The Wild Winds of the Prairie
Uushun’s face twisted into an expression of utter bewilderment, as if she had just been handed a riddle wrapped in a fireball.
Vesta carefully laid out the full story—his refusal to back down, the blazing spirit flame he would wield against Narinhoon, the desperate risk of burning his own blood and life force to forge a circular barrier of fire.
Yet Uushun’s features refused to soften.
“Honestly,” she said at last, voice thick with reluctant concern, “this sounds like a reckless gamble to me.”
Her tone was lighter than Vesta expected, almost teasing, yet the worry in her eyes was genuine.
‘An unexpected reply.’
Uushun had always been the loudest, the wildest soul in the tribe—someone who lived life like a gladiator in her own right, not because anyone forced her, but because she simply loved the clash of steel and spirit. Vesta had always believed she would cheer him on from the sidelines, patting his back while whistling a victory tune.
He had been wrong.
“I know you hate being treated like a child, Baatar,” she continued, cheeks flushing, “but… no, that’s not it. I’m worried. For the battlefield. When adults can’t fight side by side, who will protect the young ones left behind?”
She was thinking of the young centaurs who would be forced to watch their elders bleed.
“Even a warrior who intends to fight deserves to be watched, not coddled. Rahan would have scolded me, but I’d have stopped him anyway. The same goes for me—I’d have dragged you back myself.”
Vesta knew that was true. If he fell, the prairie would run red with blood. And he could not bear to see his friend hurt.
- I see… she really cares.
Uushun stepped closer, close enough that her crooked nose and cauliflower ears came into sharp view.
“Centaurs are not easy opponents.”
“I know.”
“I’ve tangled with them myself. Look—does my nose still look the same?”
She thrust her face forward. The proud, beautiful visage was now softened by the swollen, tightly curled ears.
Vesta reached out and swept her mane aside so the ears could breathe again.
“Looks fine to me. The healer did a clean job of it.”
The cartilage was slightly misshapen, but the bone had mended true.
Uushun grinned and ran a finger along her nose. “Good. That’s the kind of strength I respect. Don’t underestimate the centaurs just because you’re human. I’ll teach you everything I know.”
She offered detailed, almost grandfatherly advice on footwork, timing, and the brutal art of slipping past a centaur’s sweeping hooves.
Then she paused, tilting her head.
“But… does the Khan know about this?”
“Only now.”
She had come to ask permission.
‘Centaurs are tough, but this feels heavier.’
A tiny flutter of nerves settled in his gut.
*
Vesta finally forced the words out. Ashtien set her teacup down with a soft clink.
“Say that again.”
There was no anger in her voice—only surprise, a spark of delight, and something almost like pride.
“Centaurs are entering the Centaur Festival. In the duel division.”
She let out a low, delighted laugh. “A human. The first human in recorded history to compete in the grand tournament.”
“I know your skill, Baatar. But the other duelist will be no easy mark.”
She warned him that if things turned ugly, her clan’s successors might step in.
“I have no intention of backing down.”
“Of course not. Without that resolve, no one pushing you would ever succeed.”
Ashtien stroked her smooth jaw. “If it’s because of Arin, I’ll speak to the clan head first.”
She had not been told the real reason. Yet she read Vesta’s face clearly.
“If the Golden Clan stands in the way, even the Altangerel head would have to think twice. But—”
“Still—”
The curiosity sharpened in her voice. “Even if Arin is left behind in the tribe, her reputation will still be tarnished. She deserves better than to be remembered as the coward who hid behind her friend.”
Vesta’s eyes burned. “Arin and I saved each other’s lives that day. We became friends. I refuse to let anyone belittle the woman who stood beside me when the world wanted her dead.”
“So you intend to fight for her honor?”
“Yes.”
The conviction in his gaze was iron. Ashtien nodded once, slow and regal.
“Then do as you wish. Fight for her. Fight for the tribe. I will not stand in your way.”
She watched his face, then let out a soft, teasing laugh. “Why—did you think I would oppose?”
“Honest answer? I thought maybe half the time.”
She had always respected his choices. This time the stakes were different.
‘This time I cannot rely on someone else to save me.’
“Fighting for your friend’s honor is hard to stop. And honestly? It would not look bad on me either.”
- No, it would look even better.
Ashtien’s reputation would rise alongside his.
Yet she shook her head. “Honor is already stacked high enough. There is something else I want to consider.”
“What?”
“Once the centaurs recognize your strength, my mother may not be able to object as fiercely as before.”
“Object to what?”
“To our union.”
The teacup slipped from Vesta’s fingers and clattered against the stone. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chill.
‘Even in this cold wind, I’m sweating.’
“By the time we descend from these mountains, summer will be slipping away. Soon.”
She took another slow sip, utterly at ease.
[Escape! Escape! Escape!]
A terrified shout rang out from somewhere nearby. Orolbai’s voice, raw with panic.
Vesta’s heart twisted.
‘Should I head back and tell Bia I can’t do this?’
Too late. He had already told every close friend. How could he refuse now?
‘They still gave permission.’
The permission tasted bitter on his tongue.
Ashtien’s words hung in the air like the last warm breath of summer. The prairie was already turning its back on heat.
*
Vesta dreamed.
A girl with hair like fresh snow galloped across an endless sea of grass.
‘Who is she?’
He knew the dream did not show faces he did not already know.
‘This face is new.’
Yet it felt familiar, as though he had glimpsed the other side of her before.
“What’s your name?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”
“Say something.”
She had been born and raised on the prairie; there was nothing in the wide world she did not know.
“What is that?”
“The creature the elves call the Princess of the Sky. The queen of the harpies, the mistress of night on the steppe. Her wings make no sound.”
“Wow. Then that one?”
“It’s an earth spirit, but just a long-bearded goat.”
He tried to remember every word, yet the moment he woke the images had already slipped away.
He also asked about the sword Ashtien had given him.
“Strange as it sounds, sometimes I think that blade is alive.”
“Show me.”
The girl sniffed the steel, wrinkling her nose like a wild dog.
“You’re a dog! What are you sniffing at?”
“Our blood is connected. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Connected? Explain it properly.”
The girl was stubborn. She answered only what she felt like answering.
“That sword cannot be forged by human hands alone.”
“Really? Then it’s a rare treasure.”
“Exactly. To temper it, you would need a wind that only appears once every hundred years. Yes… you will see that day.”
“Then…”
“I wish I could tell you more, but time is short. Come with me.”
She kept pulling him toward a place only she could see. He followed her across the grass, unwilling yet unable to stop.
The scenery shifted rapidly.
“Where are we going?”
“Rough roads.”
“Rough roads?”
“Paths a warrior must walk. Paths of fate that break the weak.”
She looked back at him—young, fierce, beautiful.
‘Ashtien once spoke of similar words. It must have been about Ekarkwidae and the Princess…’
“You… you can’t be—”
“Baatar.”
“Huh?”
“How do you know that name?”
“Be careful ahead.”
With those final words the dream shattered.
*
The days blurred into one another. Vesta trained with Uushun and Bia every dawn, every dusk.
Days passed. Weeks. Another morning dawned.
- What a show this will be.
- The young ones are glowing with excitement. They want to become the spear that slays the Khan of the Wilderness.
- Dream on.
Ashtien rode between the centaur herds, bow already drawn.
The young centaurs shot her sidelong glances. They wanted to test her skill with their own eyes. They wanted to break the legendary bow.
The greatest archer of the prairie had entered the festival.
Ergior Ashtien, the Arrow Princess, was about to compete.