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The wind never really stops on the steppe.

It moves through everything—over the grass, against the canvas walls of the ger, through the horses’ manes, across skin and bone alike. For Khaliun Ganbaatar, it has always been there. Not something to notice, not something to question. Just… part of life.

She was born into it.

Into a nomadic family that moved with the seasons, lived with the animals, and survived not by comfort, but by rhythm. Days were long and practical. Mornings began early, tending to livestock, milking mares, preparing food. Afternoons were spent riding, repairing, helping wherever needed. Evenings were quieter, shared with her father and her two younger brothers inside the warmth of the ger, where stories and silence carried equal weight.

The modern world existed… but only in fragments.

Every few months, her father would make the journey to the capital—Ulaanbaatar—bringing back what they needed. Batteries. Fuel. Tobacco. Small things that made a difference out here. Sometimes he brought back more than that. A plastic-wrapped snack. A worn magazine. Once, even a secondhand television, old and unreliable, powered only when they had enough stored energy to spare.

It was through those fragments that Khaliun first saw the world beyond the plains.

She couldn’t read the language on the screen, not at first. But she listened. Watched. Repeated sounds quietly to herself when no one else was around. Over time, without teachers, without structure, she taught herself to understand some English. Not perfectly. Not fluently. But enough. Enough to catch meaning. Enough to speak in simple, careful sentences when she needed to.

It was something she never spoke much about.

Just another quiet skill, like many she carried.

Three winters ago, everything changed.

Her mother fell ill during the coldest part of the season. Out here, help does not come quickly. By the time her father managed to reach assistance, it was already too late.

Winter took her.

And after that, the ger felt… different.

Quieter. Heavier.

Khaliun stepped into the space her mother left behind without being asked. Cooking more. Watching over her brothers. Taking on responsibilities that were never formally given, b