In front of the towering columns of the Tengritugen Palace stood a striking figure, as if rooted firmly into the marble steps with unwavering resolve: Ebren.
Fully armored, he stood beneath the sun with a posture that held both the determination of a warrior and the dignity of a leader. Standing at 1.80 meters tall, his brown hair was shoulder-length and neatly trimmed. His skin reflected the pale clarity of the northern skies. Dust swirled in the wind around the palace's stone walls, brushing silently against his well-built frame. His face bore a composed expression; his smile was subtle and tinged with sarcasm.
Ebren loved a good joke. Even on the way to battle, he could make the entire unit laugh without even moving his lips, just with a sharp remark. But this sarcastic humor was merely a mask for his confidence. Because when he drew his sword, the playful tone in his voice turned into a deep, commanding force ,he roared on the battlefield like a lion. Soldiers loved him when he smiled, but respected him even more when he roared.
Ebren wasn't just a commander, he was also Attila's childhood friend. They had raced through the palace courtyards together, trained under the same masters, and gripped the same swords. Their bond was more than friendship; it was shared fate, but what truly set him apart was his bloodline, he was the son of Tengritugen's mighty vizier, Ilterish. Raised with his father's wisdom, he had blended his wit with intelligence and had begun carving his own name into the records of honor.
At that moment, while waiting at the entrance of the Tengritugen Palace, the echoes of war were slowly rising. He had already been informed why he'd been summoned. His eyes were fixed on the palace doors, ready to receive his brother, his leader, his childhood friend.
When the grand doors creaked open with a low groan, the shadow emerging from within quickly took shape. From the gleaming silver clasps to the plain yet noble fur cloak on his shoulders, Attila appeared in all his majesty. His steps were firm but unhurried at every step, the earth seemed to tremble lightly as if recognizing him.
His sharp and resolute gaze scanned his friend's form, until it met that familiar smirk on Ebren's face.
Ebren crossed his arms and looked over his friend, nodding slightly. Then the corner of his lips curled into a sly smirk, forming a teasing smile on his face.
"You're finally here... Took you long enough. Honestly, even your wife might not wait for you this impatiently."
There was a brief silence, then a couple of soldiers cleared their throats and turned their heads away, slightly embarrassed. But the crease between Attila's brows loosened a little, and the corner of his lips twitched ever so slightly. He had known this side of Ebren for years, because behind that joking tongue there was always a serious matter lurking, like war itself.
Attila dipped his head slightly, a faint smile spreading across his face.
"They say those who arrive late bring joy. My wife's happy enough, it's you we should worry about. Women aren't patient and they tire of dealing with impatient men. The fact that you're still single kind of proves my point."
Ebren burst into laughter and shook his head. Then he walked over and gave his friend a hearty slap on the shoulder.
"There's the voice I've missed! Welcome back, brother. Sounds like things are a bit messy these days, but before we dive into that, I owe you a drink. Something hot and sharp, just like your stare. What do you say we stop by a tavern on the way and I buy you a beer?"
Attila gave Ebren a mocking look and placed his hand on his shoulder.
"They say a leopard can't change its spots. Looks like you didn't give up drinking before the mission after all, but fine, let's have a drink. One beer won't hurt, I suppose."
Ebren raised his hand and pointed down the road ahead.
"Well then, the traveler must travel. What are we waiting for?"
Attila paused for a moment, fixed his eyes on his friend, then started walking. The palace walls silently greeted their heavy but steady steps, woven with friendship.
The sun had slowly slipped toward the west. Ebren and Attila, their lungs filled with the dust of the road, had dismounted their horses in front of a stone tavern on the slope of a small hill. On the wooden sign hung a figure of a horned goat and the words "Crooked Oak." Inside was dim but warm, with a slight smoky atmosphere. The laughter of a few merchants and travelers at nearby tables made the place feel welcoming.
Ebren turned to Attila and chuckled quietly.
"First, let's conquer our stomachs, then the thrones."
He moved forward at the bar and rested his elbow on the counter. When he made eye contact with the bartender, he signaled two with his fingers and said,
"Two cold beers, but first let me ask that stone-faced one..."
Attila slightly lifted his head, furrowed his brows between his muscles and thought for a moment. Then he spoke shortly but clearly,
"I'll have a 'Dew Spirit.' I don't want anything heavy."
Ebren raised one eyebrow, then couldn't help but make a joke.
"Dew Spirit, huh? You're as delicate as a spring morning today, I'm afraid you'll start chirping with the birds any moment now."
(Turning back to the bartender) "Give me a 'Bear Spirit' as well. Let its foam spin my head, and stock the table with the freshest food."
The bartender quickly filled two large wooden mugs and placed them on the counter. The beer, with foam spilling over, glowed like gold in the dim light. Ebren grabbed the mugs, placed one in front of Attila, and took the other for himself.
As Ebren settled at the table, he smiled lightly and winked.
"Here you go, brother. Let's fill our stomachs before we hit the road. They say a hungry bear doesn't dance."
Attila grabbed his mug and nodded.
"You're right, brother."
The table was filled with warm meat stews, spiced bread slices, fried vegetables, and plates of smoked meat. As the foam of the beer still dripped from the edges of the mugs, the two reached for their plates. Attila's eyes focused carefully as he cut the slice of meat before him, while Ebren took a piece of cheese, chewed it slowly, squinting his eyes, and spoke with a serious expression.
"Now tell me... Why exactly are we being sent on this embassy? Has everyone in the great Tengritugen Palace lost their tongues? You and I... we both understand the language of the sword. And now diplomacy?"
Attila took a sip from the cup in front of him and gently set it down on the table. He furrowed his brows slightly, but a shadow of the past appeared in his eyes. Silently, he bowed his head and after a short sigh, he spoke.
"My father called me… The room was filled with smoke. The great fire was dying down, but his eyes still shone the same way. He said, 'My son, these lands are protected not only by iron but also by words. It is easy to give a sword to everyone. But few there are who, while carrying a sword at their waist, can bring the enemy down with their words.'"
Ebren paused, a bit surprised and somewhat moved.
"So he's saying… 'You're not just a warrior, be a leader!' Did I understand that right?"
Attila nodded in approval.
"'It is easy to be feared, but hard to be respected,' he said. Then he told me you would come with me. 'Ebren's tongue is not as sharp as yours, but his heart is trustworthy,' he said."
Ebren laughed.
"Ah, old wolf... Praised and stung at the same time. They say my tongue isn't sharp? With my jokes, three countries would fall, but of course, they don't get it..."
Attila chuckled softly and raised his cup.
"That's exactly why we're here. We set out as envoys, but be ready. This journey won't end with words alone."
Ebren clinked his cup with his.
"I told you, these diplomatic matters are dangerous. As much as the battlefield... But alright. At least the food here is good. By the way, some things you said seem made up from your own imagination, but let's see..."
Attila's face broke into a smile.
"Nothing escapes you, huh, brother."
Ebren smirked and placed his hand on Attila's shoulder.
"Well, what did you expect? We've been friends for years after all. You can't fool me that easily."
They continued their meal from where they left off. The war seemed far away, but its shadows had already settled at the start of the road.