Part 1
Back in the valley, the wounded soldiers had been sleeping peacefully for an hour as a soft, ethereal glow emanated from their bodies. The uninjured soldiers stood guard around them, casting anxious glances at their resting comrades. The glow bathed the area in warm light, creating an almost serene atmosphere despite the earlier chaos.
James stood calmly, his gaze steady as he observed the sleeping soldiers. "I trust this will work," he said quietly to himself.
Velika and Bisera approached him together. Bisera adjusted her armor carefully, wincing slightly but otherwise appearing unscathed.
"It's just a minor bruise," Bisera said softly. "Thanks to the remarkable vest you provided."
She looked up at James, her eyes reflecting gratitude and a hint of something deeper. "I owe you my life again, James. I cannot thank you enough."
James met her gaze, but felt warmth rising in his cheeks. "There's... there's no need to thank me, Bisera," he stammered slightly, his usual composure faltering. "I'm just glad you're safe."
Velika observed the exchange with a knowing smile. "Seems you have a knack for being in the right place at the right time, Lord James," she remarked.
He offered a modest smile, attempting to regain his composure. "Or perhaps in the wrong place, depending on one's perspective."
As if on cue, the glow surrounding the soldiers began to fade. One by one, they stirred, wincing slightly as they became aware of their surroundings.
A young soldier sat up, touching his side where a deep wound had been. "My injury... it's bandaged," he murmured, running his fingers over the clean dressings.
Another soldier examined his leg, which had been fractured. It was now splinted securely. "I can feel my leg again," he said with cautious optimism.
Murmurs of disbelief and gratitude rippled through the ranks. The uninjured soldiers exchanged amazed glances, their gazes slowly turning toward James.
"Did you see that?" one whispered. "Their wounds have been treated so expertly!"
"It's like they've been cared for by master healers," another replied, eyes wide.
They recalled the stories of Lord James being blessed by Seraphina—the divine intervention in the cave, the way he had saved General Bisera. And now, witnessing the ethereal light and the remarkable treatment, there was no doubt in their minds.
The atmosphere shifted from anxious tension to hopeful relief. Smiles broke out as the soldiers reassured one another, thankful to see their comrades alive and on the mend.
Before James could step away, a group of soldiers approached him, their expressions a blend of reverence and gratitude.
The first, a sturdy man with a thick mustache, bowed deeply. "Lord James, you have brought Seraphina's blessing upon us. We are forever in your debt."
James raised his hands modestly, feeling a bit overwhelmed. "Please, there's no need for that. I'm just glad you're all on the road to recovery."
Another soldier stepped forward, taking James's hand and pressing his lips to the back of it. "Thank you, Lord James," he said earnestly.
James felt his face heat up. "Oh, uh... you're welcome," he replied, his usual composed demeanor slipping.
A third soldier, sporting a beard that would make any woodsman proud, approached with tears glistening in his eyes. "Bless you, Lord James," he said solemnly. As he kissed James's hand, the coarse hairs of his beard tickled James's skin, causing him to suppress a chuckle.
"That's... quite a beard you have," James commented awkwardly, trying to maintain politeness while feeling utterly out of his element.
The line of grateful soldiers seemed endless. Each one took his turn, expressing heartfelt thanks and kissing James's hand with varying degrees of enthusiasm—and facial hair. James stood there, his smile growing more strained by the minute, a faint blush lingering on his cheeks.
"This is like a medieval meet-and-greet," he thought wryly. "Well, I guess it literally is."
Velika and Bisera watched the scene unfold. Velika clapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Tears began to well up at the corners of her eyes.
Bisera pressed her lips together, her own eyes sparkling as she watched James endure the onslaught of reverence. She couldn't help but find his embarrassment endearing.
A nearby soldier noticed their expressions. "It is truly a touching sight, isn't it?" he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Our men showing such respect. It brings tears to my eyes as well."
That did it. Velika let out a snort, quickly followed by a cascade of laughter. Bisera couldn't hold back any longer either, and together they laughed openly, tears streaming down their cheeks.
James caught their eye, his face reddening further. "A little help here?" he mouthed silently.
Bisera took a deep breath, composing herself. She stepped forward, her cheeks still slightly flushed. "Gentlemen, your gratitude is deeply appreciated, but perhaps we should allow Lord James some rest," she suggested kindly.
The soldiers nodded respectfully. "Of course, General," they agreed, stepping back, though their eyes remained filled with admiration.
As the crowd dispersed, James let out a relieved sigh. "I don't know how much longer my hand could have lasted," he quipped lightly, rubbing the back of his neck.
Velika wiped a tear from her eye, grinning broadly. "Oh, Lord James, you should have seen your face! Absolutely priceless!"
Bisera chuckled softly, a hint of pink still coloring her cheeks. "They hold you in the highest esteem now. You might have to get used to it."
"Well," James replied with a sheepish smile, "I suppose I should be grateful."
Bisera stepped closer, her eyes meeting his. For a moment, she seemed at a loss for words. "You did something remarkable today," she said softly. "You saved so many lives—mine included."
James felt his heart skip a beat. "I... I was just doing what I could," he said, his usual confidence wavering.
She smiled warmly, her gaze steady yet shy. "We are so fortunate to have Seraphina's blessings."
James swallowed, suddenly feeling tongue-tied. "Thank you, Bisera," he managed. "It's an honor to assist."
"Speaking of Seraphina's blessings," Velika said, her tone turning sly. "If you can heal so many people simultaneously with Seraphina's blessing without so much as lifting a finger..." She paused, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "Why is it that when it comes to Bisera, you had to get your hands... personally involved?"
James's eyes widened, and a deep blush spread across his face. "I—uh—well, the situation was... different," he stammered, completely flustered.
Bisera's cheeks flushed crimson as she realized the insinuation. "Velika!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of embarrassment and admonishment.
Velika raised her hands innocently. "What? I'm merely curious."
"I know James must have had a good reason," Bisera said quickly. "After all, James couldn't possibly have impure intentions, especially with Seraphina watching over him back then and still willing to cast her blessings through him just now." She turned to looked at James with eyes that sought agreement. "Right, James?"
Part 2
Meanwhile, at Alexander's camp, the midday sun cast a warm glow over the sprawling tents and bustling soldiers. The air was filled with the clatter of armor and the distant sound of training drills. Inside his command tent, Alexander stood over a large oak table strewn with maps and reports. His piercing gaze was fixed on the parchment before him, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
"Your Majesty, you requested my presence?"
The voice was firm yet laced with a softness that tugged at his heartstrings. Alexander looked up abruptly. For a moment, his breath caught in his throat. The silhouette at the entrance—graceful and poised—evoked a flood of emotions he had long sought to suppress.
As the woman stepped forward, emerging from the blinding sunlight, the illusion wavered but did not entirely fade. Her hair was not the deep brunette curls he remembered but a fiery cascade of red, tied back in a practical braid with a few loose strands framing her face. Yet the resemblance was uncanny—the same luminous brown eyes that held depths of warmth and understanding, the same delicate features, the same poised grace. She was slightly taller than Irene, her figure more athletic and slenderer, honed by years of rigorous training and discipline.
It was Adelais.
"Yes, Adelais," Alexander replied, regaining his composure. A complex mix of relief and longing washed over him. "Thank you for coming."
She stepped into the tent with a confident stride, her gaze steady and attentive. Clad in light armor that accentuated her agility—silver accents catching the ambient light—she embodied the duality of warrior and woman. Beneath the armor lay an undercurrent of softness—a quiet elegance that belied her hardened exterior.
"How may I be of service, Your Majesty?" she inquired, her voice respectful yet tinged with warmth.
He gestured toward the table, striving to steady his thoughts. Despite the nine years that had passed, he couldn't get over Irene. To prevent their suppressed love from rekindling, they had agreed not to see each other. Irene would be older now, he realized. Adelais, being only twenty-six, resembled the Irene from the time he loved her most—the Irene he parted ways with, not because their love had waned, but because circumstances had forced them apart. Their love had been tested through trials and ordeals they overcame together, fortified by a united vision to make Gillyria great again. But a tragic twist of fate compelled them to suppress their love.
"There is a matter that requires your investigation," he began. "A mysterious mage named James has recently appeared in the Vakerian camp. His sudden emergence and the tales of his abilities are... unsettling. I need you to gather as much information about him as possible, discreetly."
Adelais nodded, a flicker of determination igniting in her eyes. "Consider it done. I will uncover everything I can."
He regarded her appreciatively. "Your skills have proven invaluable time and again. I trust your judgment implicitly."
A faint blush warmed her cheeks, though she maintained her composure. "It is my honor to serve you, sire."
As she stood before him, Alexander felt a tumult of emotions swirling within. Part of him was desperate to send her away before his heart betrayed him. Her resemblance to Irene was both a comfort and a torment. Subconsciously, he had kept Adelais close, perhaps as a way to hold onto a piece of Irene. But his conscious mind resisted any transfer of affection. If he could not be with Irene, he preferred solitude. His love for her was unwavering, and he could not fathom sharing his heart with another.
Yet another part of him was subconsciously possessive. The thought of Adelais interacting closely with James—or any other man—stirred an irrational unease. Was he sending her on this mission purely for the empire's sake, or was he trying to distance himself from the temptation she embodied?
"Adelais," he said softly as she turned to leave.
She paused, her gaze meeting his with gentle curiosity. "Yes, Your Majesty?"
He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Exercise caution. This mission may be more perilous than it appears."
A reassuring smile touched her lips. "I am always careful, sire. Your concern honors me."
He nodded, still grappling with guilt and worry. "Very well. Report back to me as soon as you have any information."
"Of course," she replied. With a graceful bow, she exited the tent, the faint scent of lavender lingering in her wake.
As she departed, Alexander exhaled slowly, running a hand through his dark, wavy hair. His mind drifted back to Irene—their shared aspirations, their unified quest to restore Gillyria's glory. They had married at sixteen, their union symbolizing hope and renewal for the empire. Together, they navigated the complexities of leadership, their love deepening with each challenge overcome.
Nine years ago, when they were both twenty-six, a discovery had shattered their world. While sifting through the late Emperor Leo's personal diaries, Alexander stumbled upon entries that suggested a secret that, if true, would render his marriage to Irene forbidden by Gillyrian customs. The revelation plunged them into despair. To prevent scandal and potential divine wrath that could befall Gillyria, they agreed to suppress their love and dissolve their marital union. Only they and the confessor who administered the sacrament of penance knew the painful truth.
To the public, Irene's decision to devote her life to the matters of the Spirit was seen as an act of profound piety. She became the abbess of the largest monastery in the capital, a role that shocked the empire but also ignited a religious revival. Their popularity soared as they were viewed as paragons of virtue, placing divine will above personal desires. The people admired Irene for relinquishing earthly pleasures to serve the Universal Spirit, and they respected Alexander for supporting her selfless choice.
But beneath the facade, they both bore the weight of their suppressed love. Irene genuinely felt compelled to serve the Spirit, driven by a deep sense of guilt for a love she believed was not meant to be. The victories on the eastern front and the adulation from the populace only reinforced her belief that their sacrifices were receiving the Universal Spirit's blessings, gradually absolving them of their perceived sins.
Despite being in close proximity within the capital, they avoided each other to prevent rekindling the flames of passion. The bustling city, once vibrant and comforting, now felt hollow to Alexander. Without Irene, the grandeur of the imperial palace seemed cold and unwelcoming. Even the night skies, which had once filled him with wonder as they stargazed together, now served as a stark reminder of her absence. Activities that had previously brought him joy now only deepened his melancholy.
The battlefield became his sanctuary—the one aspect of his life unchanged from the days he spent with Irene. Immersed in military campaigns, he could momentarily escape the void left by her departure. Yet, every victory felt incomplete, every celebration hollow.
His thoughts turned to Adelais. Her life was a tapestry of resilience woven through threads of tragedy. Born to the royal family of a small kingdom on an island off the northwestern coast of Europa—a land of rolling green hills and misty moors—she had known both privilege and peril. Her parents' kingdom had been embroiled in a struggle with a rival realm, which sought the Laurissian Empire's military assistance in exchange for becoming a tributary state and adopting the faith of the Universal Spirit.
The Laurissian Empire, with its formidable force of 3,000 knights in shining armor, easily overwhelmed the brave but less technologically advanced armies of Adelais's homeland. Her parents, members of the royal family, were forced to flee, becoming destitute refugees. Their journey was fraught with danger as they traversed the vast Laurissian Empire and crossed the treacherous Mediterranean Sea, ultimately reaching Gillyria.
In Gillyria, her parents took up work as mercenaries, hoping to rebuild their lives. However, during the coup that led to Alexander ascending the throne, they were killed by rebelling imperial guards seeking to dethrone Emperor Leo. At just 7, Adelais found herself orphaned and alone in a foreign land.
Emperor Leo, ever mindful of his soldiers' welfare, had institutionalized orphanages specifically for the children of those who died in service to the empire. These establishments provided exceptional care, nutrition, and education. They were designed not only to honor the fallen but also to inspire loyalty and cultivate talent for the empire's future. Of course, these institutions also served as a convenient way to indoctrinate potential future warriors from a young age.
Adelais thrived in this environment. Driven by her parents' teachings that strength commanded respect and secured one's place in the world, she immersed herself in rigorous training. She consumed hearty meals to build her physique, outgrowing and outperforming her peers. By the age of 16, she had become a formidable warrior, excelling in both combat and strategy.
It was during one of Empress Irene's charitable visits to the orphanage—a tradition for the imperial family to demonstrate benevolence and piety—that their paths crossed. As Irene toured the facility, distributing alms and offering words of encouragement, a sudden commotion erupted. A scaffolding collapsed, sending debris hurtling toward the empress. Without hesitation, Adelais intervened, shielding Irene from harm.
"Your bravery is commendable," Irene remarked, her eyes reflecting gratitude and intrigue. "What is your name?"
"Adelais, Your Majesty," she replied, bowing respectfully.
Impressed by her valor and composure, Irene offered Adelais a position within her personal guard. Over time, a sisterly bond developed between them. Irene mentored her in martial skills, courtly etiquette, and the nuances of imperial politics.
The first time Adelais saw Alexander, she was captivated. At twenty-five, he was the embodiment of the ideals she cherished—noble, strong, and just. His commanding presence, royal authority, and remarkable physique resonated deeply with her. The indoctrinations of her upbringing crystallized in that moment; Alexander became her hero, the epitome of the perfect man.
As years passed, Adelais's admiration evolved into profound affection. By the age of twenty-six, her feelings had intensified, though she kept them concealed beneath a veneer of professionalism. She was willing to do anything for Alexander, her loyalty unwavering.
For Alexander, Adelais's presence was both comforting and unsettling. Her growing resemblance to Irene was uncanny, and subconsciously, he found solace in her proximity. It allowed a part of him to pretend that Irene was still by his side. However, his conscious mind resisted any inclination to transfer his love for Irene to Adelais. He had committed himself to celibacy, channeling his energies into the empire's prosperity. To him, if he could not be with Irene, he would be with no one.
Yet, sending Adelais on this mission stirred conflicting emotions. He was subconsciously desperate to remove her from his vicinity before desire overpowered reason. Simultaneously, he felt an irrational possessiveness, uncomfortable with the idea of her interacting closely with James or any other man. Yet Alexander knows the most effective way for Adelais to gather information about James is to interact with the Vakerian soldiers or perhaps James himself.
Alexander stepped out of his tent, seeking fresh air to clear his mind. The camp buzzed with activity—soldiers training, officers strategizing, and the aroma of hearty meals filling the air. These familiar sounds and scents momentarily distracted him from his internal conflict.
"Your Majesty," called a familiar voice.
He turned to see Igor, his loyal captain and confidant, approaching. "Yes, Igor?"
"The men are ready for the next phase of our campaign. Morale is high," Igor reported.
"Excellent," Alexander replied, his gaze drifting toward the horizon.
Noticing his detachment, Igor cautiously asked, "Is there anything else you need? You seem... contemplative."
Alexander offered a faint smile. "Old memories keep coming back."
"Irene," Igor said quietly.
"Yes," Alexander replied with a sigh.
Igor reached out to pat Alexander on the back, sharing in his sorrow.
Alexander delved back into his thoughts.
He envisioned Irene in the serene monastery, perhaps tending to the gardens or immersed in prayer. Did she also feel this emptiness? The nights they shared under the stars now felt like distant echoes, each constellation a reminder of moments lost.
A gentle breeze carried the faint scent of jasmine—the fragrance Irene favored. The memories were bittersweet and inescapable.
And what of Adelais? The thought of her facing potential danger unsettled him. He trusted her skills implicitly, yet the idea of her being harmed gnawed at him. Was his concern purely professional, or was there something more?
"Lost in thought again?" Igor's voice brought him back.
"It seems to be a habit these days," Alexander replied.