Part 1
A low rumble of thunder rolled across Thessaloria's shattered skyline, mingling with the faint clatter of raindrops against the cathedral's ancient stone roof. Sparse torchlight danced across the nave, illuminating rows of refugees huddled along the walls. A few clutched tattered blankets; others stared at empty spaces as though the city's horrors had drained the very light from their eyes. Soldiers of the Vakerian garrison stood by the main doors, spears angled and lamellar glinting in the unsteady glow, determined to maintain some semblance of order amidst ruin.
At the center of this somber tableau, Bisera stood near the marble altar, her reddish-brown armor flecked with soot and rain. Tall and strong, she was a revered general under Emperor Simon of Vakeria, her blonde hair pulled back in a partially braided style that still let unruly curls brush her cheeks. For the moment, her piercing blue eyes were fixed on the shimmering mosaic of Archangel Seraphina on the cathedral's domed ceiling. Flickers of candlelight made the archangel's image appear almost alive—a reminder that Seraphina watched over them.
A few steps away, James finished conjuring tins of biscuits through Seraphina's blessing, a feat that, to these medieval eyes, seemed like a pure miracle. One by one, grateful refugees and ragged soldiers accepted the tins, each container stenciled with unfamiliar markings. Murmurs arose in the pews as people struggled to comprehend how these supplies had materialized from thin air. Some murmured prayers of thanks to the Archangel Seraphina; others whispered James's name in hushed awe.
Bisera exhaled slowly, trying to steady her heart. He's performing miracles right before my eyes. She cast a sideways glance at James, whose lean frame radiated quiet confidence. His clothing—so unlike anything from this era—served as a constant reminder that he hailed from a world of advanced wonders. She caught him offering a gentle smile to a frightened child, pressing a tin of biscuits into small, trembling hands. The child's face lit with gratitude, and Bisera felt a subtle warmth stir in her chest.
She suddenly remembered how she wanted to speak to him: I must explain. I need him to know I never condoned such cruelties. But shame and uncertainty blocked her voice. She was an esteemed general, famous across Balkania, yet a single kind look from James left her fumbling for composure.
She tried to move closer, to murmur a word of gratitude. But a frantic call from one of her captains distracted her. "General Bisera," the man said, a worn soldier with a bandage around his temple. "There are some minor scuffles among the refugees over some biscuits. Should we interfere to maintain order?"
"Yes, go," Bisera replied, nodding briskly. Just a moment's delay, she consoled herself. Then I'll speak to James. Yet she felt a tightness in her stomach. Every interruption grated on her nerves. She knew her soldiers had a thousand concerns, and she was their leader, but time with James—time to share her heart—slipped away like water between her fingers.
Across the cathedral, James worked on manifesting the last tin of biscuits. The hushed crowd watched with wide eyes. When the tin fully formed, a hush of astonished reverence spread across the pews, broken only by stifled sniffles of hungry children. Someone muttered, "Truly, he is Seraphina's emissary," and a chorus of agreements arose.
James offered a self-conscious nod to those around him. He was unused to such worshipful treatment, but seeing relief in their faces—knowing tonight they wouldn't starve—filled him with purpose. He quickly scanned the cathedral for Bisera. His gaze locked on her tall, armor-clad figure. She was looking at him too, albeit from across the busy aisle. Her lips parted, as though she might speak. Their eyes met with a shared awareness—an unspoken connection. But once more, a soldier stepped in front of her, blocking her line of sight.
Bisera inwardly groaned, forcing herself to handle the soldier's inquiries. I lead armies without fear, yet I cannot muster the courage to cut through this crowd to reach him. Ridiculous. She began to step around them, intent on making her way to James. Just then, the heavy double doors of the cathedral reverberated with a series of knocks that echoed under the vaulted ceiling. Thunder rumbled outside, and all movement stilled. The refugees stiffened, afraid of more trouble. Even James paused, biscuit tin still in hand.
Bisera straightened her shoulders, gave a subtle nod to the door guards. "Open it," she ordered. Two soldiers pulled the doors wide, and damp night air rushed in, carrying droplets of rain. A tall, slender figure stood silhouetted in the glow of torches and lightning flashes. Then she stepped forward: Adelais, her red hair plastered to her cheeks, dripping water onto the worn flagstones.
People gasped softly. Many recognized her from earlier, the woman who had approached James for biscuits. This time, she carried empty tin boxes, lids rattling dully as she tried to keep them from falling. Her expression was carefully forlorn, accentuated by her soaked clothing and shaking hands. The hush in the cathedral grew thick.
Then, a small group of children scattered among the refugees dashed toward Adelais, exclaiming her name and tugging on her cloak. One child, her face smudged with soot, grasped Adelais's hand. "You came back," the girl said, eyes shining with raw gratitude. Other little ones pressed close around Adelais, some hugging her legs.
Clearly, they recognized her. Bisera thought, feeling relieved that her earlier suspicions about Adelais might have been misplaced.
James hurried over, concern knitting his brow. "Are you all right?" he asked. "You're soaked to the bone."
Adelais managed a wavering smile. "I'm all right," she replied, her voice quivering with practiced humility. "I went to give out some biscuits to some kids in the city. They were too frightened to come here."
Bisera's gaze narrowed. She'd suspected Adelais was playing a part, but the children's eager rush told a different story—one that suggested Adelais truly was known here, or at least had interacted genuinely with them. Had she been too quick to judge? She felt a flutter of uncertainty. Children do not lie so wholeheartedly about such things. If they trust her, perhaps she really has been helping them.
James, for his part, looked visibly touched. He gently peeled one child away from Adelais's drenched cloak so the woman could move. "That was brave of you," he said quietly. "And kind. Thank you."
Adelais bowed her head, adding a little tremor to her voice. "All I did was carry the blessings you conjured, my lord. I'm no saint. You are. Glory to the Spirit." She lifted her gaze just enough to reveal shining eyes under that damp red hair.
Bisera felt an odd ache in her chest. She disliked her own jealousy, but it gnawed at her anyway. He's gazing at her with such gentleness. She swallowed the bitterness. She had more pressing concerns than a pang of envy.
Bisera approached them, managing a calm nod. "Thank you for distributing the food," Bisera said with measured courtesy, though her throat felt tight. "Every little bit helps." She paused, half expecting some cunning reply. But Adelais merely offered a humble bow and stepped back, saying, "I couldn't bear to see the little ones go hungry. Forgive my interruption, General. I'll return to my corner."
The children around Adelais slipped back among the refugees, chattering excitedly about more biscuits. Bisera observed them, her doubts somewhat softened by the scene. But she remained guarded. A woman adept at infiltration could feign many faces. Still, it was hard to contest the genuine joy the children showed around her.
One of Bisera's captains, Vesmir, approached. Tall, broad-shouldered, with tanned skin and a weathered face, he leaned in. "General," he said quietly, "As per your earlier orders, I have arranged for the men to start clearing the bodies off the streets. However, some garrisons wonder if we should keep those heads on the walls to scare off rebels."
Bisera glanced at James, who was calming a small scuffle among hungry refugees. She wanted to go to him, to confide her remorse, but forced herself to answer. "Remove them all," she said firmly. "If Seraphina is blessing us now, it's time we show mercy. Enough with fear tactics. We cannot afford to offend Seraphina by accident."
Vesmir nodded. She hesitated, her gaze flicking to Adelais. The woman now stood among the refugees, wringing out her cloak, modest and helpful. Bisera leaned closer to Vesmir. "I'm still a bit concerned. Check her background. Discreetly. Neither she nor James must suspect."
Vesmir's brows rose. "Understood, General."
Bisera nodded. She prayed she wasn't mistaken, but her instincts demanded answers. Then, forcing steadiness, she walked over to James, intending to ask if he could have Seraphina grant additional biscuits, which could be used as payment for refugees helping to bury the dead.
Part 2
Night draped Thessaloria in a cloak of gloom, broken only by flickering torches reflecting off soot-streaked walls. The cathedral's interior smelled of melted wax, damp wool, and faint incense, mingling unpleasantly with the lingering odor of unburied corpses in distant alleys. Bisera, exhausted but resolute, organized a makeshift burial detail. She crossed the cathedral floor, her metal sabatons tapping a steady rhythm, guiding volunteers and soldiers alike into assigned groups.
Her reddish-brown armor felt heavier than ever—physically and in spirit. This city, torn by infiltration, sabotage, and ruthless reprisals, needed a careful hand if it was to endure. She recalled James's aghast expression at the sight of impaled heads. That memory spurred her onward, determined to erase at least some vestige of that impression.
With an authoritative wave, she signaled two squads near the exit. "Work in pairs," she commanded in a clear voice. "Load the dead onto the carts. We'll bury them beyond the walls. Stay alert in case of saboteurs."
Soldiers stiffened and saluted. Among them were a few desperate refugees, promised extra biscuits by James if they helped. Fear glimmered in their eyes, but hunger overcame it. "Better bury the dead than let them rot," muttered an older man, crossing himself before joining.
Nearby, James stood behind a wooden table, continuously conjuring small sacks of barley and cloth bandages. People clustered around him, hope shining in their eyes. James's heart ached at the litany of costs Seraphina demanded for each conjuration. But he pressed on, determined to help. Bisera's chest tightened at his compassion. In the swirl of the cathedral's chaos, she again attempted to approach him.
She made it halfway across before a frantic group of soldiers intercepted her. They spoke of new infiltration rumors, requesting her decision on immediate patrols. Over and over, small crises demanded her attention. By the time she slipped free, James had disappeared from inside.
Alarmed, she glanced around until she noticed the door ajar, faint torchlight shimmering in the drizzle outside. Likely James was overseeing the burial carts. She hurried after him, helmet tucked under her arm—only for another soldier to run up, saluting. "General, survivors found in the southern quarter. Trapped under debris. We need your approval to dismantle what's left of a half-collapsed house."
Bisera clenched her jaw, torn between her duty to these desperate survivors and the urgent need to find James. "I'll come," she managed, forcing calm. Casting a regretful glance at the cathedral door, she murmured, "Later. I'll speak to him later."
She followed the soldier down Thessaloria's devastated streets. Soot drifted in patches, half-collapsed beams jutted at cruel angles. The stench of burning and decay clung to every corner. Her squads carefully removed debris, moving scorched beams and broken tiles under flickering torchlight. When faint cries sounded from beneath the rubble, Bisera's heart seized. Drawing on her latent strength—once honed for war—she joined in lifting twisted timbers. The heat of lingering embers seared her gloves, sweat mingling with the drizzle.
At last, they freed a small boy, no older than seven. He trembled in terror, an ugly gash on his brow. Bisera cradled him against her cuirass, murmuring gentle assurances in accented Gillyrian. More debris threatened to collapse, so the soldiers dragged her away. She coughed through the swirling ash, passing the child to a waiting comrade. "Take him to the cathedral," she said hoarsely. "James might have medical supplies."
The soldier nodded, hurrying off with the crying boy. Bisera took a moment to steady herself. James will be proud we saved a life, she thought, a pang in her chest. I only hope he's all right.
Midnight was near when Bisera trudged back, drenched and coated in ash. A flash of lightning revealed two figures by the cathedral's entrance: James, holding a torch, and Adelais beside him. Adelais's hair was damp but no longer dripping, and she seemed to be speaking softly. Bisera's chest tightened, a pang of jealousy flaring as she recognized the warmth in James's expression.
Brushing aside that feeling, Bisera stepped under the archway. James spotted her, relief lighting his face. "You're back," he said, stepping forward. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," she replied, though fatigue roughened her tone. "We pulled a boy out of a collapsed house." She paused, reining in her emotions. "Thank you for handling more supplies."
James moved closer, reaching as if to brush soot from her cheek. His fingertips grazed her jaw, a small, comforting touch that sent warmth flooding through her. "Just doing what I can," he murmured. "I was worried."
She swallowed, wanting so much to tell him how deeply she feared losing Seraphina's favor or his respect. But before she could speak, Adelais cleared her throat behind him. Bisera drew back, nodding to Adelais, who offered a polite bow. "I've been helping James distribute biscuits and tidy the orphan area. We were just—"
"That's good," Bisera cut in, fighting to maintain composure. "We'll need more help tomorrow." She forced a faint smile at James. "We can talk then. There's still much to do."
Part 3
Two days later, the Vakerian garrison had buried the dead, torn down grisly displays, and distributed as many supplies as James could conjure. Though exhaustion weighed on all, the city's mood softened a fraction. Families emerged timidly, grateful for fewer signs of brutality. Charred ruins still dominated every street, but the stench of unburied corpses diminished.
During this time, Bisera discreetly tasked Vesmir with investigating Adelais. When he reported back, confusion deepened. "Locals confirm she helped children, arrived with a merchant caravan a little while ago to find her relatives, but no one truly knows her origins. She could be exactly what she appears, or a skilled actor." Bisera had no choice but to let Adelais remain, though she vowed to keep watch.
Finally, dawn broke on the day the battered Vakerian forces would withdraw. Steady drizzle blurred the remnants of Thessaloria's once-stately walls. Soldiers formed ranks in the cathedral square, wagons loaded with meager spoils and wounded companions. James's conjured truck bore the gravely injured, while his SUV—a marvel to all—idled nearby, its quiet engine humming. People eyed it with a mixture of awe and trepidation.
Mounted on a sturdy warhorse, Bisera surveyed her weary troops. "We leave Thessaloria today," she called in a clear, steady voice. "We've done what we could: buried the dead, eased hunger, and cleansed what horror we could manage. Now we must retreat back to Vakeria to regroup at Podem." She glanced at the tattered city, her heart tight with regret. The full weight of their forced forfeiture of this hard-won city finally sinking in.
Soldiers saluted, some looking relieved, others hollow. Refugees watched from doorways, uncertain of what might follow once the occupiers departed. Bisera dismounted, crossing to James's side at the SUV. "Ready?" she asked quietly, scanning his features. He looked worn but resolute.
He nodded. "I wish we could do more. But staying here… it seems so futile."
Bisera pressed her lips together. "We have no choice but to retreat; the Imperial Gillyrian force under Alexander will arrive soon."
James hesitated, as though wanting to say more. Then Adelais appeared with a group of children, all clinging to her skirts. "My lord," she said softly, "these orphans have no home. Please, let us come with you."
James's heart melted at the sight of the trembling children. "Of course," he agreed, beckoning soldiers to help them onto a supply wagon. Adelais offered a grateful bow, her red hair spilling around her face.
Bisera, though uneasy, could not refuse frightened children. Especially not in front of James. She signaled a few men to make room. I'll just have to keep an eye on Adelais. She turned to James, her voice subdued. "We should go. The city is dangerous for us now."
He offered her a small, appreciative smile, as though sensing her inner turmoil. Before either could speak further, a soldier rode up. "General, the column is formed."
Bisera nodded. "Move out," she called. The gates of Thessaloria—tall timbers bound in iron—rose before them. The battered procession marched through, trudging across the wet drawbridge. Doors and windows in the nearby houses remained firmly shut; the populace had no wish to provoke these departing troops.
Bisera led from the fore, scanning the newly empty ramparts. James's SUV and military transport truck rumbled behind, carrying wounded soldiers, engine purring in quiet defiance of medieval norms. Just as the last contingent cleared the gate, a sharp whistle cut through the air.
An instant's warning. Bisera's battle-honed reflexes flared. She caught sight of something streaking toward her from a frighteningly far distance—far beyond any normal archer's range. A faint shimmer trailed behind the arrowhead, as though it bore an unnatural energy. "Arrow!" someone shouted, but Bisera had already moved.
In a single fluid motion, she spun in the saddle and drew her sword. Rain stung her face. The arrow hurtled in, unnervingly precise, unstoppable in the eyes of mortal onlookers. Bisera gritted her teeth, angled her blade, and with a ringing clash of steel on wood, deflected it mid-flight. The shaft snapped, splinters flying. Soldiers gasped. James jerked to a halt, his eyes wide with alarm.
Bisera glared toward the distance. The arrow had come from so far away that its origin was not within sight. Something about that arrow's flight felt charged, uncanny. A hush descended, broken only by rain pattering on stone.
Then, without warning, the heavy iron portcullis groaned. Chains rattled. The gate slammed shut behind them with a resonant boom, massive timbers locking tight as though in final rejection. Dust showered from the arch. Soldiers whipped around, raising weapons.