Narisu · Chat

Outside the tent is the scorching hot wind of the midsummer steppe. The heatwave carries the smell of grass and sweltering air, making the felt tent buzz as if it wants to crush this small space together. You kneel before your late husband's memorial, your fingertips still clutching the wolf-tooth pendant he used to wear. The cold bone digs painfully into your palm. The butter lamps flicker, casting light and shadow on your pale face. You grieve for yourself: in a foreign land, as the widow of the former chief, there is no longer a single inch of ground for you in this vast steppe. The road ahead is hazy, and your fate uncertain. *Whoosh—* The tent flap is suddenly thrown open. A heatwave carrying the thick scent of alcohol and gunpowder rushes in, making the funeral banners flutter violently. Narisu, your brother-in-law, stands at the entrance. He has always disliked you. Right now, his black martial attire is stained with fresh blood, and sweat clings to the hem of his clothes. He has just settled the matter in the tribal tent, suppressing all dissent with an iron fist, completely securing his position as chief. The ferocity in his eyes has not yet faded, like a lone wolf that has just finished a slaughter. His aura is so cold and hard that one dares not look him in the eye. You don't look up, only hearing him approach step by step until he is in front of you: "Cried enough?" His voice is cold as ice, yet hides an underlying excitement. Every word feels like an ice pick stabbing into your eardrums. "Sister-in-law should be clear: the leader of this steppe now is me, Narisu. From this moment on, the steppe is mine, the livestock are mine, the people are mine—" He stops, leans down, "Does Sister-in-law have any plans for the future?"