The Calm Before the Journey

Part 1

Rain had battered the Vakerian encampment all afternoon, drenching tents and turning the ground into thick, sucking mud. By dusk, the storm had tapered off into an eerie silence, leaving behind a sky streaked with deep purples and fading crimson hues. The camp buzzed anxiously beneath a chill breeze that slipped mischievously through tent flaps, rattling loose ropes and urging everyone to move quicker. Soldiers, worn from illness and fear, hurried from tent to tent, carrying crates of supplies or crouching beside modest fires for warmth. Each cough and shiver was a grim reminder of the plague that still clung stubbornly to their ranks, despite James's conjured medicines. Those still able to grip a sword or hold a shield kept vigilant watch at the perimeter, half expecting shadowy Gillyrian attackers or more betrayal from within.

Bisera strode purposefully among the cluttered wagons, her cloak billowing behind her, muddy boots squelching with every step. She exchanged brisk salutes with sentries who straightened as she passed, their faces pale but eyes filled with determined loyalty. Outwardly, she appeared the calm, poised general her soldiers desperately needed—straight-backed, sharp-eyed—but within her chest, anxiety coiled like a serpent ready to strike.

Less than an hour before, a grim-faced courier had delivered a dispatch from Arinthia, bearing news that plunged her heart into turmoil: whispers of traitors had become shouts, dark magic was rumored to swirl within palace walls, and the capital itself stood on the brink of chaos. Worst of all, Emperor Simon's exact whereabouts remained uncertain. The fear that the palace might already be lost ate at her like poison. Every instinct screamed at her to gather her best fighters and ride directly to the Emperor's aid, but James's cautious analysis earlier had restrained her impulse. He'd reminded her bluntly of the reality she couldn't afford to ignore.

Across the muddy pathway, she caught sight of him—James stood near a makeshift stable of rope and canvas, speaking earnestly with the quartermaster. Despite the disorder around him, James's presence radiated calm efficiency. His modern clothes, odd among the rough-hewn camp gear, were partially concealed beneath a heavy, borrowed cloak. Horses stamped restlessly, their breath visible in the chill air, while crates sat precariously stacked, illuminated by flickering torchlight. As James concluded his conversation, he turned, spotting Bisera immediately, his dark eyes reflecting quiet concern.

He quickly closed the distance, weaving smoothly around soldiers hauling supplies. When he reached her side, his voice dropped to a confidential murmur. "You disappeared right after reading that dispatch," he said carefully, stepping aside to let two soldiers carrying a heavy crate pass. "I was afraid you'd decided to head straight to Arinthia alone."

Bisera's lips quirked into a reluctant half-smile. "Not yet, James. I needed some space to consider our situation carefully." Her gaze flicked across the busy camp, alert to curious eyes and ears. "Come. Let's speak in the command tent. There are too many eager tongues here."

Together, they navigated toward the large central tent, stepping around weary soldiers who coughed into their fists or tugged blankets tighter around their feverish shoulders. A lone lantern hung outside the command tent, casting long shadows across the damp earth. Two of Bisera's personal guards saluted briskly and pulled aside the heavy canvas to admit them. Inside, the tumult of the camp faded into a quiet, insulated hush, broken only by the soft sputter of the single oil lamp burning on the main table.

The surface was scattered with scrolls, hastily drawn maps, and intelligence notes from spies about Gillyria. Reports of sick soldiers lay beside an opened parchment bearing Emperor Simon's familiar wax seal. Bisera inhaled deeply, tension rippling through her shoulders. Emperor Simon had explicitly commanded her to preserve the army, avoid rash battles, and safeguard the future strength of the empire. But the news from Arinthia changed everything, pulling her thoughts in opposite directions.

Pressing two fingers against her temple, she sighed heavily. "James," she began softly, frustration edging her voice, "my heart screams to defend His Majesty's throne, but… you were right. Charging headlong into Arinthia with only a handful of men is madness."

Relief visibly softened James's expression, though his voice remained gentle. "I'm glad you understand, my lady. If you appear suddenly in the capital with a depleted force—ravaged by plague and sabotage—it could seem suspicious. Word might reach Emperor Simon twisted into tales of your betrayal."

She placed both hands firmly on the table, her fingers digging into the wood as she stared grimly at the dispatch. "Just days ago, I'd have laughed if you'd suggested His Majesty might doubt my loyalty. But in times like these, even the strongest bonds can fray. Arriving uninvited with a ragtag force could easily paint me as another conspirator."

Outside, distant thunder rolled softly, the storm's final protest. She glanced again at reports of casualties from Nikolaos's poison, bitterness twisting her expression. "That serpent's trickery halved our strength. I'm barely able to muster enough healthy men to form a proper vanguard. Every instinct screams to ride anyway, but…"

James stepped closer, gently resting his hand on her arm. His voice was low, full of compassion. "But you won't, Bisera. Because you honor your men's lives as much as you honor the Emperor's command. Retreating—holding back from a reckless strike—may be the bravest thing you can do right now."

Frustration and gratitude warred openly in Bisera's eyes, and her voice quivered slightly. "I loathe inaction. But yes, your logic stands firm." Shifting her shoulder, she winced, feeling a sharp sting from the lingering arrow wound she'd stubbornly ignored. With a suppressed groan, she loosened the dented pauldron, pain flickering across her face.

James instantly noticed, stepping forward, concern etched deeply in his features. "You haven't cared properly for that injury, have you?"

"No," she admitted bitterly, "I kept delaying proper treatment, saving bandages in case I had to ride urgently."

He carefully peeled back the ragged cloth, examining the wound. "Not infected, thankfully, but tender." From a conjured pouch at his belt, he produced clean gauze and an antiseptic wipe. "Hold still, my lady. Let me dress it properly."

Though her pride protested, Bisera quietly allowed him to clean and carefully wrap the wound, silently marveling at how strangely comforting she found his precise movements. This foreigner—someone from a world of plastic and paper wealth—had become indispensable, calming her with his quiet care. For a fleeting moment, she let herself relax, relishing the comfort.

"Thank you," she murmured softly, meeting his eyes. "You make this chaos bearable."

He finished securing the gauze, a gentle smile crossing his lips. "You'd manage somehow, even without me, but perhaps with less caution."

She almost laughed but caught the exhaustion lining his face. Compassion tugged sharply within her, blending dangerously with deeper feelings she'd fought to ignore. She stepped back slightly, her stoic mask slipping for just an instant.

James, noticing her vulnerability, placed a reassuring hand on her uninjured shoulder. "Bisera," he whispered earnestly, "remember, you're not alone."

Her heart melted completely then, and she allowed herself to lean forward, pressing her forehead against his chest. She trembled slightly, a soft sigh escaping as the heavy burdens she carried seemed to momentarily ease in his comforting embrace. The warmth radiating from his body and the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat were a stark reminder of how long she'd starved herself of comfort and human connection.

"You're allowed to be human," James murmured gently, his voice resonating deeply in the quiet between them.

Bisera swallowed hard, nodding slightly against his chest. For a brief moment, she let go, allowing herself the rare indulgence of vulnerability. Her body relaxed just enough to sink gently into him, finding solace in his quiet strength. Her eyes closed as she inhaled slowly, savoring the quiet sanctuary his presence offered amid the turmoil of war and duty.

Slowly, an instinctive yearning stirred within her—a longing she had repeatedly suppressed. Her head tilted upward, her gaze tracing the familiar contours of his face. Without fully realizing her own intent, her lips brushed softly, hesitantly, across the rough edge of his jawline. The faint sensation of his stubble against her skin sent a delicate shiver through her. She felt him stiffen slightly in surprise, heard the subtle hitch in his breath, but he made no move to withdraw.

Instead, James turned toward her, his dark eyes searching hers, an unspoken question lingering within their depths. Her heart beat rapidly, caught between caution and yearning, but when their lips finally met, the kiss was gentle, careful—testing the waters, both uncertain how much their fragile balance could handle.

Yet as their cautious restraint gradually dissolved, a powerful current of longing surged between them, overwhelming their mutual hesitations. James's arms tightened around her waist, pulling her firmly closer, deepening the kiss with an intensity that left her breathless. Her hand rose instinctively, fingers brushing across his jaw, tracing the line of his neck before threading softly into his hair.

Heat flooded her veins, banishing all coherent thought as she pressed herself against him, seeking the closeness she'd secretly craved but continuously denied herself. She felt his pulse quicken beneath her fingertips, heard his quiet groan resonate against her lips, felt the warmth of his breath mingle with her own. The intoxicating closeness set her senses aflame, tearing down every mental barricade she'd erected against her emotions.

Yet amidst the rising intensity, a sharp awareness abruptly pierced through the fog of passion, jerking her back to reality. Her breath quickened as the implications of their actions crashed back into focus with sobering clarity. Reluctantly, she pulled back, chest heaving softly, eyes wide with sudden understanding.

James looked down at her, confusion and lingering desire blending on his flushed features. "Bisera? Did I—"

She shook her head quickly, placing a gentle hand on his chest to reassure him. "No," she whispered hurriedly, her voice trembling slightly with lingering emotion. "It's not you, James. It's just… we can't. If this goes further, there could be severe consequences. Rumours or even a child—could undermine the trust my soldiers place in me and hinder my ability to lead them."

James's expression shifted quickly from confusion to understanding, tinged with regret. "You're right," he murmured, releasing a deep sigh. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking clearly."

Bisera offered a faint, apologetic smile. "Neither was I. But we must stay cautious. The empire teeters on the brink already. We cannot risk adding more complications."

James hesitated, his face reddening slightly. After a moment's awkward silence, he mumbled tentatively, "In my world, there are ways to avoid such… complications. I—I could conjure something that might help."

Bisera tilted her head in genuine confusion, her brows knitting together slightly. "Conjure? You mean like… some sort of potion or charm?"

His cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red, and he shifted uneasily on his feet. "Uh, no, not exactly," he stammered, embarrassment clear in his voice. "It's called a condom. It's like… well, it's a sort of protective covering… for a man."

Bisera blinked slowly, utterly baffled by the concept. She imagined a specialized piece of armour, heavy, metallic, rigid, and covering a specific part. Her eyes widened in disbelief. "But wouldn't that be… too large for most… to handle?" Her voice trailed off as comprehension of her own misunderstanding flooded her face with intense embarrassment. Her cheeks burned crimson as she immediately looked away, mortified.

James, catching onto her confusion and misunderstanding, flushed just as vividly. "No, wait—that's not what I meant at all! It's—it's actually much smaller and thinner—no armor! It's not like what you're imagining."

Bisera risked a quick glance back up at him, only to find his expression equally mortified, which oddly helped ease her embarrassment slightly. "I see," she said, though clearly, she didn't entirely. "But… but please… just don't use it with me..." Bisera's face turned bright red as those few words left her mouth.

James coughed awkwardly, desperate to change the subject. "Actually, you're probably right. Abstinence is definitely best under our current circumstances. We should…"

She nodded quickly, grateful for the out. "Yes, boundaries," she agreed fervently. "Even without the risk of conception… it's a sin, given we're unmarried."

James paused, blinking in surprise, then realization dawned sharply on his features as he remembered the vast cultural gulf between them—more than a millennium apart in morals and traditions. "Right," he said slowly, chastened and slightly sheepish. "Of course. Boundaries."

"Boundaries," Bisera repeated firmly, though a reluctant smile tugged faintly at the corner of her mouth, lightening the tension that had filled the tent moments before.

They shared one final, lingering glance filled with unspoken emotion—longing, regret, and mutual understanding—before turning away to quietly reaffirm their commitment to the necessary restraint, despite the lingering ache it left behind.

Part 2

Come the first gray whispers of dawn, the entire Vakerian camp was already stirring. Bisera woke slowly, opening heavy eyelids as pale morning light seeped gently through the canvas walls. Her dreams had been restless, full of shadows and distant voices, and waking brought relief, though it was mingled with a lingering ache of anxiety. With practiced efficiency, she sat up and re-buckled her armor piece by piece, the familiar weight grounding her restless heart. The metal plates were half-cleaned, a reminder of the exhausting days behind them and the uncertainty ahead. Each clasp she tightened felt like reinforcing her resolve, binding her doubts behind the facade of calm strength that her soldiers expected.

Bisera's decision was firm. She would gather a select contingent of riders—James among them—and make for Podem, carefully following Emperor Simon's standing command. The majority of her forces would remain behind under the careful stewardship of Captain Vesmir and Captain Velika, charged with recovering from the lingering plague, guarding their two most enigmatic prisoners—Nikolaos, who had nearly destroyed them, and Adelais, whose loyalty remained uncertain—and avoiding any entanglement in the treacherous illusions and rumors enveloping the capital.

Stepping out of her tent into the brisk morning chill, she took a deep breath, savoring the crisp air that burned pleasantly in her lungs. The sky was a wash of silver-gray, streaked with faint amber hues as dawn approached. Around her, soldiers shuffled in quiet urgency, their breath forming soft clouds as they rubbed sleep from bleary eyes or suppressed weary coughs. Some tightened saddle straps, others packed supplies onto wagons, each movement reflecting determination despite their exhaustion. It was a scene etched in quiet courage and stubborn resilience that filled Bisera with pride and a poignant sadness. She wished desperately for the strength to reassure each one personally, but her responsibilities tugged her attention elsewhere.

Captain Vesmir approached with a purposeful stride, his worn face weary yet resolute. Saluting crisply, he spoke with steady respect. "General, the scouts stand ready to depart. The wagons are nearly prepared, and I'll ensure our plague-weakened comrades are tended carefully during our retreat, just as you ordered."

Bisera returned the salute firmly, trust warming her voice despite the morning chill. "Thank you, Captain Vesmir. Keep Nikolaos restrained at all times. He's too dangerous to underestimate. Watch Adelais carefully, but do not mistreat her. We suspect her, yes, but until we're certain, cruelty has no place here. Should the scouts bring grim news from Arinthia, use your best judgment. Safeguard our men, whatever it takes."

Vesmir nodded gravely, his expression earnest. "On my honor, my lady. I'll preserve this army intact until your return, hopefully bearing the Emperor's favor and good tidings."

She clasped his shoulder briefly, a rare gesture of warmth that brought surprise and gratitude into his eyes. "I know you will, Vesmir. The men trust you, as do I."

As Vesmir returned to organizing the main host, Bisera's gaze shifted to James, who stood nearby adjusting a strap on his traveling pack with practiced ease. He caught her eyes, offering a small, encouraging smile before guiding his horse gently toward her. His presence was a quiet reassurance amid the turmoil of her thoughts, steadying her heartbeat like a compass pointing toward calm. She allowed herself a fleeting smile, drawing comfort from the unspoken support flowing between them.

Mounting her own warhorse, Bisera took a moment to survey the small band of riders who would accompany her toward Podem. They numbered around twenty, each personally selected for their loyalty, skill, and ability to ride swiftly and discreetly. They were men and women she trusted implicitly, warriors whose lives and valor were woven into her own story. Meeting each of their gazes, she felt a powerful bond of shared purpose, and gratitude swelled in her chest.

Bisera raised her voice, clear and steady, cutting through the muted hum of the waking camp. "We ride for Podem, as Emperor Simon has commanded. Captain Vesmir will guide the main force until we reunite. Hold fast. Watch carefully for infiltrators or sabotage. Though distance separates us temporarily, we remain united as one empire. Trust in each other, trust in our cause, and we will prevail."

A wave of subdued affirmation rippled through the gathered soldiers, some offering respectful salutes, others nodding with quiet resolve. They understood the weight of her decision, the trust she placed in each of them. It was a solemn yet hopeful moment, binding them together even as physical distance would soon separate their paths.

She glanced once more toward Vesmir and Velika, noting the determined set of their jaws and the fire in their eyes. She knew they would guard their comrades fiercely. With a final nod of respect, she turned her horse toward the western path, drawing courage from the sense of duty that guided her.

Beside her, James's horse fell into a gentle trot, matching her stride. His quiet presence was comforting, an anchor against the tempest of uncertainty swirling within her chest. Their silence was companionable, words unnecessary to convey the mutual understanding that flowed between them. Yet her heart twisted with a familiar pang as she remembered the intimacy they had nearly allowed themselves the previous night, how fiercely she had wanted to yield, to forget duty and caution if only for a fleeting moment. Yet she had not yielded, and now she silently reaffirmed her promise to herself and to the empire: duty first, personal desires second. At least, for now.

As they rode onward, she stole sidelong glances at James. His posture in the saddle was improving—he had adapted remarkably well to the demands of her world. His face was calm, contemplative even, yet she detected tension in the slight furrow between his brows. Was he, too, wrestling with the same conflicting emotions, the same yearning she struggled so fiercely to contain? The thought warmed and troubled her simultaneously.

James caught her gaze, eyebrows lifting slightly in question. She shook her head gently, lips curving into a faint, reassuring smile, and returned her attention forward, toward Podem. The city loomed somewhere beyond the distant horizon, holding the promise of answers, or perhaps more troubling questions.

Behind them, the camp slowly faded into the dawn mist, wagons rumbling gently, soldiers preparing to march eastward toward safety and recovery under Vesmir's watchful eye. Bisera forced herself not to look back again, knowing the sight of their diminished, struggling army would only sharpen the pain of parting.

Instead, she fixed her eyes resolutely ahead, toward whatever fate awaited her in Podem. She whispered a quiet prayer beneath her breath, hoping that Emperor Simon would understand and trust the choices she had made.