The

  golden mountains reflected the last light of sunset onto the greenish

  waters of the lake. On its western shore, the clan had chosen to make

  camp before crossing K?g?n Kuln?, the Pass of the

  Watchful Sky, and entering the endless northern plains.

  Through those ravines flowed the lament of spirits.

  Although the pass was crossed every year, fear never truly faded.

  The elders had filled the people’s minds with old stories—tales

  of wandering souls that gathered there, turning the crossing into a

  descent toward the depths of the universe itself.

  The old shaman Erlik moved toward the improvised yurt of the clan

  leader, Alysh. He advanced as quickly as his heavy legs allowed,

  leaning on his Kügür-Terek, the Singing Tree—a

  staff carved from young Siberian larch.

  The spirits had not left him in peace all day.

  Too many signs. Too many coincidences. The old voices were

  aligning again, just as they had in the distant past, when fate began

  to stir.

  His long white hair blended with his ash-gray wool cap and flowed

  down over a thick green kaftan, embroidered in muted red, ivory, and

  ochre. On its back, sewn directly into the felt, loomed the Süyek-K?g

  B?rü—the ancient guardian of life and death. A bird’s

  head with a curved beak and slanted eyes merged into a silent feline

  body, its form seeming to move when Erlik walked.

  —Old fool, why the rush? —Alysh asked when he saw him.

  —We

  need to speak —Erlik replied, planting his staff into the

  ground.

  —You know I always listen.

  —Listening is not

  the same as obeying.

  —That’s true.

  Their gazes drifted toward Prince Chinggis Yüd,

  standing near the lake’s edge. A thick leather glove covered his

  left hand, where a falcon perched. The bird wore no hood. Its icy

  eyes reflected the mountains and the water alike.

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  With a subtle motion, the prince released it.

  The falcon surged upward, wings wide, catching the wind as if it

  had been waiting for it. It spiraled and dove with unnatural

  precision. The air trembled beneath its flight. Sunlight glimmered on

  its feathers as it skimmed the lake, rose over the peaks, and

  vanished into the prairie mist.

  At the prince’s whistle, the falcon returned instantly, landing

  on the glove as though its flight had been a vow fulfilled. It did

  not obey out of fear—but out of respect.

  —His mother would be proud —Alysh said quietly.

  —His

  mother would demand you protect him —Erlik replied.

  Alysh frowned.

  —I am like the morning sun —Erlik continued—insolent,

  unavoidable. So I will say this plainly.

  —You always do.

  —You

  must sacrifice the horse.

  In ancient times, the Toguluk sages taught that every horse

  guarded its rider’s soul. A king did not ride alone—he rode a

  spirit that could see beyond the horizon.

  If a horse threw its king, it was never an accident.

  It was a warning.

  Such a horse had to be sacrificed immediately. Its loyalty had

  shifted. Left alive, it would turn against its master when the moment

  was most vulnerable—and then, nothing could stop fate.

  —You know that horse is special —Alysh said.

  —I do —he

  admitted, thinking of Aynura, Chinggis Yüd’s mother.

  —It is

  the firstborn of her mare. By our laws, only she holds its fate. I

  cannot act.

  —I will keep weaving protection —Erlik

  warned—but for how long?

  —We all have our duties. Leave me.

  Erlik turned away, restless. His fingers traced the bone beads and

  polished stones of his necklace. Each symbol glimmered faintly. At

  its center hung the Tengri-Süyek, the Bone of the

  Sky, pulsing with unseen power.

  In his pocket, the ülgen-Keme vibrated softly—a

  warning.

  Darkness was near.

  Erlik looked toward the horizon. The prince rode confidently,

  unaware.

  The shaman whispered ancient words. The stones brightened. A thin,

  luminous mist wrapped itself around the young rider, as though fate

  itself hesitated.

  —Guard him —Erlik murmured—to the winds, to the stars, to

  the spirits of the taiga.

  Wings whispered through the air.

  For the first time, the prince did not ride alone.

  But Erlik’s heart tightened.

  No magic was absolute.

  And destiny always collected its due.

  Somewhere beyond the pass, something had already begun to move.