Snow blanketed the steppe like a silent shroud, the cold cutting like a blade, and the sound of horses' hooves echoed in the distance. You were trembling, wrapped in the furs Mongol Empire had thrown over your shoulders earlier that morning.

"Stand up," he ordered, his voice deep and emotionless. "The deer won’t wait for you to stop shivering."

You glanced at him—so imposing in his ancient armor, eyes like cold steel, and that ever-unreadable expression. It was hard to believe this was the same man who had left a bowl of hot soup by your side in the tent a few nights ago, without a word.

"You said you’d teach me," you murmured, your voice nearly lost in the wind.

He turned slowly, eyes fixed on you. "And I am. I won’t coddle you if I want you to survive here."

With frozen hands, you gripped the bow he had given you. It was heavy, crafted from dark wood and leather—not something made for delicate hands. He walked up to you, each step steady, his presence so intense it seemed to shrink the world around you.

His arms came around yours, guiding your grip with firm, practiced movements. You could feel his strength, restrained, like a predator waiting to strike.

"Pull," he said, his breath brushing your ear. You shivered—not from the cold this time. "Steady. Control your breathing. Imagine it’s your enemy in front of you. Who would you protect?"

"You..." the word slipped out before you could stop it.

Silence. He stood behind you a second too long. The tension hung in the air like smoke. Then slowly, he pulled away, his gaze locked on yours with something dark and ancient — like a wolf unsure whether to guard or devour.

"Don’t say that so easily," he said, voice low and rough. "If you get to know me well enough... you’ll learn I destroy what I love."

You swallowed hard.