Love of Fortune and Steel

Part 1

The moon hung high over Nviom, casting a silvery glow across the marble walls of the city's bathhouse. The defeat at Sparklestar River had left the Vakerians in a perilous position, and Bisera knew they couldn't hold the city once Emperor Alexander's Gillyrian forces advanced. She had expected the weight of defeat to crush the morale of her soldiers, but their loyalty to her remained steadfast.

Nviom, despite now being under Vakerian control, still bore the scars of its recent conquest. The tension between the occupying Vakerian forces and the Gillyrian locals was palpable. Though the city had been captured months ago, whispers among the citizens persisted—whispers of rebellion, of hope that Emperor Alexander would return to free them.

As Bisera approached the bathhouse with James and her entourage, the soldiers at the entrance stood straighter, pressing their fists to their chests in the Vakerian salute. One of them, a younger soldier, called out to her.

"General!"

Bisera nodded in acknowledgment, her sharp blue eyes surveying the scene. "Seal off the upper section," she ordered. "I need privacy tonight."

The soldiers didn't hesitate, immediately barking orders to clear the area. They had learned long ago not to question Bisera's commands. As they began moving, Bisera turned to James, who stood by her side, his presence still unfamiliar to most.

"James," Bisera said, her exhaustion evident despite her strong posture, "I've kept my promise. Time for a proper bath."

"It's been over a month," she added with a hint of amusement. "Possibly longer."

James blinked in disbelief. "A month? That's... uh... impressive?"

"When you're at war, cleanliness isn't the priority," Bisera chuckled. "Survival is."

James opened his mouth, ready to comment on the absurdity of going that long without bathing, but thought better of it. This world was different. Its people were hardened by constant conflict, and their resilience eclipsed any notions of luxury he had once taken for granted.

"Hope you will enjoy it," he said with a wry smile, shaking his head in amazement.

"I will," Bisera replied, her tone light but resolute. She then turned to Captain Vesmir, her most trusted officer. His sharp eyes met hers as she issued her next command.

"Captain Vesmir," Bisera said, the authority in her voice unmistakable. "Ensure James has the best accommodations available. I want him well taken care of."

Vesmir bowed his head slightly, his loyalty unquestionable. "As you command, General."

Though Vesmir didn't understand James's significance, he trusted Bisera's judgment. If she valued James, then it was his duty to ensure the outsider's safety. Vesmir motioned for a few soldiers to accompany him as he led James toward the men's section of the bathhouse.

"You'll have a private section," Bisera assured James before he left. "It probably won't be the luxury that you're used to, but it's the best we can offer right now."

James chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm definitely not used to any luxury. Not anymore, anyway."

With that, Bisera turned toward the women's section, followed by her loyal bodyguard and childhood friend Velika. Velika, with her softer brunette features and ever-watchful demeanor, had accompanied Bisera on countless campaigns. They had fought side by side for years, and Velika's presence had become a constant source of strength for Bisera.

The bathhouse, while modest compared to those in the Vakerian capital, was still a remnant of Gillyrian luxury. Its walls were lined with faded mosaics depicting mythological scenes and long-forgotten legends of the Gillyrian Empire. Though some decorations had been damaged during the conquest, the baths themselves remained pristine—large pools of heated water surrounded by smooth marble platforms and columns. The air was filled with the scent of lavender and sandalwood, familiar fragrances in Gillyrian bath culture.

As Bisera stepped into the chamber, a middle-aged Gillyrian woman approached her, bowing respectfully. The woman, a professional bathhouse attendant, moved with the practiced grace of someone who had served in these baths for many years.

"My lady," the attendant greeted, her voice smooth and courteous. "Your bath is prepared."

Bisera nodded, offering the woman a small, tired smile. "Thank you."

The attendant gestured gracefully, leading Bisera and Velika through the grand hall. The soft glow of lanterns and candlelight illuminated intricate mosaics underfoot, while ornate pillars stretched toward a domed ceiling adorned with depictions of celestial constellations. The gentle flicker of oil lamps cast dancing shadows across the marble surfaces, enhancing the tranquil ambiance. The warmth of the bath was maintained by the ingenious hypocaust system beneath the marble floors—channels of heated air circulating to keep the water at the perfect temperature.

They arrived at a private section where the pool shimmered in the soft light, steam gently rising from its surface. Velika stood nearby, ever watchful, as Bisera began removing her armor. Piece by piece, the heavy iron plates fell away, revealing her tall, lean frame. At a height of 175 centimeters, Bisera towered over most women, her physique honed by years of battle. Her blonde hair, though matted from weeks of war, still gleamed in the soft glow, and her piercing blue eyes took in everything around her with practiced intensity.

As the last piece of armor was set aside, the attendant noticed the torn tunic and the bandages beneath. Bandages were wrapped tightly around Bisera's torso, and a deep red stain had seeped through, indicating a grievous wound. Maintaining her professional demeanor, the attendant briefly met Bisera's gaze.

"Shall I summon a healer, my lady?" she asked softly.

Bisera shook her head. "That won't be necessary, but thank you."

Velika, noticing the dried blood, immediately stepped forward, her brow furrowed in concern. "What happened?" she asked, her voice sharp. "Why didn't you say anything?"

As Bisera finished fully undressing herself except for the bandages wrapped snugly around her torso, she carefully picked up her sheathed sword with her left hand. The cool metal of the hilt felt reassuring against her skin. Stepping into the warm, steaming water of the bath, she let out a sigh of relief as the heat enveloped her, soothing every aching muscle worn from the relentless march of war.

"I did. I mentioned James saved my life, remember?" she said, her voice echoing softly against the marble walls adorned with intricate, albeit faded, mosaics of ancient legends. "With his treatment, the wound is healing well now. I will have him look at it again later. It is nothing serious."

Velika scowled, her arms crossed firmly over her chest, her eyes narrowing as they locked onto the dark crimson stain seeping through the bandages. "That does not look like 'nothing serious' to me," she retorted sharply. "You should have told me sooner."

Bisera chuckled softly as she sank deeper into the bathwater, the sword resting within easy reach at the pool's edge. The warmth eased the tension in her muscles, and the fragrant scent of jasmine and sandalwood filled the air, mingling with the gentle steam that rose around her.

"There were just too many other urgent issues to deal with," she replied, tilting her head back and closing her eyes briefly as the water lapped gently against her skin. "So I didn't get around to it."

Velika's expression suddenly shifted, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "But you did manage to squeeze in time to enjoy the starry sky with James earlier," she teased, her tone lightening.

"Well, I was... learning from his vast repertoire of knowledge," Bisera answered sheepishly, trying to hide her embarrassment.

"Right... I mean, he is a mage blessed with powers from Seraphina. So tell me, what did you learn from him?" Velika asked teasingly.

"I learned that our universe, with all its celestial spheres, is not the only one created by the Universal Spirit. It is just one among many created throughout the eons," Bisera answered.

"What?!" Velika was completely taken aback; she had not expected a serious answer.

"I know. I was shocked too," Bisera replied, her voice soft but resolute. "But let's keep it to ourselves. Sometimes the truth might be too shocking for the masses. Let's keep it between us until the time when the Universal Spirit decides to reveal it to the clergy directly. For now, it's best not to be mistaken for heretics."

"Not a word will leave these walls," Velika said resolutely, still trying to recover from the shock of what Bisera had just said. She glanced around, and her eyes landed on the Gillyrian attendant.

The attendant, sensing the weight of their conversation, kept her eyes lowered, her expression neutral. "You can trust in our discretion, my lady," she said softly. "We are honored to serve."

Bisera nodded appreciatively. "Thank you."

Velika relaxed slightly, a hint of ease softening her vigilant stance. "I suppose we can count on your professionalism."

The attendant gave a small nod, her gaze respectfully lowered. "Of course, my lady."

Bisera sank deeper into the warm bathwater, allowing herself to fully unwind for the first time in weeks. Leaning back against the smooth, curved edge of the pool, she stretched out her long legs beneath the shimmering surface. Her left hand rested lightly on the hilt of her sheathed sword, which lay within easy reach on the marble ledge beside her—a habitual reassurance even in this sanctuary of peace.

The water embraced her like a soothing balm, the heat penetrating her weary muscles and melting away the accumulated tension of countless battles and sleepless nights. The subtle scent of mineral salts mingled with the delicate aromas of lavender and chamomile that wafted gently through the air, creating an atmosphere of serene tranquility.

The attendant and her assistant moved gracefully around the bath, attending to Bisera's needs with practiced efficiency born of years of service. One stepped forward, holding a gilded ewer intricately engraved with floral patterns and studded with tiny gemstones that caught the soft glow of the lanterns. She tilted it carefully, pouring a steady stream of warm, scented water over Bisera's shoulders and back. The water cascaded in a gentle flow, its warmth enhancing the relaxation that was slowly enveloping her body.

Meanwhile, the other attendant knelt beside a low table adorned with an array of delicate glass bottles and intricately carved soap dishes. She presented a selection of scented oils and soaps, each one emitting its own unique fragrance that perfumed the air around them.

"We have jasmine oil from the eastern provinces, known for its soothing properties and ability to ease the mind," the attendant explained softly, her voice as gentle as a whispering breeze. "And rose oil, which rejuvenates the skin and restores vitality."

She lifted a small vial of golden liquid—the jasmine oil—swirling it lightly so that the rich, exotic scent drifted towards Bisera. Then she offered a dish containing rose-scented soap, its surface embossed with delicate petals that seemed almost real under the flickering candlelight.

Bisera breathed in the fragrances, closing her eyes momentarily as the scents transported her to memories of sun-drenched gardens and peaceful evenings long past. The jasmine reminded her of the blossoms that climbed the walls of her childhood home, their scent a constant companion during her formative years.

"This jasmine oil reminds me of the gardens at home," she mused softly, a faint smile touching her lips.

The attendant nodded; her own expression serene. "It is said to carry the essence of tranquility, my lady."

"Then jasmine it is," Bisera decided, opening her eyes to meet the attendant's gaze. "Thank you."

"Very well," the attendant replied, her movements fluid as she prepared the oil.

As the assistant began to massage the jasmine oil into Bisera's shoulders and neck, her skilled hands worked out the knots and stiffness that had settled deep within the muscles. The warmth of the oil and the gentle pressure combined to create a sensation of utter relaxation. Each motion was deliberate and precise, targeting areas that bore the strain of armor and the weight of command.

Velika watched from a nearby bench carved from polished marble, observing the surroundings and ensuring Bisera's safety. She watched as the attendants performed their duties with grace and efficiency, the atmosphere serene and calming.

"You mentioned James saved you? I had imagined him coming down from the heavens in that enchanted wagon and pulling you from the battlefield, crashing through the Gillyrian formations to deliver you here. I did not actually know you were injured this badly," Velika said, her face showing clear signs of concern as she switched the topic back to Bisera's injuries.

"You are partially right," Bisera said with a sweet smile. "But there is much more than that."

Bisera leaned back against the edge of the bath, her gaze distant as she recalled the events at Sparklestar River. She then described her encounters in detail to Velika.

Velika's eyes widened. "What you described is truly miraculous!"

"I believe so too," Bisera said quietly. "I was suspicious toward him initially. But later, when I was on the brink of death, he tended to my wounds with items I've never seen before—ointments and bandages that seemed to appear out of thin air. They healed me much faster than any known medicine."

Velika stared at her, her disbelief apparent. "That is incredible... Is that why you trust him?"

"Yes," Bisera said firmly. "But the key reason is that despite being a moneylender, he did not take advantage of my situation. And also... he described an encounter with an archangel, which I will tell you more about later."

Velika stood in silence for a moment, processing Bisera's words. Then, a mischievous glint appeared in her eyes.

"Wait a minute," Velika began, her tone turning playful. "So he was the one who put on all the bandages on you?"

Bisera blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. "Yes, he did."

Velika's grin widened. "And that doesn't bother you? I mean, he's a man, and he practically saw you—"

"Naked?" Bisera finished for her, rolling her eyes. "Velika, we have both been treated by male healers in the army for years. I am used to it. Modesty isn't exactly something we can worry about in the middle of a war."

Velika smirked. "Well, but this is the first time you have a cut right on the front of your torso. So... those healers didn't exactly have to take off much before. And besides, the maids and I did most of the changing for you when you were injured."

Bisera let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Velika, I cannot afford to care about these trivial things. I strive not to sin, and I did not. Since I was unconscious and James's intention was not lustful, there is no sin committed. I am grateful for James and the Universal Spirit's help, regardless of how much of my body James happened to see during the process."

Velika's smirk faded into a more serious expression. "You are always the equanimous one. But you have to admit, it's a situation that would have caused discomfort for most noble ladies."

"Yes, but I am not most noble ladies," Bisera said. "All that matters is that he saved my life with the blessing of an archangel."

Part 2

While Bisera luxuriated in the warmth of the women's bath, James found himself in an entirely different situation in the men's section. The grandeur of the bathhouse was undeniable—a vast chamber adorned with towering marble columns and intricate mosaics depicting heroic legends and mythical creatures. The vaulted ceiling stretched high above, its domed surface painted with celestial patterns that seemed to shift in the flickering torchlight. The air was thick with the mingled scents of cedar and eucalyptus, creating a soothing atmosphere that contrasted sharply with James's internal discomfort.

He stood at the edge of the steaming pool, feeling the weight of numerous eyes upon him. The male attendants bustled about with a mix of deference and barely concealed curiosity, their linen tunics rustling softly as they moved. They exchanged whispered comments, their gazes frequently darting toward the peculiar items James had placed nearby—modern bottles of shampoo and body wash, along with a synthetic sponge that looked utterly alien in this setting.

Standing a few paces away was Captain Vesmir, assigned to ensure James's safety. Vesmir was a well-built man in his late forties, his physique honed by decades of military service. Though a head shorter than James, his presence was imposing. Lean muscles rippled beneath a finely crafted lamellar cuirass made of overlapping metal scales. Underneath, he wore a burgundy tunic adorned with intricate geometric patterns typical of Vakerian designs. A dark woolen cloak draped over his shoulders, fastened with a bronze brooch shaped like a snarling wolf. His stern face was framed by a neatly trimmed beard flecked with silver, and his piercing eyes conveyed both authority and a hint of amusement.

"The general insists on your protection," Vesmir stated, his arms crossed over his chest. "I am to remain close."

"Of course," James replied, forcing a polite smile. "Though I assure you, I can manage a bath without incident."

Vesmir raised an eyebrow. "One can never be too cautious."

James sighed inwardly. The attendants hovered nearby, clearly eager to assist but uncertain how to approach this unusual guest. He began to undress, folding his clothes neatly and placing them aside. As he did so, he caught snippets of their whispered conversations.

"Look at his garments," murmured one young attendant with wide eyes. "Such fine weave and strange design."

"Did you see those bottles?" another whispered. "What do you suppose they contain?"

"Perhaps he is a sorcerer," suggested an older attendant, his gaze fixed on the mysterious items.

James stepped into the warm water, the heat soothing his tired muscles. Yet, the sensation of relief was overshadowed by the palpable tension in the room. The attendants exchanged glances, their curiosity finally overcoming their hesitation. One of them, a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard, mustered the courage to step forward.

"Esteemed guest," he began cautiously, "may we inquire about these items of yours?" He gestured toward the shampoo bottle.

James glanced at the bottle, then back at the attendant's inquisitive expression. "This? It's called shampoo. It's used for cleaning hair."

The attendant picked up the bottle gingerly, examining it with awe. "We use oils and soaps for such purposes," he said. "But this is unlike anything we've seen."

Another attendant leaned in. "And this?" he asked, holding up the body wash. "Is this also for cleansing?"

"Yes, it's a type of soap," James explained. "But in liquid form."

The attendants exchanged excited whispers. "Remarkable!"

"May we observe its use?" one asked eagerly.

James hesitated, feeling a flush of self-consciousness. "I suppose," he conceded, realizing that refusal might only heighten their intrigue.

As he lathered the shampoo into his hair, the attendants watched intently. Their eyes widened as the suds formed, the rich foam evidently a novelty to them.

"Incredible!" one of them exclaimed. "It creates so many bubbles!"

James couldn't help but chuckle at their astonishment. "It's quite effective," he remarked.

They observed as he used the body wash, the scent of sandalwood and citrus filling the air. The attendants murmured appreciatively at the pleasant aroma.

"Your homeland must be full of wonders," the bearded attendant said.

"It's... different," James replied, choosing his words carefully.

Vesmir watched the exchange with an amused expression. "You attract much attention," he commented.

"I guess I am an enigma," James muttered under his breath.

Despite the initial awkwardness, James found himself warming to the attendants' genuine curiosity. However, he couldn't shake the feeling of how surreal the situation was. Just days ago, he had been standing under the modern shower of his countryside residence, the water pressure adjustable at the touch of a button, enjoying the solitude and privacy that came with it. Now, he was in a medieval bathhouse, surrounded by attendants and guarded by a stern captain, explaining the basics of personal hygiene products.

He pondered the irony. Back home, he often lamented the lack of time to relax, his life consumed by meetings and market analyses. Here, he had all the time in the world but found relaxation elusive amid the constant attention. The contrast was almost laughable.

"Is something amusing?" Vesmir asked, noticing the faint smile on James's face.

"Just thinking about the twists life can take," James replied. "It's quite the journey from where I started."

Vesmir nodded thoughtfully. "Fate often leads us down unexpected paths."

As the attendants began to assist with massages, their skilled hands working to ease the tension in his shoulders and back, James allowed himself to relax a little. The warmth of the water and the soothing touch began to melt away his discomfort.

His mind began to wander, the ambient sounds of the bathhouse fading into the background. The gentle ripples of the water and the murmured conversations melded into a distant hum, and he found himself drifting back into memories of his youth.

Back then, he was 23, fresh out of university, filled with ambition and a sense of endless possibility. He and his friends had decided to celebrate their graduation with a trip to a hot spring resort—a luxurious retreat nestled in the mountains, surrounded by lush forests and clear skies.

They were a lively group: himself, David, and two other close friends, along with five of their female classmates. They were all young, vibrant, and ready to conquer the world.

James recalled the moment with vivid, almost unsettling clarity, like a photograph from a time long gone yet impossibly fresh. The sun had been sinking lazily behind the distant mountains, casting a soft, amber glow over the valley. The hot spring they'd found themselves in, tucked away in the wilderness, had seemed like paradise. Steam rose from the mineral-rich water, curling into the cool evening air, creating an ethereal mist that shimmered in the golden light. The smell of earth and warm stone lingered on the breeze, and the sound of bubbling water was the only thing breaking the stillness.

The hot spring itself had been a sanctuary, one of those hidden gems you only stumble upon when you're young and willing to venture off the beaten path. Carved into the side of a rocky hill, it was surrounded by pine trees that whispered in the breeze. The water, fed by underground springs, was crystal clear, tinted only by the minerals that gave it its healing warmth. Stones had been arranged naturally around the edges, creating the perfect resting spots for them to lounge and soak in the heat.

He still remembered how the water had felt against his skin, the perfect contrast between the chilly air and the heat that radiated up from the spring. It had a weight to it, that warmth, as if it was pulling the tension from his muscles, making everything—his body, his mind, the world around him—feel lighter. His arms rested lazily on the stone ledge behind him, comfortably wrapped around two bikini-clad women as though the universe itself had orchestrated this moment just for them.

To his left was Samantha—blonde, radiant, her red bikini contrasting perfectly with the soft gold of her skin, made all the more striking by the fading light. She was all curves and confidence, her smile the kind that could pull attention from across the room—or, in this case, the hot spring. It had been easy to get caught up in the chemistry between them, the way her laugh sparkled in the air, the way her eyes hinted at a future they both knew was inevitable. She would later join the growing list of his ex-girlfriends, but that night, they were young and unaware of how short-lived things would be. Wrapped in the warmth of the water and the glow of the sunset, neither of them had any reason to think beyond the moment.

On his right was a redhead—her name had long since escaped him, faded into the background of his memory like a half-forgotten dream. She was slender and graceful, her green bikini clinging to her lean frame as she leaned into the water. Her laughter had been light and contagious, the kind of laugh that made everything around her seem easier, more carefree. Auburn hair framed her face, catching the last of the day's light as it played off the surface of the water. She was vibrant, full of energy, though now, all that remained of her in his mind was the sound of her laugh and the way the steam swirled around her in the dying sunlight.

But more than either of the women, it was David who stood out in James's memory. Blond, blue-eyed, and impossibly handsome—the kind of man who could stop people in their tracks with just a glance. His body had been absurdly muscular, each muscle defined and exaggerated, as if chiseled from marble. A swimmer by hobby, David's physique reflected his obsession—broad shoulders, a chest like a statue's, and arms that seemed built to pull the world along with him. The water barely rippled around him, as though even the natural elements were impressed. Despite his looks, David had always been disarmingly casual, his smile easy, his charm natural.

And then there were the jokes—boyish and playful, like everything else came second to the simple joy of the moment. James could still hear him, laughing as he said, steam rising around them like something out of a dream: "You know, man, work's gonna own us soon. Before we know it, life will pass us by, and we'll be too busy to notice. So we better enjoy it now—or never." They had laughed then, because what else could they do? It felt absurd to think that life, with all its complexity and weight, could ever catch up to them. They were young, healthy, surrounded by beauty, and the world seemed endless.

But now, sitting alone in the present, James felt the weight of those words in a way he hadn't back then. David had been so casual, almost flippant, as if the idea that time could slip through their fingers was some kind of distant joke. But the truth of it had come quietly, sneaking in like the steam from the water. James hadn't seen David in years—hadn't seen any of them in what felt like a lifetime. Life had moved on, just as David had joked, and they hadn't noticed until it was too late.

"Can you believe we're finally done?" Samantha had said, her eyes reflecting the shimmering water.

"Hard to imagine," James replied, grinning. "But the real adventure starts now."

"To new beginnings!" David had toasted, raising an imaginary glass.

They all laughed, clinking invisible glasses in the air. It was a moment of pure happiness, untainted by the pressures that would later come to dominate his life.

But gradually, the vibrant colors began to soften, the sounds muffled as if wrapped in cotton. The laughter faded into a distant whisper, and the figures around him started to blur, their features dissolving like watercolor in the rain. The scent of pine and mineral-rich steam lingered, grounding him momentarily, but even that began to wane.

Suddenly, among the fading silhouettes of his friends in the hot spring, he noticed a figure he hadn't seen before—a woman standing at the edge of the pool, her back turned to him. She wore a modest one-piece swimsuit of deep indigo, the color contrasting beautifully with her fair skin. Her tall stature and long, shapely legs immediately caught his attention, stirring a sense of familiarity within him. There was an air of quiet strength about her, a presence that commanded attention even in stillness.

Something about her was undeniably familiar, causing James's heart to quicken—a curious mix of anticipation and confusion washing over him. He couldn't place why, but he felt drawn to her, compelled to approach.

"Who is that?" he wondered aloud, his voice barely more than a whisper lost in the steam.

As if hearing his unspoken question, the woman began to turn slowly, the movement graceful and unhurried. The world seemed to hold its breath in that moment, the surroundings fading further into the periphery. When she finally faced him, his breath caught.

Her face was impossibly beautiful, framed by long, damp strands of blonde hair that clung gently to her skin. Her eyes met his—a piercing shade of blue that seemed to hold depths of emotion. They were eyes he knew well, eyes that had assessed him with both scrutiny and subtle warmth.

"Bisera?" he murmured in surprise, his voice betraying his disbelief.

James's eyes fluttered open. The attendants had finished their work and were quietly tidying up. Vesmir stood nearby, his posture relaxed but attentive.

"Are you all right?" Vesmir asked, noticing the sudden movement.

"Yes, just... lost in thought," James replied, his heart still racing from the vividness of the memory.

"Memories of home?" Vesmir inquired.

"In a way," James said, offering a faint smile. "It's interesting how certain experiences can bring back the past."

Vesmir nodded knowingly. "The baths have a way of soothing the body and stirring the mind."

"Indeed," James agreed.

Part 3

As the moonlight bathed the chamber in soft light, casting long shadows across the stone walls of Nviom's citadel, the gentle murmur of the wind outside was the only sound, save for the quiet hum of voices in the distance. James sat in one of the simple chairs near the window, still drying off his hair from his bath. The room was quieter than usual as Vesmir had taken up his post outside, guarding the chamber doors. Then, the door opened, and Bisera stepped into the room.

Gone was the imposing armor and the unrestrained mane of blonde hair. Instead, Bisera stepped into his chamber with a grace that bordered on the ethereal. She was adorned in the elegant attire of a noblewoman from her era, each element carefully chosen to both reveal and conceal. Her long, intricately embroidered tunic of soft linen moved like a whisper against her skin, dyed in a deep indigo that made her fair complexion glow softly in the candlelight. The garment embraced her form, cinched at the waist by a wide, ornate belt woven with golden threads, highlighting the subtle curve of her hips and the toned elegance of her silhouette.

A finely woven cloak of rich wool draped over her shoulders, its edges trailing softly behind her, hinting at the secrets it might conceal. Fastened near her collarbone by a delicate brooch, the cloak offered glimpses of the form beneath without fully revealing it. Her head was modestly adorned with a patterned kerchief customary among noblewomen of her time. Yet, a few rebellious strands of her blonde hair escaped, curling softly around her face and adding an air of intimate mystery to her gaze.

James felt his heart skip a beat. He had never seen her like this—so serene, so enchanting. His eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. The transformation was so profound that he almost doubted his senses. The warrior he knew was still there, but now she was cloaked in an elegance that both intrigued and captivated him.

"Bisera?" he managed to whisper, his voice betraying his astonishment.