Inside the yurt—larger than most and reflecting her royal status—signs of wear and neglect are evident, stained by years of wind and rain.
The yurt carries a quiet dignity, mixed with a sense of faded grandeur. The floor is covered with richly patterned rugs, mostly in earth tones and deep reds, though some threads are worn thin.
Against the far wall stands a shelf where she keeps her few precious belongings: hunting trophies and faded banners hang unevenly—old silk banners from battles past—and a few dried herbs dangle near the hearth for healing and protection.
Although large enough for her rank, it feels both a sanctuary and a prison: warm from the fire, yet heavy with the weight of memories and regrets.
It's a place where Enkmaa's proud past lingers in the flickering shadows—and where her quiet desperation is most visible.
In the midst of all that, there sat a woman.
Her face is sharp and regal, with high cheekbones that speak of noble blood. Time and hardship have softened the youthful glow, leaving fine lines around her eyes and mouth—silent witnesses to countless nights of worry and sorrow. Her eyes, dark and deep, still hold the fire of a proud princess, though often clouded by fatigue and pain.
Her long raven-black hair is usually tied into a simple braid or wrapped in a worn silk scarf. Occasionally, wisps escape, framing her tired face like shadows of past glory.
She wore traditional Mongolian silk robes—simple yet meaningful—given by her mother. Once vibrant, now faded and a little worn at the edges—a metaphor for her fading status. The robes are embroidered with wolf motifs, symbolizing her Wolfborn Horde heritage, though the embroidery has dulled with time. A heavy, fur-lined cloak—perhaps wolf or sable—hangs from her shoulders, a token of her high rank, military identity, and resilience against the harsh steppe winters.
She sat quietly with a fire burning inside her and a desire to wear her cloak and claim her honor and respect—but doubts still lingered in the air.
And she is Enkmaa—a deeply tragic figure—one who carries the weight of lost dreams, quiet sacrifices, and fading dignity.
Princess of the Wolfborn Horde.
First Wife of Batu, the Great Khan.
Inside Enkmaa's yurt, she sat on the bed, her face showing exhaustion. Delbee stood beside her. Then Khishigjargal entered with her grandparents.
The old warrior wasn't pleased. She grumbled to Baatar Zuun, "I earned my respect, not on a golden plate. I won't lose it just by talking to a disgraced warrior."
When Enkmaa looked at them, she brightened and welcomed them, "Please, Mother and Father, have a seat." She smiled so brightly that one could tell, in the long run, she wasn't truly happy.
Her father noticed and gently asked, "Enkmaa, have you been sad lately?"
She smiled and replied, "No."
The old warrior Naidvar interjected, "What is there for a disgraced warrior to be happy about?"
Slowly, Enkmaa began to speak, "I thought my parents should know first before I go public."
Baatar Zuun, already concerned, asked, "My little wolf, what is it? You're scaring your old man."
She replied in a low voice, "I want a divorce."
Baatar Zuun burst into laughter and exclaimed, "Finally! Congratulations, my little princess!"
Her mother's tone rose with curiosity, concern, and mockery. "You want a divorce?! Then how did you remain all these years without complaining?"
"Ha! Good point! —but yeah, before that—"
That line struck something deep in Enkmaa. She reached her breaking point. The silence, the endurance, the acceptance—she couldn't take it anymore. She burst into tears.
Naidvar had never seen her daughter cry. It broke her heart. She took a good look at her daughter's condition.
Though crying, Enkmaa tried to explain and answer her mother's question. Her words were heavy and heartbreaking:
"I stayed all those years because I loved Batu deeply and believed in his dreams, hoping things would get better, I wanted to keep peace for the tribe and avoid more conflict, I felt bound by duty as the legitimate wife and princess,
Naidvar held her mouth and said talk no more but she continued it the pain and tears
I feared the chaos a divorce could bring, or losing my status, And I hoped for respect and recognition—despite the mistresses."
Naidvar, already shedding tears, held her hands. "Say no more, dear." She cried. "I held up my pride and didn't realize what you were going through."
So the divorce was her final limit—after years of pain. That made it powerful. It was the moment she stopped sacrificing herself and demanded her worth.
Baatar Zuun, in agony, stamped his foot and said, "Batu has betrayed my daughter's trust deeply." He shook his head. "He didn't just favor a concubine—he married her sister and crowned her queen over his legitimate wife. That's a huge insult to our ancestors—especially after all my Togtuun sacrificed and accepted."
Then, funnily, he added, "Dear, I thought you were okay with that all along."
This made Khishigjargal and Delbee laugh. His wife slapped his back. "Baatar! What's wrong with you? Our daughter is sad."
Enkmaa looked at the old couple and smiled. "I wish I had married Cousin Tömörjin."
Naidvar replied, "You see, although we're old, we definitely know what's good for our children. And Batu..." She paused, "Although you were in love with him like crazy—he wasn't among the things that were good for you."
Enkmaa agreed with a smile. "I was so dumb back then."
Naidvar laughed. "I can't believe, for once, I and Baatar's daughter agreed on something."
Khishigjargal smiled and joked, "Grandmother, isn't she also your daughter?"
The whole family giggled as they hugged one another.
At that moment, Batu stood silently by the door. He saw them hug. He smiled faintly—and left, intending to give them family space.
Then Baatar Zuun asked, "Togtuun dear, I saw you looking at your cloak. Tell me honestly—did you want to wear it?"
She answered courageously, "Yes."
Baatar Zuun began encouraging her.
"You are a storm in silk and steel.
Break free—like a true daughter of the Wolfborn Horde!"
It sounded like a war cry. Enkmaa stood up, motivated. She grabbed her cloak, knelt, and handed it to the old warrior.
Naidvar hesitated—but when she saw Khishigjargal smiling back, and Delbee shedding tears, she realized: this day wasn't meant to come, but it finally had.
While her husband kept up the motivation, Togtuun shouted:
"Show the strength of your lineage!
As daughter of Khan Baatar Zuun, and princess of the Wolfborn Horde, you will return to our people with pride—not as a discarded wife, but as a reborn leader!"
Then the old warrior recited the warrior's oath:
We are born with something different—
The fire of the warriors.
We carry the burden of generations,
Breaking chains of all limitations.
We rise beyond what we were told is possible.
We face pain, walk through suffering.
We ask for nothing—
No help.
No sympathy.
No empathy.
We fight for our family, our tribe, and our ancestors.
You today wear this cloak—
By the sword you rise, and
By it you shall fall.
And keep the 7 virtues of a warrior like your sword.
Then in unison, they recited the warrior's code:
Do what is right, even when it's hard.
Strength guided by kindness.
Honor in all interactions—even with foes.
Truth in words. Integrity in action.
Live honorably and die with dignity.
Unshakable loyalty to one's cause and people.
Then the old warrior placed the cloak on Enkmaa's shoulders.
Baatar Zuun said, "Also, Delbee—kneel. You have indeed served your lady well, even removing your own cloak just for her."
Delbee, emotional, knelt. The old warrior removed her own cloak and placed it on Delbee.
Naidvar said, "The warrior's path is not easy—but it's worth walking."
Baatar Zuun hugged the two reinstated warriors. Khishigjargal came forward and said:
"Congratulations, sisters in combat."
—A reference to fellow warriors.
Then the five brought their heads together, saying the code of the warrior:
"We live for pride and honor, and with pride and honor, we live."
Khishigjargal joked, "Mother, just say the word—and we'll make Bolorma's smirk freeze."
Baatar Zuun exclaimed, "Oooh, look at this! Who dares do the dirty work of the only jaguar of the Wolfborn?"
Khishigjargal, surprised, asked, "I thought I was the jaguar?"
Baatar cut her off, "You are the younger jaguar."
Then, the once cold yurt that had forgotten the laughter of warriors—now thundered with it.