Part 1
The arrow struck Bisera's breastplate with a resounding clang, the force jolting her backward in the saddle. Her eyes widened in shock as the breath was knocked from her lungs. She glanced down to see the arrow's shaft quivering, its head embedded deep in her armor. For a terrifying moment, she thought it had pierced her lung. Clutching at the shaft protruding from her breastplate, she swayed unsteadily.
Watching from afar, James fell into a full panic. "No... no!" he shouted, his voice raw with fear. Without thinking, he flung open the door of the SUV and stumbled out, his legs threatening to give way beneath him. The sight of Bisera wounded was like a dagger twisting inside him.
Akarios smirked with grim satisfaction as he retreated with his men, disappearing among the rocky crags.
Vakerian soldiers rushed to their general, forming a protective circle. Their faces were etched with horror and concern. Some shouted desperately for a healer, while others stood frozen, unable to process the sight before them.
James pushed his way through the crowd, heart hammering in his chest. "Bisera!" he cried, his voice strained and eyes wide with fear.
"James..." Bisera gasped as she dismounted shakily, the arrow still lodged in her breastplate. Her mind raced; the impact had been forceful, but she was still standing. James was incredulous. Was Bisera taking her final steps before collapsing?
Reflexively, James wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her. Velika arrived at her other side, her usually mischievous expression now filled with alarm.
"We need to cut the arrow shaft and carefully remove the breastplate without dislodging it," Velika instructed James urgently. "We must see how deep it went. But whatever you do, do not pull out the arrow!"
"Right, got it," James stammered, his hands trembling as he supported Bisera. "Just hold on, please."
Bisera's breathing was ragged. But oddly, the pain wasn't intensifying. A flicker of confusion crossed her face. "Wait..." she whispered. Gathering her resolve, she reached up and gripped the arrow's shaft.
"Bisera, don't!" James and Velika exclaimed in unison.
Before they could stop her, Bisera pulled firmly on the arrow. The shaft came free from the breastplate with a metallic scrape, the arrowhead still lodged somewhere within the armor. She stared at the shaft, her eyes wide with astonishment.
Gasps erupted all around. Velika's jaw dropped. "Bisera, are you hurt?"
James half-expected a gush of blood but saw none. He braced himself, eyes darting between Bisera and the still-embedded arrowhead.
But nothing happened. No sudden collapse or signs of severe injury.
An incredulous silence settled over the group. Bisera looked down at her breastplate, noticing a puncture where the arrowhead had penetrated the metal. "What in the world..." she murmured.
Velika leaned in, her eyes scanning for signs of injury. "General, are you... feeling okay?"
Bisera, still processing what had happened, began unstrapping her breastplate. "Velika, help me remove my armor."
Velika hesitated for a moment, then assisted in removing the armor. Beneath it, instead of her usual chainmail and gambeson, Bisera wore the sleek, form-fitting vest James had given her earlier. The arrow had left a noticeable dent in the UHMWPE vest but hadn't penetrated. The arrowhead was lodged deep in the breastplate.
A collective murmur swept through the soldiers.
"Is that... an enchanted garment the general is wearing?" one murmured.
James let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding through him. "Looks like the bulletproof vest did its job."
Bisera stared at him, her eyes reflecting a swirl of emotions—relief, gratitude, and something deeper. "James, your earlier insistence saved my life," she said softly, her voice tinged with awe.
James grinned sheepishly. "I'm just glad you're okay." It was the voice that had urged James to provide the form-fitting UHMWPE bulletproof vest for Bisera to wear beneath her breastplate.
Velika observed the exchange, her keen eyes noticing the unspoken connection. Sensing the need to steer the situation appropriately, she placed a hand on Bisera's shoulder. "It seems Seraphina's blessings are with us," she declared warmly.
The soldiers exchanged glances, some nodding in agreement. "Our general is protected by divine favor!" one exclaimed.
"Truly, she is chosen!" another added.
Bisera shook her head gently. "I am no more chosen than any of you. It is James who has provided this enchanted garment on behalf of Seraphina. We must be grateful for the Universal Spirit's blessings."
The crowd cheered, and morale soared to new heights.
Amid the cheering, with the fear of losing Bisera still fresh in his mind, James stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. "I thought I'd lost you," he whispered, emotion thick in his voice.
Bisera stiffened momentarily, aware of the eyes upon them. Public displays between unmarried men and women were uncommon in Vakerian society, but the sincerity in James's embrace melted her reservations. She allowed herself to lean into him briefly. "Thank you for saving me," she whispered back, her cheeks flushing slightly.
Velika quickly stepped forward to divert the crowd's attention, her smile gentle. "Our general stands unscathed, thanks to the wisdom of our esteemed James," she announced to the soldiers. "Let us be grateful and continue our journey with renewed spirits!"
The soldiers cheered, a wave of relief and admiration washing over them. "For General Bisera! For Lord James!"
Velika took a steadying breath, her eyes briefly meeting Bisera's before turning to James. "James, I need to take Bisera away to further examine her upper body," she said gently, her voice calm despite the surrounding chaos. "The dent on the vest implies that the arrow still had an impact. Fortunately, there are no penetrating wounds, but I suspect there might be bruises or even broken ribs."
James's hands trembled slightly as he tightened his grip around Bisera, his worry evident. "Right, let me help you with that," he said, his voice edged with desperation.
Velika gave him a reassuring smile, her demeanor both professional and kind-hearted. "I appreciate your offer, James, but let me handle this first. If there are any serious injuries, I'll call on you immediately." Her tone was firm yet gentle, embodying her role as both protector and friend.
James felt a pang of realization. Right, the customs of Bisera's world... Suddenly, he was acutely aware of the awkwardness surrounding the situation. "Of course, Velika. That's probably for the best," he mumbled, a hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.
Velika nodded, her expression softening. "It's alright, James. Your concern is appreciated."
She then called out to Captain Vesmir. "Captain Vesmir, could you lead a group to secure the cliffs above? Stay on guard for any potential enemies while the troops tend to the wounded."
Captain Vesmir stepped forward, his face a mask of determination. "Understood. We'll ensure no further surprises from the cliffs." With that, he rallied a group of soldiers, their armor clinking as they moved into position.
As Captain Vesmir departed, James couldn't help but offer a hesitant suggestion. "Maybe you two could do the examination in the SUV. It should offer Bisera more privacy."
Velika raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Always the considerate one, aren't we, James?" she teased, giving him a light shove on the shoulder.
James chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "What can I say? Learned from the best."
As they approached the SUV, James opened the door of the SUV for Bisera and Velika, helping them into the vehicle.
Bisera gave James a grateful smile, her eyes lingering on him with a mixture of reverence and unspoken affection. "Thank you for being here, James. I don't know what I would do without you."
James felt his heart skip a beat, the depth of his feelings for Bisera becoming painfully clear. "I'll always be here for you, Bisera."
Then, James walked away from the SUV to give Bisera some privacy.
As he turned, the full horror of the battlefield hit him like a tidal wave. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the acrid smell of smoke, assaulting his senses. His stomach churned violently as his eyes took in the gruesome scene—bodies strewn haphazardly across the ground, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, faces frozen in expressions of pain and terror. He had seen violence in movies and video games, but nothing had prepared him for the visceral reality before him.
He doubled over, retching, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Oh God," he whispered, wiping his mouth with a trembling hand. The sound of moans and cries for help pulled his attention to the wounded soldiers scattered among the dead. Some clutched at gaping wounds, blood seeping through their fingers. Others lay motionless, their shallow breaths the only sign they still clung to life.
James felt a surge of helplessness and guilt. These were real people, suffering unimaginable pain, and he had no idea how to help them. Panic rose in his chest as he realized the enormity of the situation. "I can't just stand here," he thought desperately. "I have to do something."
He stumbled toward the nearest wounded soldier, a young man whose leg was bent at an impossible angle, blood pooling beneath him. The soldier's eyes flickered open, glazed with pain. "Help me," he gasped.
James knelt beside him, his hands hovering uselessly. "I—I'm here," he stammered. "What do I do?" He looked around frantically for anyone who could assist. The other soldiers were busy tending to the wounded, their faces grim but focused.
Feeling utterly out of his depth, James remembered Seraphina. "Seraphina, please, we need more medical supplies. There are a hundred soldiers dead and fifty wounded. Can you help?" he mentally pleaded, hoping his thoughts would reach her.
To his surprise, a soft, melodic voice echoed in his mind. "I can provide you with a bulk deal," Seraphina explained.
James stared in awe. "Bulk deal? That sounds... like a great deal."
Seraphina chuckled, her voice playful. "Indeed. Think of it as a favor from me. For your current situation, I recommend a bulk purchase of emergency medical treatment services, each tailored for the fifty wounded soldiers. As for the dead, I cannot do anything about them. So try not to die if you can."
James blinked, trying to process the options before him. "Wait, I can purchase treatment services? I thought you only provided items."
"Well, you never asked, and I was shy," Seraphina replied smoothly. "But most importantly, I wanted you to treat Bisera personally to facilitate a quick bond between you two. Nothing fosters a bond like being placed in a situation where your lives depend on each other. Based on my experience, going through ordeals together and sharing moments of vulnerability helps rapidly forge deep interpersonal connections. This bond would help you navigate this new environment. Just look at how everyone trusts you simply because Bisera trusts you."
James groaned inwardly, rubbing his temples. Of course she did. Because nothing says 'bonding' like a near-death experience.
"But why not offer me the treatment earlier? It could have saved me the stress and awkwardness," he asked, exasperation lacing his thoughts.
Seraphina's voice took on a teasing tone. "Oh, James, don't pretend you didn't enjoy it. The immersive experience was invaluable. Plus, some people pay hefty sums for roller-coaster rides that stimulate adrenaline. Consider this a free, all-access pass to your very own adrenaline rush."
James couldn't help but chuckle despite the tension. A roller-coaster ride? More like a death derby.
"But seriously, Seraphina," he replied, shaking his head with a wry smile, "I could have done without the stress. You know, just keeping everyone alive without turning it into an extreme sport."
"Ah, but the thrill of struggle enhances the bond," Seraphina mused. "Plus, it provides you with a glimpse of what you are protecting. I'm sure it helps boost motivation."
James sighed, feeling both relieved and overwhelmed. "Alright, alright. I trust your judgment. Now, I will purchase the emergency medical treatment services. The bulk deal, please."
"Consider it done," she replied, the holographic interface updating with the necessary supplies. "The process will take one hour, as if they are undergoing emergency treatment, and the total price is $100,000."
James balked at the cost but was reminded by Seraphina that it was the market price and to consider the cost of treatments in his world without medical insurance coverage. He nodded but asked if he could get a better discount. Seraphina said yes but noted she would have to employ treatments from doctors in other parts of James's world rather than his hometown.
"As long as they are reliable and high quality," James responded.
Seraphina nodded. "I can do that."
She recalculated the price. "That brings the total down to $30,000. Some nations are more efficient."
James was surprised at the 70% discount. "Wow, that's a hefty discount."
"Next time, you could consider bargaining with me," Seraphina teased. "But you know, I prefer not to be too obvious."
James laughed. "Please stop being shy and tell me more functionalities."
"Oh, I forgot to tell you, you could boost your account balance by offering items from this world as tributes. Those items will be destroyed and converted to the market price based on your world's current market value," Seraphina added with a mischievous tone.
James raised an eyebrow. "Why didn't you say so earlier?"
Seraphina smiled playfully. "I didn't want to interrupt your honeymoon with Bisera."
James groaned inwardly. "For an archangel, you are quite the tease."
Seraphina didn't reply. Damn, James thought, she didn't take the bait. He had wanted to test whether Seraphina was truly the archangel Bisera talked about.
Just then, all around him, the wounded soldiers started passing out, and others gasped in surprise.
Part 2
The sun stood high in a cloudless sky, casting its warm glow over the rolling plains. The fertile landscape stretched out before the Gillyrian army, dotted with olive groves and vineyards. Wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze, and the distant mountain peaks framed the horizon. It was midday, and the imperial army had halted their march to rest and take their meal.
Emperor Alexander sat alone in his tent at the heart of the encampment. The canvas shelter was modest yet functional, adorned with the imperial double-headed eagle. Inside, maps and dispatches were spread across a wooden table. Sunlight filtered through the open flaps, illuminating his thoughtful expression as he gazed at the terrain markings. Yet his mind wandered, the present moment giving way to memories of the past.
Outside, the sounds of the camp were a steady hum—soldiers sharing bread and olives, horses being watered, and armor being checked and adjusted. Officers discussed strategy under shaded awnings, while scouts reported back with observations from the surrounding areas. The disciplined routines of the Gillyrian army, modeled after the renowned Byzantine military practices of the late 9th century, reflected their preparedness and professionalism.
Alexander's thoughts drifted back to a time of innocence and burgeoning dreams.
He was twelve years old again, standing in the grand imperial library—a marvel of architecture nestled within the palace complex. The library's vaulted ceilings soared above him, adorned with intricate mosaics depicting heroes and legends from Gillyria's illustrious past. Sunlight streamed through arched windows fitted with stained glass, casting vibrant patterns on the marble floors.
Towering shelves carved from rich cedar wood lined the walls, filled with scrolls and illuminated manuscripts collected over generations. The air was scented with parchment and ink, imbued with the quiet reverence of centuries of knowledge.
Balancing on a carved footstool, young Alexander stretched to reach a leather-bound tome just out of his grasp. His dark hair fell across his forehead, and his brow furrowed in concentration.
"Need some assistance?" came a gentle, melodic voice.
He turned to see Irene approaching, her presence bringing a subtle warmth to the room. Also twelve, she moved with a grace beyond her years. Her long brunette hair was intricately braided, ribbons of royal blue woven throughout. Her hazel eyes reflected curiosity and kindness.
With effortless ease, she retrieved the book and handed it to him. "Being taller does have its advantages," she said with a playful smile.
Alexander accepted it, his lips curving into a grin. "Enjoy it while it lasts," he replied confidently. "Soon enough, I'll be the one reaching things for you."
She laughed softly, the sound like a delicate chime. "We'll see about that," she teased.
They moved to a polished oak table near a window overlooking the imperial gardens, where the fragrance of blooming roses drifted in. Unrolling an ancient map depicting the Gillyrian Empire at its zenith, they marveled at the illustrations—lands stretching from the northern mountains to the southern seas, cities marked with gilded symbols, trade routes crisscrossing vast territories.
"Look at this," Alexander murmured, tracing his finger along the expansive borders. "Our empire once dominated the entire Mediterranean. These cities—Astoria, Nymara, Helios—they were all part of Gillyria."
Irene leaned in to observe, her shoulder lightly brushing against his. "We controlled all the major trade routes," she added. "Our influence reached far and wide."
Alexander's expression grew determined. "It's hard to believe how much we've lost," he said quietly. "Now we're confined to a fraction of these lands, facing constant threats from all sides."
She glanced at him, noticing the resolve in his eyes. "But Gillyria is still strong at its core," she offered.
He nodded thoughtfully. "I want to restore our empire to its former glory," he declared. "To bring back the peace and prosperity that once was."
Irene smiled softly. "You have big dreams."
"They're more than dreams," he replied earnestly. "One day, when I'm emperor, I'll make them a reality."
She admired his conviction. "I believe you will," she said. "And I'll be there to support you."
He looked at her appreciatively. "Your support means a lot."
She adjusted a loose strand of hair, her movements graceful. "We've always been friends," she replied. "Why would that change?"
They shared a moment of understanding, the sunlight illuminating their youthful faces. Irene felt a subtle warmth, a budding affection for her lifelong friend, though she kept it to herself.
As they rolled up the map, Alexander glanced back at the vast collection of knowledge surrounding them. "There's so much to learn," he mused. "If I'm going to lead Gillyria, I need to understand its past."
Irene nodded. "Then let's study together," she suggested. "Prepare ourselves for the future."
He extended his hand. "Agreed," he said with a smile. "From this day forward, we dedicate ourselves to Gillyria."
She placed her hand in his, their pact sealed. "To Gillyria," she echoed.
Together, they walked toward the exit of the library. Alexander paused at the doorway, a silent vow forming within him—a commitment to his empire and to the friendship he shared with Irene.
"One day, we'll make a difference," he said confidently.
A loud laughter from a group of officers brought Alexander momentarily back to the present. The camp was lively but orderly, the men making the most of their brief respite. He allowed his thoughts to drift to the better days once more.
Now sixteen, Alexander stood in the opulent Golden Hall—the palace's grand ceremonial chamber and the very heart of imperial majesty. The hall was a marvel of Gillyrian architecture, its soaring dome adorned with shimmering gold mosaics depicting celestial scenes and the triumphs of past emperors. Rich tapestries woven with threads of crimson and gold draped the walls, while intricate marble floors displayed geometric patterns that seemed to dance under the glow of countless candles.
The occasion was his sixteenth birthday—a grand celebration marking his coming of age and his rising prominence within the empire. Nobles, dignitaries, and esteemed guests from all corners of Gillyria had gathered, their attire resplendent with jewels, silks, and brocades. The air was alive with the harmonious strains of lyres and flutes, the melodies weaving seamlessly through the hum of conversation.
Alexander moved through the crowd with natural grace and confidence. He had grown into a tall and strong young man, his physique honed by rigorous training in martial arts and leadership. His victories in imperial tournaments—events showcasing prowess in swordsmanship, archery, and horsemanship—had earned him admiration throughout the realm. His features were striking: sharp yet elegant, with wavy black hair that framed his face like a dark halo, a regal nose that added an air of nobility, and piercing, almond-shaped eyes that glowed with intensity and purpose. Clad in a tunic of deep blue embroidered with gold thread depicting the imperial double-headed eagle, he embodied the dignity befitting a prince.
Across the hall, Irene stood among a circle of noble ladies, yet her presence commanded attention effortlessly. She had blossomed into a woman of exceptional beauty. Her long, curly brunette hair cascaded over her shoulders, adorned with delicate gold filigree and pearls that shimmered with each movement. Her gown of emerald silk accentuated her shapely figure, the fabric draping elegantly as she moved. Her brown eyes were bright and expressive, framed by dark lashes. Her skin glowed softly in the candlelight, exuding a natural radiance.
Alexander's heart quickened as he observed her. The sight of her stirred a warmth within him—a blend of affection and admiration that had deepened over the years. Their eyes met across the room, and a subtle smile passed between them—a silent conversation only they understood. Memories of their shared childhood and the promises they had made flickered in his mind.
Excusing himself from a conversation with a foreign ambassador, Alexander made his way toward her. The crowd seemed to part naturally as he approached, the buzz of the hall fading into the background.
"Princess Irene," he greeted her with a courteous bow, though his eyes conveyed a deeper affection.
She turned to face him, her smile radiant. "Prince Alexander," she replied, offering a graceful curtsy. "The evening is truly splendid."
"It is," he agreed, "but it pales in comparison to your presence."
She looked down modestly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "You flatter me."
"Only speaking the truth," he responded gently. "Would you care to join me by the balcony? The view of the city is quite remarkable tonight."
She hesitated briefly, aware of the many eyes upon them. Yet the prospect of time alone with him was enticing. "I would like that," she said, placing her hand lightly on his offered arm.
They made their way to a grand balcony overlooking the illuminated capital. The city's lights twinkled like stars, and the distant sounds of the bustling streets mingled with the music from the hall. A gentle breeze carried the scent of night-blooming flowers.
"It's a beautiful night," Irene remarked, gazing out over the panorama.
"Indeed it is," Alexander replied, though his gaze rested on her. "Moments like these make me grateful."
She turned to him, her eyes reflecting curiosity. "Grateful for what?"
"For the paths our lives have taken," he said thoughtfully. "For the people we've become as we've grown."
She smiled softly. "We've both changed since our days exploring the library."
"Yet some things remain constant," he noted. "Like our friendship."
She met his gaze, a hint of something unspoken passing between them. "Yes," she agreed quietly. "And perhaps more than friendship."
He took a breath, the air thick with unspoken emotion. "Irene, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."
Before he could continue, a distant chime echoed through the hall—a signal that caught their attention. They turned to see Emperor Leo, Alexander's father, standing with the chief minister and several key advisors. His expression was grave, and whispers spread rapidly among the guests.
"What's happening?" Irene asked, concern creeping into her voice.
"I'm not sure," Alexander replied, his brow furrowing.
Emperor Leo addressed the assembly. "Ladies and gentlemen, I must attend to an urgent matter. Please continue to enjoy the festivities."
With that, he and his entourage exited the hall. The sudden departure stirred a wave of speculation among the guests.
A servant approached Alexander and Irene, bowing respectfully. "Your Highnesses, Emperor Leo wishes you to know he will be absent for a short time."
"Did he say why?" Alexander inquired.
"I'm afraid not, sire," the servant replied. "Only that he will return as soon as he is able."
As the servant departed, Alexander and Irene exchanged concerned glances.
"He seemed troubled," Irene observed.
"Yes," Alexander agreed. "It's unusual for him to leave in the middle of an event like this."
She looked out over the city, her expression reflective. "Do you think it could be news from the front? My father..."
Alexander placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure it's nothing serious," he said, attempting to comfort her. "Emperor Edgar is a seasoned commander. He had been through far more daunting challenges."
She sighed softly. "I hope you're right. But with the situation on the eastern front, I can't help but worry."
He nodded, understanding her concern. "Let's not jump to conclusions. Perhaps we can distract ourselves for a while."
She offered a small smile. "Perhaps a dance?"
He returned her smile. "It would be my honor."
They returned to the hall and joined the dancers on the polished marble floor. The music swelled, and they moved gracefully in time with the melody. For a moment, the world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of their connection.
But the tranquility was short-lived. A sudden clamor erupted from the entrance of the hall. The music halted abruptly as guests turned to see what was happening. The doors swung open violently, and a group of imperial guards stormed in, their weapons drawn and expressions grim.
Panic rippled through the crowd. "What's the meaning of this?" a nobleman demanded.
One of the guards stepped forward. "By order of the council, Prince Alexander and Princess Irene are to be detained."
Gasps and murmurs spread like wildfire. Alexander shielded Irene instinctively.
"Detained? On whose authority?" Alexander challenged, his voice steady.
"The true authority of Gillyria," the guard replied coldly.
Before the situation could escalate further, Igor, Alexander's trusted captain of the guard, stepped forward, sword drawn. His stern gaze swept over the intruders. "Stand down," he commanded. "You overstep your bounds."
At the same moment, Anna, captain of Irene's personal guard, moved to their side. Her eyes were sharp, and her hand rested on the hilt of her blade.
That was the fateful night that set the wheel of fortune turning.
A sudden rustling at the entrance of his tent pulled Alexander from his reverie. The midday sun cast sharp rays through the open flaps, illuminating the maps and documents spread before him. He looked up to see a figure standing respectfully at the threshold.
"My lord, you requested my presence?"
The voice was soft yet unmistakably familiar. As his eyes adjusted to the light, Alexander felt his heart stop.
Her features were undeniable—the same luminous brown eyes that held depths of warmth and understanding, the graceful curve of her smile that had always brought him comfort. Her long, curly hair cascaded over her shoulders, shimmering in the sunlight. She appeared just as he remembered her.
"Irene?" he whispered, disbelief and overwhelming joy mingling in his voice.