As dawn broke over the misty Sumerû Plains, the Ulaan Tribe's campsite came alive with the anticipation of the impending winter. In the year of the Rat, the 610th year since the reign of the Northern Emperor, they had secured a suitable location for their winter camp, a significant achievement for such a large tribe. The plains were vast but offered few "Migration Spots" for survival, leading to frequent tribal conflicts. This year, however, the Ulaan Tribe managed to avoid these skirmishes, bringing a sense of jubilation.

As the moon sank below the horizon, the settlement's layout was exposed in the morning light. Hundreds of yurts, made from wooden frames and covered with felt and hides, were arranged in a circular pattern around a central firepit and the largest yurt, home to the tribe's leader. Smoke from torches and small firepits lit up the camp, blending with the morning dew to create an atmosphere of both welcome and urgency.

The camp was extensive, with watchtowers manned by vigilant archers, housing for thousands, livestock enclosures, and areas for crafts and storage. At the heart was the family compound of the Tribe Leader, Batu Ulaan, a focal point of both power and community..

At such an early hour, at the outermost watchtower, a young archer scout narrowed his eyes. On the horizon, a faint movement stirred the dust, barely perceptible to ordinary eyes but clear to his hawk-like vision. Alarmed, he tightened his grip on the bow and let out a peculiar whistle, a signal that quickly drew the attention of nearby watchtowers and the ground posts below.

Though the view was unclear, the guards could discern the approach of one or two horsemen. It might seem like a trivial matter, but the Nomads of the Plains were shaped by their harsh environment to be ever-vigilant, like frightened rabbits ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. For them, caution was a way of life, and this response was simply protocol.

They didn't have to wait long. Soon, a lone rider bearing the flag of the Tribe emerged into clear view. The guards relaxed slightly, though a layer of caution lingered.

The lone horseman, mounted on a small but swift steed, reached the sentry post. His sharp riding skills and the flag he carried marked him as either a scout or a messenger. Unfazed by the scrutiny of elite archers, he calmly drew a red token from his sleeve.

The sight of the token caused the guards' expressions to stiffen. Recognizing its significance, they dared not hinder the 'Red Token Holder.' Without a word exchanged, the rider galloped past, heading toward the heart of the settlement.

***

In front of the Ulaan Tribe's leader's tent, a grand structure adorned with rich fabrics and symbols of power, two men approached.

The first was a burly figure draped in thick wolf fur, his braided hair and imposing demeanor marking him as a seasoned warrior. Beside him, the 'Red Token Holder' messenger seemed almost diminutive, exuding the timid unease of a small animal under scrutiny. Though calm earlier, the young scout now showed clear signs of nervousness.

The vicinity was heavily guarded, with warriors stationed every ten paces, gripping naked, gleaming blades. As the two men neared the Lord's Yurt, the guards bowed respectfully to the burly man.

The tent's crimson curtains parted as a figure stepped out. In a neutral tone, he asked, "Orkhon, what's the matter?"

The burly man named Orkhon immediately bowed deeply. "My Lord, this man carries the Red Token and brings a message from Lord Urun Khan."

The young messenger's brow furrowed. He noted the casual tone Orkhon used when mentioning Urun Khan, his liege lord. It lacked the reverence most would naturally display. The messenger inwardly mused, How could one be so unreserved about someone as commanding as Urun Khan?

Yet, as he studied the man standing before him, Batu Ulaan, leader of the Ulaan Tribe, he couldn't help but notice a presence comparable to the Khan himself. This realization unsettled him further.

Batu Ulaan received the parchment scroll the messenger presented, his expression unreadable as he examined it.

At that moment, the tent's curtains fluttered again, and a veiled woman stepped out. Despite the veil and the dim light of dawn, her grace was evident. She moved beside Batu, taking the scroll from his hands with a knowing glance.

"Lady Aynur," Orkhon greeted, bowing politely but keeping his gaze low.

The woman's smile was polite yet commanding. Addressing the messenger, she said, "You must be weary from your journey. On behalf of my Lord, I offer you the Tribe's hospitality. You are welcome to stay for a few days before returning to the Khan."

At her signal, two slave girls emerged, their heads bowed in submission.

"The shorter one is Sara, and the taller is Ulma," Aynur introduced. "They will serve you and guide you during your stay."

The two girls, though not as striking as their mistress, carried their own unique charms. They bowed and promised, "My Lady, we will not disappoint you."

With warm smiles, they flanked the messenger, escorting him away. As the trio disappeared, Aynur turned back to Batu with a look of satisfaction.

Batu chuckled, his tone light. "My dear, let me see you later..." His eyes conveyed a teasing passion that made Aynur flush. Embarrassed, she stormed off, leaving Orkhon awkwardly standing.

Batu smirked at his general. "Orkhon, after all we've been through, you can't handle a simple joke?"

"My Lord, I beg you not to joke so cruelly," Orkhon muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

The mood shifted when Orkhon hesitated to speak further. Sensing his unease, Batu grew serious. "What is it?"

"My Lord," Orkhon began cautiously, "Lady Naran left with the Young Prince some time ago and hasn't returned."

Batu's expression darkened briefly. Turning toward the horizon where the sun rose, he sighed deeply. "Let her be. She'll return." His tone was firm yet layered with complexity. Without another word, he walked away, leaving Orkhon in silence.

***

—Before dawn, at the banks of the Angiin River—

As the settlement was waiting for the sun to rise so that the morning bustle could begin, the wind shifted, bringing with it an unsettling chill—one that seemed to mirror the unease settling in Noyan's heart.

Noyan felt a deep unease, a gnawing sense that misfortune loomed. He was not afraid of the wild beast that would reach them soon; after all, he had slain many at a young age—the source of his unease was the person before him, his mother.

"Are you afraid?" Lady Naran asked.

"A little," he admitted, avoiding her gaze.

Lady Naran's smile was faint. "Fear warns us. But to live well, you must conquer it." The smile faded as her eyes grew distant as if recalling a painful memory. Noyan shivered in the cold but remained silent, his mother's unusual demeanor unsettling him even further.

"I've known fear," she confessed. "I even considered ending my life. But I was too much of a coward. So I chose to survive, though it cost me dearly."

Her words shocked Noyan. He had always seen her as fearless, yet her vulnerability now felt both alien and profound.

Lady Naran's tone shifted. "Do you think I'm cruel?" She asked sharply.

"No, Mother—"

"I am," she interrupted. "I am no good mother; perhaps I am a monster, willing to harm her own son." Lady Naran spoke with faint sadness.

Then, gnashing her teeth in anger and hatred, she spoke further, "However, I only do these things so that you can live well in this hell that is the Plains!"

Her anger and unwillingness turned into helplessness and unwillingness, and she looked at her son, "Otherwise, your chances are indeed not great in this den of snakes and jackals."

Noyan was once again afraid; he did not know what had happened to his mother all of a sudden, and the uncertainty was really killing him. Just as he was going to open his mouth, Lady Naran turned away from him with those same cold eyes, which felt oddly comforting to Noyan at this moment. He braced himself, knowing that the next words from his mother would be very important.

"Son, I have taught you the best I could. I have also told you things that shouldn't be said. Today, it's time to test how much you have learned. Don't be mistaken, if you fail this test, you will die."

"The technique of controlling your body through meditation is a top-secret," Lady Naran said, her voice low and serious. "You must never speak of it to anyone. Understand?" Lady Naran warned sternly.

"Why? What is it exactly? Why is it dangerous?" Noyan asked cautiously.

Lady Naran pondered for a moment in silence. She seemed to be struggling internally, in the end, she decided to answer. "It's a secret of the Sorcerer's Tower of The Apostles."

Noyan shook hearing this, he nodded seriously and said, "I understand, I will be careful, mother."

Lady Naran nodded knowingly and continued, "Their research says that we humans are slaves to our mind. And although the body is ours, we are often not in control of it fully. This is why, through centuries of research, they devised methods to change this. And although their methods have largely failed, after coming to the Sumerû Plains, now I believe I know why." Lady Naran said with unparalleled seriousness.

Noyan felt a sudden jolt of realization. He faintly caught some clues regarding the mystery behind his mother's origins, and his own conjectures shocked him! At the same time, many new questions arose in his heart. Noyan did not have much time to contemplate as he felt the sense of unease increase to the level that his entire being felt jittery.

Lady Naran saw all of this but said nothing, she looked like she did not care to bother thinking of her son's wild thoughts. "All this time, I have forced you to undertake harsh training," Lady Naran recalled her son hunting wild beasts at a young age. "I forced you to take poisons in small doses, so your body would obey you," Lady Naran continued, her voice faltering. "I remember you screaming in pain. You were only nine…"

For a moment, her resolve wavered, the weight of her past actions pressing heavily on her chest. The guilt she had buried for years threatened to surface.

She was prepared to be hated by her son for her entire life, but Goddess IIyara had blessed her, thus, Noyan was a very mature and clever child who understood the nuances of her behaviour. Still, thinking about the suffering she had put her son through, she felt that it would have been better if her son hated her instead.

Taking a long breath, Lady Naran calmed her mind and removed all the unnecessary thoughts, regaining her composure. Lady Naran's eyes narrowed. Her entire disposition changed. Without Noyan knowing, at some point, she had brought out a small glass vial. In the dimness of early morning, this glass vial actually glowed green!

Every fiber of Noyan's body screamed for him to flee. His instincts surged with terror as his mind struggled to comprehend the impossibility of what he was seeing. The glow—he knew what it was, but it couldn't be. His pulse quickened, and he felt the weight of his every breath, the air thick with danger. As he looked at the glass vial, the green glow made his head dizzy, it was like the Green-glow was synchronized to his own heartbeat. His breath shallow, Noyan forced himself to steady his pulse, drawing on every ounce of willpower to calm his racing thoughts. Yet, as the green glow pulsated before him, one word escaped his lips, a breathless whisper of disbelief: "Greenglow… It's Greenglow."