As the camp settled into a quiet hum after the evening's tense discussions, Kara, ever the blunt warrior, patted Wolfram on the shoulder and chuckled, "Eating too much means a long toilet time for a big bear like me, hehe." He sauntered off, but Wolfram knew better—Kara was likely heading off to smoke alone, a habit he preferred to keep private.
Wolfram stood alone, the night air cool against his skin, when he noticed Aslı emerging from the tent, a plate of sarma in her hand. Her eyes locked onto his with a look that made him uncomfortable in its intensity. She approached him, holding a piece of sarma delicately between her fingers, and before he could react, she pressed it to his lips, her fingers deliberately brushing against them. The contact sent a jolt through Wolfram; the tension between them was palpable.
He stepped back, trying to regain his composure. "I shall take my pardon," he mumbled, turning to walk away, but he could feel Aslı's presence behind him. He quickened his pace, hoping she would let him go, but she was persistent. As he reached his tent, he turned to find Aslı standing there, a hood now drawn over her head, obscuring her features.
"Are you going to let me eat on foot?" she said, her voice soft but insistent. "Just let me in already."
She didn't wait for an invitation, slipping past him into the tent. Wolfram hesitated for a moment, his mind racing. He knew he should send her away, but the boldness in her actions left him at a loss for words. With a deep breath, he followed her inside, closing the tent flap behind him, sealing them off from the outside world.
As Aslı stood outside Wolfram's tent, the cool night air wrapped around her, but the tension between them was palpable. She had followed him from the main gathering, her presence a silent yet undeniable force. When Wolfram finally turned to face her, his expression was unreadable, caught between surprise and resignation.
"Are you going to let me eat on foot, or will you invite me in?" she asked, her voice carrying a subtle challenge. She held the plate of sarma in her hands, the food now serving as a pretext for her presence.
Wolfram hesitated for a moment, but the unspoken tension between them left him little choice. He stepped aside, holding the tent flap open for her. With a disturbed gesture he looked at her, he was not enthusiastic about it his voice betraying a mixture of curiosity and caution.
Aslı entered the tent with the grace and confidence that defined her, but there was an edge to her movements, a subtle hint of vulnerability that she kept well hidden. She set the plate down on the small table inside, the flickering light of the lantern casting shadows on her face, accentuating her sharp features.
Wolfram watched her carefully, unsure of her intentions. The events of the day had left him on edge, and Aslı's unexpected visit only added to the uncertainty. "What do you want, Aslı?" he asked, his tone direct.
Aslı looked at him, her gaze softening slightly as she studied him. "You're different from the others," she said, almost as if she were thinking aloud. "You don't belong to this world of endless conquests and bloodshed. You're... something else, something they don't understand."
Wolfram remained silent, his blue eyes meeting hers, trying to gauge the meaning behind her words.
She picked up a piece of sarma from the plate and extended it toward him, her fingers delicately holding the wrap. "Here," she said, her voice taking on a more intimate tone. "Let me."
Wolfram hesitated, but there was something disarming about the way she offered the food, as if she were trying to bridge the gap between them. He leaned forward slightly, allowing her to feed him the bite. Her fingers brushed against his lips as she withdrew her hand, the touch sending a jolt of awareness through him.
The moment lingered in the air between them, charged with unspoken tension. Wolfram chewed slowly, his mind racing. He felt the warmth of her proximity, the intensity of her gaze, and the weight of the unspoken intentions behind her actions.
"I should go," he said abruptly, stepping back to create some distance.
Aslı, however, was not so easily deterred. She took a step closer, her eyes locking onto his. "Why are you in such a hurry?" she asked, her voice low and suggestive. "We both know there's no rush tonight."
Wolfram felt a surge of conflicting emotions—desire, caution, and a sense of danger that came with the territory of engaging with someone like Aslı. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, Aslı closed the distance between them, her hand reaching up to gently touch his chest.
"Let me in, Wolfram," she whispered, her tone a mix of seduction and command. "I promise I don't bite... unless you want me to."
Wolfram felt his resolve waver, the air between them thick with anticipation. He knew this was dangerous territory, that getting involved with Aslı could complicate things in ways he couldn't even begin to predict. But in that moment, with her standing so close, her presence overwhelming his senses, the warnings in his mind seemed to fade into the background.
Aslı looked at him, her gaze narrowing as she studied him intently. "You're not like the others," she began, her tone thoughtful, almost as if she were piecing together a puzzle. "You don't belong to this world of endless conquests and bloodshed, do you? You don't truly appreciate or value the culture you've found yourself in. I've heard about you, Wolfram. You were close to Timurtas, closer than most. But let's be honest—you're just the son of a Danish woman. Timurtas didn't need a political move like you to strengthen his empire; he was already the ruler of nearly the entire known world, from the Silk Road to the Mediterranean, from the Caspian Sea to the steppes of Mongolia. He didn't take you in because of some strategic necessity. No, if Timurtas kept you close, it's because he saw something in you, something different. He was a man who ruled for 120 years, a legend in his own right, and if he chose to keep you by his side, it wasn't out of charity."
Aslı's expression grew more thoughtful, her sharp eyes narrowing as she delved deeper into her thoughts. She spoke with a blend of certainty and contemplation, her words weaving a picture of the complex world they inhabited.
"Uluç is not just a warrior, but a man of order and discipline, driven by a relentless desire to impose structure on chaos. The sight of religious conflicts festering in the lands he sought to control was an affront to him. He couldn't stand the way these mixed religions clashed, each pulling at the fabric of society, threatening to unravel the unity he valued above all else. In his eyes, the only way to maintain order was to strike at the heart of their civilizations—to destroy the very sources of their cultural power."
She paused, her gaze distant as if she were sifting through the memories and stories she had heard over the years. "His reputation for ruthlessness wasn't just born on the battlefield. It extended into the political realm, where his influence was just as formidable. Timurtas knew this all too well. He often tried to temper Uluç's fervor, warning him that he was wasting his years fighting battle after battle, trying to hammer peace into existence with the blunt edge of a sword. But Uluç was more than a soldier; he was a strategist who understood that wars were not fought in isolation. He waged wars in the east against the Caliphate while simultaneously keeping the western borders in check. He maintained the Tharkan culture, a legacy passed down by his father, using it as a tool to mold the empire's youth into warriors."
Aslı's voice softened slightly as she leaned closer to Wolfram, her eyes probing his as if searching for some hidden truth. "You mentioned earlier that you don't remember much about your homeland, about the ways of your people. Let me enlighten you, then. Your people, they believe in lineage, in the rule of bloodlines. Kings are chosen based on their heritage, their connection to the ancient thrones. You even go so far as to import foreign kings when necessary, allowing them to adopt the region's customs while holding power, all because they carry a title that commands respect."
She smiled faintly, a touch of condescension in her voice. "But here, things are different. We, too, have lineages, but here, the throne is not a birthright—it is a prize that must be won. The strongest rule these lands, not because of their name, but because of their ability to command, to conquer, and to control. It's a hard truth that you must understand if you are to survive in this world. The people here are not easily governed; they are born with a high will, a stubborn pride that makes them hard to control and even harder to satisfy. Each man here sees himself as a potential legend, a warrior destined for greatness."
Her voice took on a more somber tone as she continued, "These are people who have grown up hearing tales of legendary warriors, stories passed down from generation to generation. The Turks have always revered their ancestors, and every new generation aspires to match or even surpass the legends of the past. It's a cycle that has kept our culture alive and thriving for centuries. But now, with Timurtas's death, that cycle is in danger of breaking."
Aslı's gaze grew more intense as she spoke of the current state of the empire. "With the death of Timurtas, everyone must go to Kurultay in Türk-il, the ancient seat of power. They don't care about crowning the new heir in Istanbul, the city that has recently risen to prominence. In the east, they cling to the old ways, refusing to acknowledge the authority of the new heir. Dissension is brewing, voices are rising, and they are calling for independence. These are our people, yet they feel distant, almost foreign, as if the vastness of the empire has stretched our bonds to the breaking point."
She sighed, her eyes reflecting the weight of the empire's future. "Timurtas and Uluç managed to hold this empire together through sheer will and an iron grip on power. But now, the winds have shifted. The balance is fragile, and if things go wrong, it will be nearly impossible to reassemble the unity that once held this realm together. Without that unity, the empire will crumble, becoming a mere shadow of its former glory. And without that influence, you cannot hope to remain relevant in this ever-changing world."
Aslı leaned back slightly, her eyes still locked on Wolfram's, as if daring him to challenge her words. She had painted a picture not just of the world as it was, but of the precarious position they all found themselves in—a world where the old ways were clashing with the new, and where the outcome was anything but certain.
Aslı continued, her voice steady and confident as she delved deeper into the story of Uluç, a man she clearly respected, yet feared. "Uluç's ambition didn't end with mere military conquests; it extended to shaping the very fabric of society itself. As he turned his gaze eastward, his conquests were not just about land or power—they were about enforcing his vision of order. He began by expelling scholars and religious figures who were gaining too much influence, sowing the seeds of small, politically charged religious groups, both Christian and Muslim, within the region. These factions began to challenge the traditional Tengrist society we hold dear. They ignored our Yasa and Töre—our sacred laws and customs, handed down by our ancestors. For us, these are more than just rules; they are the embodiment of our history, our identity. To live by Töre and Yasa is to honor the past and ensure the future."
She paused, allowing her words to sink in, before continuing with a more pointed tone. "You must understand, Wolfram, that anyone who has not experienced the weight of Töre and Yasa is lost in this world. They're blind to the strength and unity it brings to our people. So when Uluç began to ban these religious cults, he wasn't just suppressing dissent; he was preserving the integrity of our society. But this had consequences. Many of those who were expelled or felt threatened by his actions began to migrate to Baghdad, seeking refuge and support from the Caliphate. The Caliph, seeing an opportunity to strengthen his own position, welcomed them with open arms."
Aslı's eyes darkened as she recounted the tale. "There was one figure, in particular, a scholar whose influence was growing rapidly. He became a symbol of resistance against Uluç's reforms, a beacon for those who refused to abandon their faith. The common people in the region knew of his rising influence, and Uluç, ever the pragmatist, demanded that this scholar be handed over to the authorities in the city where his influence was the strongest. It was a straightforward demand, one that any ruler would expect to be met without question. But the Caliph refused. He claimed this scholar was harmless, merely a man of learning who posed no threat, and he was free to stay in Baghdad for as long as he wished. This was a direct affront to Uluç—a clear, unyielding 'no' to his authority. It was a line drawn in the sand."
Aslı leaned in closer, her voice lowering as she painted a vivid picture of Uluç in his youth. "You have to imagine Uluç in his prime—young, powerful, and more dangerous than ever. Among the Shaz Turkish-speaking people, he was already feared, known as the most dangerous man in the empire. They say he was even more brutal than Timurtas, who was legendary in his own right. Uluç was the last son of Timurtas, born during the siege of Constantinople when his father was already 60 years old. He grew up under the shadow of a legend, seeing firsthand the respect and fear his father commanded. That aura, that influence—it shaped him, molded him into the fearsome figure we know today."
She smiled slightly, as if recalling a distant memory. "My grandmother used to tell me stories about Uluç when he was just a boy. Even then, he was a leader, ruling over the other children with an iron fist. He would create games, assign tasks, and rebuild the rules as he saw fit. There was no question who was in charge. His competitive nature was in stark contrast to Timurtas, who was more calm and collected—a stoic figure who wielded his words like weapons. Uluç, however, was born with fire in his veins. He inherited his father's way with words, but his spirit was far more volatile, far more driven by a need to prove himself, to conquer not just lands, but the very hearts and minds of the people."
Aslı's gaze softened for a moment as she looked at Wolfram, but the intensity in her voice remained. "You see, Wolfram, Uluç's rise was not just about power. It was about asserting his dominance in a world where strength was the only currency that mattered. He wasn't content to simply sit on the throne; he wanted to reshape the world in his image. And now, with Timurtas gone, the delicate balance that held this empire together is under threat. The winds have shifted, and if Uluç cannot hold the realm together, if he cannot bring the people back under his control, then the empire will fracture, and we will all be left to pick up the pieces."
She leaned back, her eyes never leaving Wolfram's. "This is the reality we face now. Uluç's success, his ability to maintain the unity of this vast empire, is the only thing standing between us and chaos. And without that unity, without that strength, the empire will crumble, and with it, everything that Timurtas and Uluç fought so hard to build."
Aslı's voice grew more intense, her words revealing the depth of her understanding of Uluç and the world he sought to shape. She leaned in closer to Wolfram, her eyes sharp and probing as she delved into the intricacies of Uluç's conquests and the impact they had on the region.
"Uluç," she began, her tone measured but filled with a hint of reverence, "was not just a man of war; he was a man of vision, one who believed in the purity of his people and the sanctity of their customs. When he turned his gaze to the east, his goal wasn't merely conquest—it was purification. He saw the growing influence of foreign scholars, missionaries, and religious figures as a threat to the stability of the region. These outsiders brought with them new ideas, new beliefs that began to take root among the people, slowly eroding the traditional ways that had held our society together for centuries."
She paused, letting her words sink in before continuing. "These small religious and political factions—both Christian and Muslim—began to emerge, each one pushing an agenda that was at odds with the Tengrist values that have long been the foundation of our society. We, the Turkic people, believe in Yasa and Töre—our code of laws and customs. These are not just rules; they are the living demands of our ancestors, passed down through generations. To us, they are sacred, binding us together as kin, as a people. To live outside of Yasa and Töre is to live without honor, without a soul."
Aslı's eyes narrowed, her voice lowering as she spoke of the impact of Uluç's decisions. "When Uluç began to ban these foreign cults, these factions reacted. They didn't just fade away—they fought back. They began to provoke each other, stirring up unrest not just among their own followers but among the broader population. Christians against Muslims, Muslims against Tengrist Turks—their conflicts were tearing at the very fabric of our society. Uluç saw this and understood that these were not just religious disputes; they were the seeds of rebellion, the tools of foreign powers looking to weaken our hold on these lands."
Her gaze grew distant as she recounted one particular incident that seemed to encapsulate Uluç's ruthless approach. "There was one group in particular that caused too many problems. Their influence was growing, their reach extending into every corner of the region. The common people knew of their rise, and many Turkic people in the area began to whisper about their involvement in the provocations that were spreading like wildfire. Uluç, hearing of this, demanded that the leader of this group be delivered to him. He wanted him brought to a city where their influence was strongest—a show of force to remind them who truly ruled these lands."
Aslı's voice tightened with intensity as she recalled the Caliph's response. "But the Caliph refused. He said the man was just a scholar, that he caused no harm and was free to stay in their city for as long as he wished. It was a clear and direct refusal to Uluç's demand, a challenge to his authority that left no room for negotiation. That was something no one should have dared to do to Uluç, especially in his prime. Imagine him in his youth, at the height of his power, with the weight of an empire behind him. It is said that among the Shaz Turkish-speaking people, Uluç was considered the most dangerous man in the empire, even more brutal than Timurtas himself."
She leaned back, her eyes studying Wolfram as if weighing his reaction to her words. "You have to understand, Uluç was the last son of Timurtas, born during the siege of Istanbul when his father was already sixty years old. He grew up surrounded by the greatest warriors and most influential figures of the time, men who shaped him into the formidable force he is today. Under Timurtas's enormous influence and authority, Uluç's character was forged, molded into the iron will that commands armies and breaks empires."
A faint smile played on Aslı's lips as she recalled stories from her family. "My grandmother used to tell me stories about Uluç when he was just a boy. Even then, he was a force to be reckoned with. He would always lead the other children, making them play the games he invented, giving them tasks, and rebuilding the rules to suit his will. He was fiercely competitive, always pushing himself and those around him to be better, stronger. It's a stark contrast to Timurtas, who was known for his calm demeanor, his stoic nature. Timurtas wielded words like weapons, choosing each one carefully to cut through the noise and strike at the heart of any issue. Uluç may have inherited his father's speaking skills, but he channels them in a different way—more forceful, more direct, driven by an unyielding will to impose his order on the world."
Aslı's voice softened slightly, her eyes still locked on Wolfram's. "But don't mistake his strength for recklessness. Every move Uluç makes is calculated, every decision weighed against the potential consequences. He may have inherited his father's empire, but he is determined to leave his own mark on it, to reshape it according to his vision. And in doing so, he is prepared to do whatever it takes, no matter the cost."
She let her words hang in the air, a challenge to Wolfram, a reminder of the world he had found himself in—a world where power was seized, not given, and where the future was shaped by those with the strength and will to bend it to their desires.
On his way to Baghdad, Uluç's eyes were set on a decisive confrontation. The Caliph, hearing of Uluç's approach, hastily gathered his forces, marshaling every soldier stationed around Baghdad. Unlike Uluç, the Caliph had no intentions of initiating a full-scale conflict. His strategy was simple: to present an overwhelming force that would compel Uluç to reconsider, to retreat, and ultimately to negotiate. The Caliph believed that Uluç, far from home and lacking direct support from his father, Timurtas, would not dare engage in a battle that could risk the survival of his men and the stability of his campaign. His confidence grew when he saw that his army outnumbered Uluç's forces—80,000 men to Uluç's 60,000.
However, the Caliph's assumptions underestimated the man he was up against. Uluç was not just any commander; he was a seasoned warrior at the height of his prowess, a leader whose mere presence inspired unwavering loyalty among his men. They didn't just follow him; they revered him, not as a mere general but as their Başbuğ, their supreme leader. Uluç's army was a blend of finely trained warriors—masters of archery, skilled cavalrymen armed with spears, and seasoned infantry who knew how to hold the line and push through any resistance. These were not just soldiers; they were elite fighters who had been honed by years of relentless training and battle. They were the embodiment of Uluç's vision: a singular, unstoppable force.
When the two armies finally met, they were separated by enough distance to ensure no surprise attacks. The tension in the air was palpable, the kind that makes men sweat under their armor. Uluç, flanked by Kara and Kılıj—his trusted second-in-command—stood tall, his gaze unwavering. The Caliph's forces were numerous, their banners filling the horizon, but Uluç's men stood undaunted. With him were not just warriors, but experts in terrain, strategy, and every craft that could give them an edge. Uluç was wise enough to value their expertise, acknowledging their superiority in their fields, and he rewarded them with influential titles and privileges. These men didn't fight on the front lines but supported him in ways that made his army an even more formidable machine. They weren't just fighting; they were building an empire.
As the two sides prepared for what seemed like an inevitable clash, the Caliph sent forth his Marshal for a parley, hoping to negotiate. The Caliph himself did not come, believing that a Marshal was sufficient to meet Uluç, who was, after all, "only" a Marshal in his own right. The Marshal spoke diplomatically, "You are equal to me in rank, Uluç. There is no need for us to shed blood here. My master, the Caliph, seeks a peaceful resolution. Let us return to our lands and discuss terms with the great Timurtas, the mighty wolf. He wishes for a meeting of minds, not a clash of swords. We propose a dialogue to ensure that our realms coexist in harmony."
The Marshal's words were calculated, offering a political solution that, under normal circumstances, would seem reasonable. But Uluç saw through the façade. He knew that the Caliph's absence was an insult, a deliberate snub to his authority. The Caliph believed that by bypassing Uluç and addressing Timurtas directly, he could diminish Uluç's power. It was a grave miscalculation.
Uluç's response was measured, his voice low and filled with menace. "The mighty wolf, you say," he began, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he spoke of his father. "You speak of my father with reverence, demanding a meeting of equals, yet you stand before me in his stead, thinking yourself his equal while dismissing me as a mere border officer. Do you believe my army is nothing more than border control, a force to be negotiated with and then dismissed?" His eyes narrowed as he took a step closer, his presence growing more intimidating with each word. "You came here to bluff and to talk of reconciliation, but you forgot one thing: I am not here to negotiate. I am here to make a statement."
The Marshal hesitated, the weight of Uluç's words settling in the air like a storm cloud. But before he could respond, Uluç continued, his voice now a growl that rumbled through the ranks. "I brought with me my legacy—men who are willing to do as I command without question, men who see this not as a negotiation, but as the culmination of everything we've trained for. You shall experience the might of my army firsthand. This is no mere show of force; this is the power that will crush any who stand in our way."
Uluç's army, like a single, unyielding entity, awaited his command. They were more than soldiers; they were his vision of conquest made flesh. And they were ready to demonstrate that no number, no negotiation, no political maneuvering could stand against the will of a man who knew no fear, a man who led not just with strategy, but with a ruthless understanding of the power he wielded.
As the armies stood poised for battle, the realization dawned on the Caliph's forces—they were not facing a mere Marshal; they were facing a force of nature, a man whose will was as unbreakable as the steel his men carried. This was Uluç, the Başbuğ, and he was about to carve his name into the bones of Baghdad.
Wolfram listened intently, the weight of Aslı's words sinking in. "He destroyed everything," she continued, "and when he was done, he left Baghdad in ruins and moved to Bukhara. He made his home there, living on the ashes of the old Caliphate. He ruled from Bukhara, a constant reminder of what happens when you defy Uluç."
The room was silent, the gravity of Uluç's actions hanging heavy in the air. Wolfram could almost see the flames consuming Baghdad, the smoke rising into the sky as Uluç's men carried out his orders without hesitation. The devastation wasn't just physical; it was a symbolic destruction of everything the Caliphate had stood for.
Aslı looked at Wolfram, her expression unreadable. "Uluç didn't just conquer lands; he reshaped them, molded them to his will. Bukhara became his seat of power, a testament to his ruthlessness and a warning to anyone who might think to challenge him. He was more than just a warrior; he was a force that left nothing in his wake but ashes and submission."
Wolfram sat in silence, processing the enormity of what he had just heard. Uluç's conquest was not just a tale of victory in battle; it was a story of absolute power, of a man who would stop at nothing to assert his dominance. It was a stark reminder of the world he now found himself in—a world where strength and fear ruled, and where the cost of defiance was total destruction.
Aslı continued, her voice low and measured, as she recounted the aftermath of Uluç's devastating campaign.
"I don't know all the details of what happened next, but the stories that reached us were clear enough. Uluç unleashed his fury on the Caliph's forces. The battle that followed was a massacre—he didn't just defeat the Caliph's army; he annihilated it. His men moved like a wave of death across the battlefield, their discipline and ferocity unmatched. They weren't just fighting for victory; they were fighting to obliterate any trace of defiance against Uluç's will."
She paused, her eyes darkening as she continued, "And then, when the dust settled and the Caliph's forces lay broken at his feet, Uluç turned his attention to Baghdad. The city's libraries, filled with knowledge and history, were set aflame. Palaces that had stood for centuries were reduced to rubble. Religious sites, sacred to the people of the region, were desecrated, their relics shattered and their sanctity violated. Uluç wanted to send a message—a message that the influence of the Caliph and his scholars would no longer hold sway over the region. He wasn't just conquering a city; he was erasing its legacy from the map, turning Baghdad into a ghost of its former self."
Wolfram listened intently, the weight of Aslı's words sinking in. "He destroyed everything," she continued, "and when he was done, he left Baghdad in ruins and moved to Bukhara. He made his home there, living on the ashes of the old Caliphate. He ruled from Bukhara, a constant reminder of what happens when you defy Uluç."
The room was silent, the gravity of Uluç's actions hanging heavy in the air. Wolfram could almost see the flames consuming Baghdad, the smoke rising into the sky as Uluç's men carried out his orders without hesitation. The devastation wasn't just physical; it was a symbolic destruction of everything the Caliphate had stood for.
Aslı looked at Wolfram, her expression unreadable. "Uluç didn't just conquer lands; he reshaped them, molded them to his will. Bukhara became his seat of power, a testament to his ruthlessness and a warning to anyone who might think to challenge him. He was more than just a warrior; he was a force that left nothing in his wake but ashes and submission."
Wolfram sat in silence, processing the enormity of what he had just heard. Uluç's conquest was not just a tale of victory in battle; it was a story of absolute power, of a man who would stop at nothing to assert his dominance. It was a stark reminder of the world he now found himself in—a world where strength and fear ruled, and where the cost of defiance was total destruction.
Aslı yawned, stretching slightly as she leaned back. "Well, that was enlightening," she said, her tone softening. "Thank you for the talk, Wolfram. I was testing you, and I was right—you didn't flirt back or show any sign of weakness. You've got character." She paused, studying his face for a moment. "Don't get me wrong, I like testing people. It's how I see their true self from the beginning."
She rose gracefully from her seat, offering him a non-hostile smile as she moved toward the tent's entrance. "Take a rest, Wolfram. You'll need it." With that, she slipped out of the tent, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Wolfram exhaled slowly, the tension in the room finally dissipating as he processed the strange encounter. Just as he was about to settle down, the tent flap moved again, and Kara entered, his face a mix of concern and curiosity.
Kara's eyes darted around the tent before settling on Wolfram. "What the hell was that trickster doing in your tent?" he demanded, his voice low but intense. "What did she do to you?"
Wolfram shook his head, still somewhat bewildered by the whole interaction. "She was just testing me, Kara. Trying to see what I'm made of. She didn't do anything... just talked."
Kara frowned, not entirely convinced. "She's a tricky one, that Aslı. Don't let your guard down around her. She's as dangerous with her words as any warrior is with a sword."
Aslı yawned, stretching slightly as she leaned back. "Well, that was enlightening," she said, her tone softening. "Thank you for the talk, Wolfram. I was testing you, and I was right—you didn't flirt back or show any sign of weakness. You've got character." She paused, studying his face for a moment. "Don't get me wrong, I like testing people. It's how I see their true self from the beginning."
She rose gracefully from her seat, offering him a non-hostile smile as she moved toward the tent's entrance. "Take a rest, Wolfram. You'll need it." With that, she slipped out of the tent, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Wolfram exhaled slowly, the tension in the room finally dissipating as he processed the strange encounter. Just as he was about to settle down, the tent flap moved again, and Kara entered, his face a mix of concern and curiosity.