The vast, open steppe seemed to stretch forever, rolling into the horizon under a wide expanse of sky that blazed in hues of orange and gold. Khasar Khagan's camp, a sprawling collection of felted yurts and fluttering banners, stood as a bastion of power amid the endless grasslands. Smoke curled lazily from fire pits, and the air was filled with the mingled scents of roasted meat, leather, and the faint musk of horses. Warriors moved purposefully, their armour clinking softly as they passed, while children herded goats and women carried buckets of water from a nearby stream.

Khasar sat cross-legged on a low dais within his grand yurt, his commanding presence filling the spacious interior. His weathered face was framed by a neatly trimmed beard, and his sharp, dark eyes missed nothing. Beside him, a low table bore a feast of fruits, roasted meats, and fermented mare's milk. His hands rested idly on his thighs, the weight of years of conquest evident in the quiet strength of his posture.

The flap of the yurt's entrance rustled, and a messenger stepped in, bowing low. "Khagan, the man has arrived."

Khasar nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Bring him."

Moments later, a tall man entered, his robes dusty from the journey but rich in design—a display of wealth and status meant to impress. Behind him, a young woman followed silently, her head bowed and her face obscured by a delicate veil of white silk. She moved with grace, her hands clasped in front of her, the heavy silence around her palpable.

The man dropped to one knee, bowing deeply. "Great Khagan, I, Batuhan of the Orta River, present myself before you with humility and reverence."

Khasar inclined his head slightly. "Rise, Batuhan. Speak your purpose."

Batuhan rose, his gaze steady but deferential. "I have traveled far to seek your favour, mighty Khagan. I bring to you my daughter as an offering of alliance and loyalty. Her beauty and virtue are unmatched, and she is worthy of a place among your household."

Khasar's gaze shifted briefly to the veiled figure. She remained still, her posture composed, though her hands tightened slightly around each other. The Khagan returned his attention to Batuhan. "An offering, you say. Tell me, Batuhan, why should I accept this gift?"

"I offer loyalty, Khagan. I offer the blood of my blood, my only daughter, to serve your household and bear your sons. I offer my blade in times of war and my counsel in times of peace."

Khasar studied the man for a long moment before turning his attention to the silent figure. "Lift your veil, girl."

Her fingers moved slowly, trembling slightly as she obeyed. The veil fell away, revealing a face of delicate beauty. Her gaze remained lowered, avoiding the Khagan's piercing scrutiny.

"She is fair," he said finally. "But beauty is fleeting. Does she have the strength to endure life in my household?"

"She will endure, Khagan. She was raised to honour her family and fulfil her duties, no matter the cost."

Khasar's eyes flicked to the girl once more. "And what does the girl think of this arrangement? Does she wish to be here?"

The question hung in the air like a challenge, but she did not speak. Her silence seemed to grow heavier, pressing against the walls of the yurt.

"Enough," Khasar said finally. "Leave her here. I will consider your proposal and give you my answer at sunrise."

With a final glance at his daughter, Batuhan turned and strode from the yurt, leaving her alone with the Khagan. For a moment, the silence was deafening, broken only by the crackle of the fire.

"You may be silent now, girl," Khasar said, his voice low but firm, "but in this yurt, silence is not always a virtue. If you have words worth speaking, I will hear them when the time comes."

Her head dipped slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment. The Khagan studied her for another moment before leaning back, his expression unreadable.

"Let us see what sunrise brings," he murmured.