
"Perfect."
---
Prince Arslan was already waiting, mounted and alert. Kereg stood beside him. Princess Kanykei sat on a white mare, wearing a face that suggested she disapproved of the sun.
"You're late," Kanykei said.
"You're early," Ayisulu replied.
Arslan cut in:
"We ride to inspect the trade road. A caravan is expected soon."
Ayisulu froze.
Too soon.
Kereg noticed her tension.
"You know something."
Ayisulu forced her tone casual.
"Caravans attract trouble."
"Which kind?" Arslan asked.
Ayisulu hesitated only a moment.
"The planned kind," she said. "A test. Not a killing strike. Someone wants to make you look weak."
Silence.
Then Arslan smiled—sharp and intrigued.
"You think like a strategist."
Kanykei muttered, "Or a criminal."
Kereg nodded. "Her logic is sound."
Arslan turned to Ayisulu.
"Ride beside me. Show me the places you would ambush a caravan."
Ayisulu muttered, "This says terrible things about me…"
Temir, clinging to a pony, called, "Don't worry! If you go to prison, I'll visit!"
"If I go to prison, you're coming with me."
"Fair."
And so they rode out—toward the road where a caravan would soon appear.
And, if Ayisulu's dreams were right,
toward the moment where fate would either bend…
…or burn.