Outside, the desert unfolds in an endless sea of pale dunes, interrupted by the occasional rocky outcrop dusted with frost. The sky, a vast expanse of clear, cold blue, seems to stretch infinitely. Sparse clusters of hardy shrubs dot the landscape, their muted green leaves rimmed with a delicate layer of ice. The sun, a low and feeble orb, casts long, sharp shadows and a cool, almost ethereal light over the scene.

The carriage, a grand vehicle of polished mahogany with gold-trimmed edges, glides over the uneven terrain. Its wheels, reinforced with iron bands, crush small stones and raise wisps of dust. Richly embroidered curtains hang in the windows, fluttering gently with the breeze. Inside, plush velvet cushions in deep reds and purples offer luxurious comfort.

Dukar, however, feels none of the enchantment the landscape might offer. He shifts uncomfortably on his seat, the softness of the cushions doing little to ease his restlessness. His eyes, though taking in the scenery, are glazed with boredom. Every jolt of the carriage reminds him of his preference for the freedom of horseback, the wind in his hair and the ground close beneath his feet.

Puripal, on the other hand, is the picture of relaxation. He lounges back, humming a tune that occasionally breaks into a soft whistle. His eyes are half-closed, and a contented smile plays on his lips.

Dukar sighs deeply, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet carriage. He looks at Puripal, whose hum seems to only grow cheerier in response. Finally, Dukar can stand it no longer.

"Can I drive the carriage?" he blurts out, his tone a mix of desperation and hope.

Puripal's eyes open fully, and he regards Dukar with amused disbelief. "Drive the carriage?" he echoes, a chuckle escaping his lips. "You must be joking."

"I'm not," Dukar insists, his frustration evident. "I'm bored out of my mind in here."

Puripal laughs, a rich, hearty sound. "You really must have lived the life of a peon before, haven't you? Never experienced the finer things in life."

Dukar's eyes flash with indignation. "There's nothing shameful about my Tepr way of life. We value practicality and connection with nature, not this...."

Puripal mocks, raising an eyebrow. "This is the norm for someone of my rank. Learn to appreciate it."

Dukar leans forward, his gaze intense. "I've learned to appreciate the open sky, the feel of a horse beneath me, and the freedom to move as I please. Sitting here, feeling every bump, is not my idea of luxury."

Puripal grins, clearly enjoying the banter. "Well, perhaps you'll come to see the benefits of a slower pace. It gives one time to think, to plan."

Dukar snorts. "Time to go mad with boredom, more like."

Puripal shrugs, his hum resuming. "Suit yourself, Dukar. But I promise you, by the end of this journey, you might just come to enjoy a bit of comfort."

Dukar mutters under his breath, looking back out at the landscape. "Not likely."

As he continues to stare out, his eyes narrow against the pale light of the winter sun. Its position in the sky tugs at his instincts. The shadows cast by the dunes stretch in the wrong direction, and the sun, which should be dipping on their right, now drifts slowly down on their left. His brow furrows as realization dawns.

"Why the detour?" Dukar asks, his voice edged with curiosity and unease. "We could take a more direct route to Pezijil."

Puripal chuckles, adjusting his position to face Dukar. "Ah, but where's the fun in that? We're heading southwest to Agan-An first."

Dukar frowns, his lack of knowledge about Yohazatz politics evident. "Agan-An? What is that?"

Puripal's eyes twinkle with a mix of amusement and seriousness. "The Agan-An are a small tribe, once loyal to Yohazatz, now under Moukopl control. They’re still loyal to us, though, which makes them useful allies."

"But won't the Moukopl suspect our intentions if we go through Agan-An territory?"

"They might," Puripal admits, "but the Moukopl have their hands full with internal strife and the Yohazatz front. The Agan-An border is less guarded compared to the Kamoklopr and the northern wall. It's our best chance to slip through unnoticed."

Dukar leans back, contemplating Puripal's words. "And what if the Agan-An betray us? It's a risk."

Puripal laughs. "The Agan-An won't betray us. They have more to gain by supporting us than by siding with the Moukopl. Besides, I have a way with people."

Dukar raises an eyebrow, his doubt lingering. "Your way with people? You mean your princely charm?"

"Exactly!" Puripal grins. "And if that fails, we have you and your persuasive abilities."

Dukar shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "You're incorrigible."

Puripal's expression turns more serious, though the twinkle in his eyes remains. "Trust me, Dukar. The Agan-An are our best shot. Their loyalty to Yohazatz runs deep, and their resentment towards the Moukopl even deeper. They’ll help us."

Dukar sighs, the weight of their mission pressing down on him. "I hope you're right. The stakes are too high for us to fail."

The carriage continues its journey, the landscape shifting subtly as they move. The tension between Dukar and Puripal eases slightly.

"Tell me more about Agan-An," Dukar prompts, breaking the silence.

Puripal's eyes light up. "They were once vassals of us, known for their fierce warriors and strategic minds. Like us, they broke out of Bugr when the empire fell, their ancestral leader was a relative of Demoz and Yohazatz, our ancestral leader. They ended up with the short end of the stick, though, and a very small territory compared to the other heirs of Demoz. They’ve always hated Moukopl and submitted to our rule without a fight. They clearly had more autonomy than the average vassal, and even had a thing to say during many of our conquests or political plays. Now, even under Moukopl rule, they've found ways to support us discreetly. Their leader, Turgun, is a cunning man who hates the Moukopl as much as he loves his people."

Dukar listens attentively, nodding as Puripal speaks. The prince's conviction in the Agan-An tribe and their leader eases Dukar's concerns. Just as he opens his mouth to express his agreement, a loud yawn fills the carriage.

Ta, previously sprawled in an improbable position on the opposite couch, stretches languidly like a cat. His arms and legs extend to impossible lengths before he finally curls up again, his eyes half-closed. "You guys make too much noise," he mumbles, shifting until his head finds a comfortable spot on Dukar's lap.

Puripal's eyes narrow, jealousy sparking like flint on steel. "Ta, get your head off his lap immediately," he commands, his tone as sharp as a blade.

Dukar, taken aback, raises a hand in a calming gesture. "It's fine, Puripal. It doesn't matter."

"It does matter!" Puripal's voice edges on a whine, his frustration evident. "Laying on your lap should be a privilege reserved only for me!"

A smirk curls Ta's lips, though his eyes remain closed, his breathing even. The expression, though subtle, speaks volumes to Puripal, who is convinced Ta is doing this deliberately to provoke him.

"I swear, he's doing it on purpose," Puripal hisses, his eyes flashing with irritation.

Dukar sighs. "He's just trying to sleep. Let's not make a big deal out of this."

Ta, still feigning sleep, stifles a laugh, his body shaking slightly with the effort. Puripal's face flushes with anger, the situation teetering on the edge of absurdity.

Dukar, sensing the need to deescalate, turns to Puripal with a stern look. "Listen, Puripin. Ta is an untamed beast, so in case he hurts you, I promise you, I will slaughter him right here in this carriage."

Puripal's anger melts into a blush, his heart skipping a beat at Dukar's protective words. "Fine," he mutters, crossing his arms and looking out the window, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Ta, nestled comfortably on Dukar's lap, feels a surge of happiness. "How nice of you, Brother," he murmurs.

Dukar gently pats Ta’s head, causing Ta to let out a contented sigh. Puripal, still looking out the window, can't help but roll his eyes at the scene.

"You know," Puripal says with mock seriousness, "I'm starting to think you enjoy this way more than you should."

Ta, eyes still closed, smirks. "Oh, absolutely. Nothing like using Brother’s bony legs as a pillow. Pure luxury."

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Dukar chuckles. "I didn't realize my legs had such appeal."

"Well, they don't," Puripal interjects, crossing his arms tighter. "But apparently, some people have no standards."

Ta's smirk widens. "Oh, Fourth Brother, you're just jealous because you can't monopolize Brother’s attention. Admit it."

Puripal's face reddens slightly. "Jealous? Of what? Your ability to act like a spoiled brat?"

Dukar, trying to keep the peace, says, "Let's not turn this into a war. We have enough problems without adding more."

Ta opens one eye, peeking up at Dukar. "You hear that, Fourth Brother? Even Brother knows I'm the favorite."

Puripal scoffs. "In your dreams, Ta. If anything, Dukar just tolerates you because he’s too nice to kick you off."

Dukar sighs. "Puripin, I think you might be taking this a bit too seriously."

Ta, feigning hurt, pouts. "Yeah. You should really lighten up. Life's too short to get worked up over lap privileges."

Puripal huffs, but a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Fine, you win this round. But remember, Ta, you're only here because Dukar hasn’t decided to throw you off the carriage."

Ta, looking up at Dukar with mock innocence, says, "Brother, you wouldn't throw me out, right?"

Dukar smirks. "I would if you keep fighting. Watching you run after us sounds like a fun entertainment."

Hours pass in a blur of idle chatter and occasional laughter. The carriage lulls into a rhythmic sway, the wheels crunching over frosty ground. Suddenly, the peace shatters with the thunder of approaching hooves. Puripal and Dukar react instantly, shoving Ta under the seats. Ta, caught off guard, emits a high-pitched squeak before Dukar clamps a hand over his mouth.

"Quiet," Dukar hisses, eyes sharp with urgency.

The horsemen draw near, their steeds snorting clouds of mist into the cold air. The leader, a burly figure, signals his men to halt. They encircle the carriage, wary eyes scanning for threats. The leader dismounts, his boots crunching against the frozen ground, and strides to the window.

Puripal, maintaining a composed exterior, pulls the curtain aside. "Good day, general Habul," he greets with a practiced smile.

The general’s stern expression softens upon recognizing the prince. "Your Highness, forgive our intrusion. We weren’t informed of a royal carriage heading this way and wanted to ensure it hadn't been stolen."

Puripal waves a dismissive hand. "No need for alarm. Everything is in order. We're on a discreet mission and require no escort."

The general nods, his eyes briefly flicking over Puripal’s shoulder, catching a glimpse of Dukar. "Understood, Your Highness. If you need anything, we're at your service."

Puripal inclines his head graciously. "Thank you, but your patrol is more important. Continue as usual."

Meanwhile, beneath the seat, Ta squirms, attempting to free himself. Dukar tightens his grip, his sleeve muffling Ta's protests. "Stay still," he mutters, eyes never leaving the soldiers.

The leader salutes smartly before remounting his horse. "Safe travels, Your Highness." With a final nod, he signals his men to move on. The horsemen ride off, their figures soon swallowed by the desert’s vastness.

Once the sound of hoofbeats fades into silence, Puripal releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He turns to Dukar. "You can let him out now."

Dukar pulls Ta from under the seat, the boy’s face red with both embarrassment and suppressed laughter. "What was that for?" Ta demands, though his voice is more amused than angry.

Puripal rolls his eyes. "For our safety. We don’t want them to recognize a wanted criminal."

Ta smirks, dusting himself off. "Well, that was a lovely bit of excitement."

Dukar shakes his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. "You are the biggest idiot I’ve ever met. Even my sister is not this insane."

Puripal, eyebrows raised in surprise, can't believe what he just heard. "You have a sister?!"

Dukar, taken aback by Puripal's reaction, nods. "Yes, why do you sound so shocked?"

"You never told me you had a sister," Puripal says, his tone a mix of curiosity and mild irritation.

Dukar shrugs. "Is there anything strange about me having a sister?"

"No," Puripal admits, though he looks annoyed. "But it's annoying that you never share this kind of information with me."

"I never felt the need to mention her," Dukar says, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Puripal leans forward, clearly intrigued. "What's she like?"

Dukar's expression shifts, a mix of frustration and fondness crossing his face. "What’s she like? She's narcissistic and cunning, always finding a way to get what she wants. Arrogant and violent, yet somehow weak and fragile at the same time. She's... complicated. I can never guess what’s going on in that head of hers."

Puripal laughs, a genuine, hearty sound. "I've never heard you be so negative about someone. What's her name?"

Dukar sighs, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Naci."

Puripal's jaw drops. "Naci?!" he repeats, eyes wide with shock.

Dukar's brow furrows. "Do you know any Naci?"

Puripal, still processing, shakes his head slightly. "It must be a coincidence, but I've heard of a Naci. Recently, she claimed the title of Khan of Tepr. My second brother, Noga, gathers information about Tepr for our father, and that name has been repeated quite a lot."

Dukar stares at Puripal, feeling a mix of disbelief and irritation. "Are you making fun of me?"

Puripal shakes his head vigorously. "No, I'm serious. Noga mentioned she came from the tribe of Zabüriu."

Dukar, his shock turning into frustration, corrects him sharply. "It's Jabliu. That’s my tribe and clan's name."

Puripal's eyes widen further as he takes in this revelation. "So, your sister is the one making waves in Tepr?"

Dukar's mind whirls with disbelief. He leans back, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. "I can't believe she's causing so much trouble," he mutters, more to himself than to Puripal.

Puripal, sensing the turmoil in Dukar's thoughts, remains silent, allowing the weight of the revelation to sink in.

Dukar's gaze turns distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. "I need to see her," he says finally, his voice firm with resolve. "I need to go back to Tepr and find out what's really happening."

Puripal nods slowly, understanding the gravity of Dukar's decision. "You’ll figure it out, Dukar. First, let's handle what's in front of us. Then, we'll get you back to Tepr."

Dukar's eyes, now burning with a mix of determination and concern, meet Puripal's.

Meanwhile, the carriage continues its journey, the landscape stretching ahead endlessly.

A few days have passed on the junk, the rhythm of life at sea settling into a routine. As dawn's first light filters through the cabin, Kalez stirs, a wave of nausea washing over her. She sits up slowly, the motion making her head swim. Pressing a hand to her stomach, she stands and limps toward the door, trying not to wake the others.

The deck is quiet, the sea calm beneath the rising sun. She makes her way to the bridge, the fresh air doing little to ease her queasiness. As she approaches, voices drift to her ears. She slows her pace, recognizing Naci and Temej in conversation.

"...what’s going on with Fol? What did you do to him?" Temej's voice carries a note of accusation.

Kalez steps into the shadows, curiosity piqued. She peers out, careful to remain unseen.

Naci, seated with a bottle of liquor, takes a sip before answering. "I haven’t done anything different. Making Fol an important asset was my plan from the beginning."

Temej’s face contorts with disapproval. "You’re manipulating him. Turning him into a mindless weapon. It's immoral, Naci."

Naci smiles, a cold, calculated expression. "More than a weapon, I needed a shield. Someone I can always count on when Horohan isn't there."

Temej shakes his head, his disgust palpable. "You don’t need an innocent child for that. It’s wrong."

Naci's eyes harden, her tone unwavering. "Fol chose his path. I simply guided him. Besides, he's revealed himself to be even more capable than I hoped."

Temej's fists clench, his frustration clear. "You’re corrupting him. He deserves better than to be used like this."

Naci's smile fades, replaced by a steely resolve. "We all have our roles to play."

"Your methods are cruel. Is this how you want to be remembered?" Temej declares, his voice low but intense.

Naci meets his gaze, unflinching. "The greatest rulers were also the cruellest. However cruel Demoz was, that is not how we remember him."

Temej's eyes narrow, his jaw tightening. "Demoz unified tribes for the greater good. He didn’t sacrifice lives for his own gain."

Naci takes another sip of liquor, her gaze steady. "He was ruthless when necessary. Unity often demands sacrifice. Fol’s loyalty and strength are crucial for our future."

Temej crosses his arms, his voice trembling with anger. "Fol is a child, Naci. He wants to play music and raise sheep. He deserves a chance at a normal life, not to be molded into your personal guard."

Naci leans back, her expression calm yet unyielding. "Normal life? In our world, there’s no such thing. Our lifestyle is endangered by Moukopl filth. Have you not seen how they treated our brothers? They sent them to die for nothing and then destroyed our musical instruments."

Temej steps closer, his face inches from hers. "And what happens when he realizes what you’ve done? When he sees the manipulation for what it is?"

Naci's gaze does not waver. "He will understand. And he will thank me for it. He’s already proving to be more resilient than you think."

Temej shakes his head slowly, his eyes filled with sadness. "Or he’ll resent you. Hate you for robbing him of his free will."

Naci’s expression softens slightly, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. "Maybe. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take. For all our sakes."

Temej’s voice drops to a whisper, the hurt clear in his tone. "And what about your own humanity, Naci? What happens to you when you lose sight of compassion and empathy?"

The two stand in silence, the weight of their words hanging heavily in the air. Kalez, hidden in the shadows, watches the exchange with a heavy heart, her mind racing with conflicting thoughts. The sea, calm and endless, seems to mirror the vast divide between Naci and Temej’s perspectives.

Finally, Temej breaks the silence, his voice filled with quiet resolve. "You may be right about the need for strength, but there’s a balance, Naci. Don’t lose yourself in the process."

Naci nods slowly, a hint of sorrow in her eyes. "I’ll keep that in mind, Temej. But know this—I will do whatever it takes to ensure our survival."

Temej turns away, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I just hope it’s worth it," he murmurs, walking off into the dawn’s light.

Naci remains, staring out at the horizon, the bottle of liquor still in her hand. Her expression is a mask of determination, but deep within, doubt gnaws at her resolve.

Kalez feels a blade pressed against her throat, sharp and cold. She gasps, her body stiffening as a familiar voice whispers in her ear, "Don't make a sound or move."

Her heart pounds in her chest as she realizes it's Fol, his tone eerily calm. "Fol, it's me," she whispers back, her voice trembling.

"What were you planning, spying in the shadows?" Fol's voice is low, menacing.

Kalez swallows hard, the blade pressing uncomfortably against her skin. "It's a misunderstanding," she murmurs, trying to keep her voice steady. "I just needed some fresh air. I stumbled upon their conversation and didn't dare interrupt."

The blade presses harder, making her wince. "You shouldn't be listening behind the Khan’s back," Fol says ruthlessly.

Naci, noticing the commotion, turns her head and spots them. Her eyes light up with a disturbing gleam. "Fol," she calls out, waving casually, "let her go. She didn’t mean any harm."

Kalez can barely breathe, the fear gripping her as tightly as the blade at her throat. Fol hesitates, his grip firm for a moment longer before he finally steps back, lowering the blade. He watches her with a cold intensity, his eyes void of the boyish charm they once held.

Naci approaches, her smile widening into a terrifying smirk. "Kalez," she says sweetly, "enjoying the night sky?"

Kalez nods shakily, her throat dry. "Yes... I just... I needed some air."

Naci's smirk deepens. "Of course. Please be at ease."

Kalez forces a weak smile, nodding quickly. "Thank you."

Naci's eyes bore into hers, a chilling reminder of the power she wields. "Good. Fol, it's cold. Why don't we go back inside?"

Fol nods before following his Khan inside the cabin.

Kalez’s legs feel like lead as she falls down. She can still feel Fol's cold gaze on her back as she walks away, her mind racing with a mixture of fear and confusion. She had never felt so terrified of her... The Khan that will lead them to greatness.