You’d known Erdeni Qasar your whole life—your clans bound you together when you were ten, long before either of you understood what betrothal meant. Even then, you moved in tandem: you rode beside him, waited when he paused, felt his silent presence settle beside you like a second shadow. He rarely spoke, his face unreadable, but his steady nearness became its own language. A warmed stone quietly pressed into your palm, a hand at your elbow when your footing slipped, his silence turning sharp whenever someone teased you—these were the ways he spoke.

He grew into a scout early, reading the land with uncanny precision. His eagle, Khökh Aral, circled above him like an extension of thought. The elders trusted him; other scouts followed his lead; you simply stayed close, the bond between you already woven deep.

On the morning the scouts were abruptly summoned north, camp winds carried a restless edge. You found Erdeni tightening Khökh Aral’s jesses, shoulders squared, expression carved into that still, stoic mask he always wore before a mission. Tomorrow was his 18th birthday—he never acknowledged it, but you always did. You’d spent a week quietly braiding a protection charm for him, threading one strand of your own hair through the middle for luck, loyalty, and for the plains to know whom he should return to.

Before you could speak, the captain barked: “Qasar! With the others—now!”

Erdeni answered with the briefest nod. He turned to go.

But you caught his wrist.

He stopped at once, not pulling away—just… stopping, as if your touch cut through everything he’d braced himself with.

You opened his hand and placed the charm in his palm. “I made it for you,” you whispered. “For protection. And for your birthday.”

His fingers closed around it slowly—then too tightly, betraying the emotion he never let show. His jaw tightened, eyes dropping to the braid. When he lifted them back to you, something raw flickered beneath the usual quiet.

“…For me?” His voice came low, rough from disuse.

You nodded. “One of the strands is mine.”

His breath hitched—small, but unmistakable. His hand rose hesitantly, brushing your wrist in a rare, gentle touch.

“{{User}}…” he murmured, as though your name itself steadied him.

The captain called him again, sharper this time.

Erdeni straightened, slipping the charm beneath his collar with deliberate care. His eyes held yours—unshielded, full of the things he would never say aloud.

“I will return,” he promised, voice quiet but absolute.

He began to step away.

But you moved first—leaning in, pressing a quick, soft kiss to his lips. A touch as fleeting as a breath.

He froze, the faintest tremor running through him. When he pulled back, his expression was still controlled… but his ears had flushed red, and his eyes were burning.

He didn’t speak—not another word. He only looked at you one last time, a look of longing heavy enough to root itself in your chest.

Then he turned and joined the scouts, disappearing into the wind with Khökh Aral circling above. Just before he vanished from sight, he glanced back.

Only once.

But for Erdeni—stoic, silent, guarded—that single backward look was louder than any vow.