Love of Fortune and Steel

Part 1

The first light of dawn crept through the narrow window of James's chamber, casting a soft glow over the rough stone walls. He lay awake, his gaze fixed on the wooden beams above as memories of the previous evening enveloped him. A gentle smile tugged at his lips as he remembered Bisera's laughter, the way her eyes sparkled when he told her she was beautiful despite her scars, and the unexpected warmth that had blossomed between them.

Hours had slipped away unnoticed as they conversed into the night, sharing stories and glimpses of their vastly different worlds. Bisera had eventually departed, the moon high and casting silvery light upon her as she bid him goodnight. The memory of her lingering gaze and the subtle brush of her hand against his had kept sleep at bay, filling him with a bittersweet longing.

Yet beneath the pleasant reminiscence lay a thread of concern. James knew that once the enchantment of this world faded, the harsh realities would become impossible to ignore. This world was embroiled in conflicts that were cruel and devastating.

He sighed softly, turning onto his side. Back home, he had a career awaiting his return—a fulfilling role as an assistant portfolio manager. He had friends and relatives he rarely saw, his work responsibilities tethering him to his own world. Bringing Bisera with him into that life, while tempting, felt like an impossible dream. Bisera, with her unwavering sense of honor and responsibility, was deeply rooted here. The thought of her leaving behind her people and her position as a revered general seemed unlikely.

A light knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

"Lord James?" came the familiar voice of Captain Vesmir.

James sat up, the cool morning air brushing against his skin. He noticed his suit neatly folded on a nearby chair—now clean and pressed. The sight of it brought a sense of comfort, a tangible connection to his own world, reminding him of the life he yearned to return to yet felt increasingly distant from.

"One moment," he called out, his voice tinged with reluctance.

He dressed quickly, the fine fabric of his suit starkly contrasting with the coarse linens and wools worn here. As he adjusted his tie, he couldn't help but wonder how out of place he must appear to both Vakerians and Gillyrians.

Opening the door, he found Vesmir standing at attention.

"Good morning, Lord James," Vesmir greeted with a respectful nod. "General Bisera requests your presence for the morning meal."

Part 2

The sun rose over East Vaker, casting a golden glow across the rolling grasslands that stretched to the horizon. The annual martial competition of the Vakerian nobility was about to commence—a grand event where generals, nobles, and members of the ruling family demonstrated their prowess to earn honor and prestige.

Saralta sat tall on her ebony mare, Midnight, her gaze steady beneath the shadow of her fur-lined helm. Sitting atop her horse, her athletic build and intricately adorned lamellar armor made her an imposing figure of grace and strength. Her long, dark hair was tightly braided, interwoven with silver rings that chimed softly with each movement. Her piercing brown eyes reflected the determination that burned within her.

Nearby, participants prepared their horses, adjusting saddles and checking weapons. The air buzzed with anticipation and the mingled scents of leather, horse, and fresh grass. Banners bearing the emblems of various noble houses fluttered in the brisk morning breeze.

Timur, her elder half-brother, approached, leading a magnificent chestnut stallion. Tall and broad-shouldered, Timur possessed the striking features of their father—a strong jawline, sharp gray eyes, and a confident demeanor. His dark hair was pulled back into a neat queue, and a neatly trimmed beard framed his face. His armor was etched with symbols of valor, and his cloak bore the deep crimson of their house.

"Ready to be outmatched, little sister?" he teased, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

Saralta met his gaze, a glint of challenge in her eyes. "Only if you plan to trip over your own ego," she retorted smoothly.

He chuckled, adjusting his grip on his bow. "Always quick with words. Let's see if your aim is as sharp."

Their banter masked a complex relationship—a blend of sibling rivalry and genuine concern. Though Timur often engaged in verbal sparring with Saralta, he secretly admired her tenacity and skill, wishing for her safety and happiness even as he felt the weight of his own ambitions.

From the royal dais overlooking the arena, Prince Tugor—ruler of Rosagar—sat with regal authority. His rugged features were softened by a graying beard, and his eyes held the wisdom of years on the battlefield. Beside him sat Yuying, Saralta's mother, whose delicate beauty drew many furtive glances from the men around. Clad in flowing silks of deep emerald that accentuated her slender figure, she seemed almost ethereal. Her long, glossy black hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her dark eyes shimmered like obsidian pools.

As the participants readied themselves, Saralta noticed how even some of her stepbrothers stole glances at Yuying when they thought Tugor wasn't looking. Their gazes lingered on the graceful curve of her neck and the way the silk clung to her form. Yuying, ever poised, appeared unaware, maintaining an air of serene modesty. Yet, Saralta sensed the subtlety in her mother's demeanor—the way she averted her eyes demurely and the slight tilts of her head that caught the light just so. It was as if Yuying was deliberately crafting an image of delicate subservience, a role she played to perfection.

The blare of horns signaled the commencement of the first event: horseback archery. Participants would ride in pairs along a set course, shooting at targets while demonstrating horsemanship and marksmanship.

Saralta watched as several pairs took their turns, arrows flying true amidst the cheers of the crowd. The competitors ranged from seasoned generals to young nobles eager to prove themselves. Each displayed a unique style—some favored speed, others precision.

"Next pair: Timur and Saralta!" the herald announced.

Saralta patted Midnight's neck, whispering a word of encouragement in Vakerian. Timur mounted his stallion beside her, the two siblings exchanging a brief nod.

They positioned themselves at the starting line. Ahead lay a course dotted with targets—stationary straw-filled dummies and moving rings suspended from frames.

"On my mark!" the herald called. "Three... two... one... go!"

They spurred their horses forward, hooves thundering against the earth. The wind whipped past Saralta's face as she nocked an arrow, her focus narrowing to the first target—a stationary dummy. She released the arrow, and it struck the center with a satisfying thud. Beside her, Timur did the same.

They approached the next challenge—a series of rings swinging unpredictably in the breeze. Saralta timed her shots with precision, arrows sailing cleanly through the hoops. Timur kept pace, his own skill evident.

As they neared the final stretch, the targets became smaller and more distant. Saralta felt the competitive edge sharpen. Determined to surpass her brother without resorting to mana, she steadied her breathing, her hands steady despite the galloping horse beneath her.

The last target was a tiny disc perched atop a tall pole. Timur fired first; his arrow clipped the edge, causing the disc to wobble. Saralta inhaled deeply, aiming carefully. She released her arrow, which struck the center of the disc, splitting it in two.

Cheers erupted from the spectators. Timur glanced over, a mix of admiration and mild frustration in his eyes. "Well done," he conceded with a genuine smile.

"Thank you," she replied, her eyes twinkling. "Perhaps next time you'll aim before you shoot."

He laughed. "Careful, or I'll challenge you to a rematch."

The next event was a melee combat tournament. Participants faced off in a series of bouts using wooden training weapons. Saralta found herself pitted against General Boruk—a veteran warrior known for his brute strength and tactical prowess.

As they squared off in the circular arena, Boruk eyed her respectfully. "An honor to face you, Lady Saralta," he rumbled.

She inclined her head. "The honor is mine, General."

The signal was given, and Boruk advanced with a calculated strike. Saralta parried deftly, her movements a blend of strength and agility. They exchanged blows, the clack of wood echoing amidst the cheers.

Boruk pressed the offensive, his attacks powerful but measured. Saralta used her reach and speed to her advantage, sidestepping and countering when openings appeared. Spotting a subtle shift in his stance, she feinted left before sweeping his legs from under him.

The crowd applauded as Boruk landed on his back. He laughed heartily, accepting her offered hand to stand. "You fight with the spirit of a true warrior," he declared.

"Your experience made it a challenging match," she replied graciously.

Throughout the day, Saralta faced various opponents—nobles seeking glory, seasoned soldiers testing their mettle, and even her aunt, Lady Aigul. Lady Aigul, a towering figure with striking green eyes, was a respected warrior whose exploits were legendary. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back tightly, and her presence commanded respect.

Their duel was a display of skill and respect. Blades clashed as they moved in a dance of offense and defense. In the end, Saralta yielded to her aunt, acknowledging her superior experience.

"You have grown strong, niece," Aigul remarked, a proud smile on her lips.

"I still have much to learn," Saralta replied humbly.

As the sun began its descent, the final event was announced: the stone lift. Massive stones, hewn from the nearby mountains, awaited the competitors. The challenge was to lift and carry a stone across a set distance—a feat of raw strength.

Participants took their turns. General Boruk managed to carry his stone with steady determination. Timur stepped forward confidently. With a display of power, he hoisted the stone onto his shoulders, carrying it amidst loud cheers.

When Saralta's name was called, a hush fell over the crowd. She approached the stone—a behemoth that seemed daunting even for the strongest men. Wrapping her arms around it, she felt the rough surface bite into her skin.

She attempted to lift—muscles straining, the stone budged but did not rise. Murmurs spread among the spectators.

"Can she do it?"

"She is too delicate, just like her mother."

Undeterred, Saralta focused inward. She knew tapping into her mana was risky, but the desire to prove herself burned within. Drawing upon a subtle flow of energy, she felt strength surge through her muscles.

With a determined cry, she lifted the stone, the weight pressing down but manageable. Each step was deliberate, her tall frame bearing the burden steadily. Eyes fixed ahead, she moved with purpose.

The crowd watched in awe.

"Is that mana channeling?"

"Impossible! Mana channeling is a hereditary attribute, and the techniques are monopolized by the academies at the imperial capital."

"Perhaps it's her dragon blood. They say her mother hails from the Dragon Realm."

"Those are just myths. The eastern folk are delicate. Look at Yuying—beautiful, but hardly a warrior."

Saralta reached the finish line, gently lowering the stone. The arena erupted in thunderous applause and cheers. A distinguished general approached, presenting her with a ceremonial dagger etched with ancient symbols.

"You have brought great honor to your house and Rosagar," he proclaimed.

Before she could respond, Yuying appeared, moving with elegant swiftness. Her silks flowed gracefully, catching the light with each step. The men nearby couldn't help but steal glances, their eyes following the subtle sway of her movements. Even some of the nobles shifted uncomfortably under Tugor's watchful gaze, wary of being caught admiring the prince's consort.

Yuying embraced Saralta tightly. "I am so proud of you!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with emotion that echoed across the arena.

As they parted, Yuying's lips barely moved as she whispered, "Please refrain from using mana again today. Come to my chamber tonight."

Saralta nodded subtly, her expression unchanged to onlookers. Yuying turned, her face a portrait of maternal pride, and gracefully returned to the dais beside Tugor. The prince's eyes softened as he watched her, a hint of possessive affection in his gaze.

However, not all faces shared his joy. From the shadows, Lady Karya—Timur's mother and one of Tugor's consorts—watched with thinly veiled disdain. Once the favored consort before Yuying's arrival, Karya resented the influence and affection Yuying commanded. Her sharp features and cold blue eyes reflected her inner bitterness.

Meanwhile, Timur observed the scene with conflicted emotions. He admired Saralta's achievements, feeling a protective urge toward his half-sister. Yet, his gaze often drifted to Yuying, captivated by her serene smile and shimmering eyes—a turmoil of forbidden feelings stirring within him. The traditions of their people whispered that a new prince could choose to marry his father's former consorts, solidifying power and continuity. This relic of their steppe heritage fueled Timur's ambition to succeed Tugor, his desire for Yuying intertwined with his quest for power.

As the celebrations continued, whispers circulated among the crowd.

"Did you see how Yuying ran to Saralta? Such a devoted mother."

"Indeed, but she seems almost too perfect, doesn't she?"

Part 3

The moon hung high over East Vaker, casting a silvery glow upon the capital of the Principality of Rosagar. The grandeur of the city unfolded beneath the night sky, with its imposing earthen ramparts and sturdy wooden palisades standing sentinel. Intricately carved wooden buildings, reflecting both traditional Vakerian and indigenous architectural influences, dotted the landscape. At the heart of the city stood the palace—a marvel of harmonious craftsmanship that blended nomadic and settled styles. Steeply pitched wooden roofs and elegant structures reached toward the stars, their intricately carved details catching the moonlight. Narrow timber-lined streets wound through quiet marketplaces, and the distant murmur of the Volga River added a serene backdrop to the nocturnal scene.

Saralta walked through the palace corridors, her footsteps echoing softly against the polished wooden floors. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting heroic battles and mythical creatures—a testament to the rich history of the Vakerian people. Oil lamps flickered gently, casting warm shadows that danced along the intricate wooden mosaics. Large wooden beams supported the high ceilings, intricately carved with motifs that blended nomadic symbols and settled artistry. Decorative elements such as woven rugs and hand-carved statues added layers of depth to the palace's interior, each piece telling its own story.

Saralta was a formidable presence—tall and athletic, her years of rigorous training evident in her every movement. Yet, as she approached her mother's chambers, her demeanor became increasingly humble, much like that of a knight approaching her liege.

Outside the ornate wooden door—an exquisite piece crafted by the finest artisans—stood the elite female guards. Clad in finely wrought armor and bearing the insignia of Rosagar, they greeted her with respectful nods.

"Lady Saralta," they intoned, placing their right hands over their hearts—a customary Vakerian salute among the nobility.

"Sisters," she replied warmly, returning the gesture.

The guards exchanged subtle smiles, their admiration evident. They stepped aside, allowing her to enter. The heavy door closed softly behind her, sealing the room in tranquil silence.

Inside, the chamber was a haven of elegance and serenity. Richly woven rugs covered the floor, and silk draperies in hues of deep crimson and gold adorned the walls. Incense burned gently, filling the air with the soothing aroma of sandalwood and jasmine.

Yuying stood near a latticed window, her back turned as she gazed out over the moonlit gardens. At 46, she possessed a timeless beauty that defied age, appearing no older than her early twenties with a flawless, radiant complexion. As she turned to face Saralta, the soft light illuminated her exquisite features—smooth, porcelain skin untouched by kohl or surma, the natural pigments used by Vakerian women for adornment. Her long, glossy black hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her dark eyes held a depth of wisdom and warmth.

Saralta couldn't help but marvel. "Mother, you look as youthful as ever," she remarked, a hint of wonder in her voice. "Even without any kohl, your skin is so smooth. How do you manage to look so young?"

Yuying smiled enigmatically. "A lady must have her secrets," she replied playfully.

Extending her hand with the palm facing downward—a gesture of refined greeting among noble ladies—Yuying maintained her graceful poise. Saralta took her hand, surprised when her mother swiftly turned her palm upward and gently pulled her into a fluid spin. Instinctively, Saralta moved in harmony, finding herself drawn into an embrace from behind, Yuying's face close to her ear. Despite her own strength, she was struck by the effortless power in her mother's gentle hold.

Blushing slightly, she murmured, "I'm not a child anymore, Mother."

Yuying chuckled softly. "You will always be my baby daughter," she replied, her tone affectionate yet teasing. Leaning closer, she whispered, "And this way, we can speak without being overheard."

Understanding the subtle caution, Saralta nodded. The closeness allowed them to converse privately, shielded from any curious ears beyond the chamber walls.

"Your performance today was exceptional," Yuying began, her eyes reflecting both pride and concern. "But we need to discuss your practice of mana channeling."

A flicker of panic crossed Saralta's face. "You know about that?" she asked softly.

Yuying's smile remained gentle. "I've noticed the cultivation scrolls you've been acquiring from the merchant caravans. Books from the Dragon Realm that most here dismiss as myths or superstitions."

Saralta's heart raced. She had been careful, or so she thought. "I... I didn't think you'd approve," she admitted. "You've always wanted me to lay low, to live a peaceful life."

"I was initially against it," Yuying acknowledged. "But seeing your dedication and understanding that you've discovered the true nature of cultivation—it is, indeed, another form of mana channeling—I've changed my stance. I'm proud of you."

Relief mixed with confusion. "But why the change of heart? I thought you didn't want me to pursue this path."

Yuying gestured for her to sit upon the plush cushions scattered across the floor. "It's not that I want you to be weak. I want you to be strong, but I also want you to understand the importance of discretion. Possessing power is one thing; displaying it openly is another."

Saralta took a deep breath as she sat down. "But why must we hide our abilities? Is it just to please Father or to conform to the ideals of the people around us? Do you endure the humiliation and insults from Father's other consorts just to fit into a role they expect of you?"

Yuying's gaze softened as she elegantly took a seat on the plush cushions right next to Saralta. "It's not about pleasing men or fulfilling societal expectations. It's about choosing the life we wish to lead. When you possess overwhelming strength—strength that others cannot fathom—you become a target of fear and suspicion. In a culture that values strength acquired through discipline and training, abilities that seem supernatural can unsettle people."

She paused, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her cup. "I have no desire to rule or dominate. By presenting myself as a gentle and subservient consort, I can live peacefully. Your father, Tugor, is powerful and protective yet desires a sense of control. In our dynamic, he feels that control, and in return, I receive his love and protection."

"But doesn't it bother you to be seen as nothing more than a beautiful ornament?" Saralta pressed. "To be the subject of disdainful glances and to withstand the verbal abuse of others who think you are nothing but a superficial and lurid seductress?"

Yuying smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Their opinions do not trouble me. I know who I am and what I am capable of. While they may dismiss me as a superficial seductress, it doesn't deter me from captivating hearts. Moreover, laying low allows me to live without constantly watching my back."

She leaned in slightly. "After years of protecting others and bearing the weight of responsibility in my homeland, isn't it fair that I now let others protect me?"

Saralta raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Saralta, you've always been curious about my past. So today I will tell you."

Pouring fragrant tea into delicate porcelain cups, Yuying continued, "I come from a proud military clan in the Dragon Realm—a lineage that produced countless distinguished generals. We commanded huge armies, each hundreds of thousands strong. For generations, my clan defended the northern borders of the vast Dragon Realm from the steppe nomads—warriors with customs similar to your father—who raided our borderlands. Our mastery of a type of mana channeling called cultivation made us nearly invincible. We could single-handedly turn back entire armies or strike down enemy leaders in the dead of night with ease."

Saralta listened in stunned silence, her mother's tale unfolding like a legend.

"But that power..." Yuying's voice grew quieter, tinged with bitterness. "It frightened the imperial court of the Dragon Realm. Gradually, they began to see us not as protectors but as a threat. A few nobles, likely with the emperor's tacit approval, framed us for treason. The imperial court relieved us of our command and had my entire clan arrested."

She paused, her fingers tightening around the teacup. "We could have easily overpowered them, but the elders of my clan did not want to go down in history as traitors. They accepted the emperor's bargain: if they committed suicide to prove their loyalty, their names would be cleared. Both sides honored the promise. Most of my clansmen took their own lives, and the emperor destroyed the noble houses that framed us, clearing our name. My clan is remembered as a tragic clan of heroes framed by treacherous traitors—a clan immortalized in literature throughout the land and with many members deified. But it is a clan without any living members. Or so they thought."

Saralta's brow furrowed as she tried to reconcile this revelation with the mother she had always known. "But how did you survive? How did you become enslaved instead of being killed?" she whispered, her voice hoarse with confusion.

Yuying's lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile. "I was not like them. While I valued how I would be remembered in history, I also wanted to live. I feigned my death and escaped to a border town, taking with me what I could—jewelry, gold. I paid a foreign caravan to let me travel with them as a servant. After a long journey and switching between caravans multiple times, I finally arrived in East Vaker. When I first saw your father, I... fell in love at first sight. I paid a merchant to fabricate a background story for me and arrange for me to be sold to him as a slave."

Saralta couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You paid to be a slave? Out of your own free will? Why, Mother?" Tears welled in her eyes as she thought of the years of mistreatment and the scorn from her siblings for being the daughter of a slave. "All those years of being looked down upon and mistreated... you chose this?"

Yuying reached out to wipe away a tear from Saralta's cheek. "I am sorry, my child. It was a rash decision made in desperation and love. As a foreigner, the only non-suspicious way to enter your father's life intimately was to be purchased. I didn't foresee the pain it would cause you."

"Couldn't you have joined the court as a mysterious warrior from foreign lands? At least then you would have been treated with more respect," Saralta argued, her voice tinged with hurt.

Yuying shook her head gently. "A woman warrior from a distant land, wielding unknown powers, would have raised too many questions. Suspicion could have led to danger—not just for me but also for any children I would have."

She paused, her gaze intense. "That's why I hide. I found safety in becoming someone others didn't fear."

Saralta frowned, her heart rebelling against her mother's words. "But that's not freedom," she insisted. "You could be free and respected if you showed them your true power. Why submit when you're stronger than all of them?"

Yuying smiled, a sad, knowing smile. "Because, my daughter, overwhelming power like mine brings fear, not respect. Besides, your father is a prince, a ruler. If he ever suspected I held strength beyond his understanding, the very love that protects me now would turn to suspicion. And when a ruler begins to fear you, no matter how much you love them, no matter how much loyalty you show, one of you must die."

She sighed, her voice heavy with the lessons of her past. "I achieve my objectives by making myself non-threatening. It's better to be loved and protected than feared and destroyed. No ruler, not even one who loves you, can sleep soundly if they fear the power you hold. So I give him what he needs—the illusion of control. And in return, I get to live, to be loved."

"But doesn't it feel restrictive?" Saralta pressed. "To hide so much of yourself? To endure scorn and insults from others who are much less competent than you?"

Yuying considered the question. "At times, perhaps. But I find freedom in my choices. I have crafted a life where I can be at peace, where I can nurture and protect those I love without drawing unnecessary attention."

Then Yuying smiled gently. "And I really couldn't care less about how others view me, your father and you being the only exceptions, of course. After all, would you care what ants think of you?"

Saralta was surprised by her mother's hubristic confidence, but the desire to be respected and to shape her own destiny burned within her. She couldn't understand how her mother could hide such immense power and choose to live under the guise of a submissive consort.

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Saralta admitted. "But I still struggle with the idea of hiding who I am."

Yuying's gaze turned sharp, and for the first time, Saralta saw the steel beneath her mother's gentle exterior. "You must understand, Saralta. Power, when visible, invites danger. Use it quietly, subtly, to control from the shadows."

Saralta sighed softly. "But aren't you effectively a caged bird? An object of father's desire?"

Yuying paused, a playful glint in her eye. "A caged bird? Perhaps. But this bird knows how to open the cage whenever she wishes. And being Tugor's beloved has its own joys. Perhaps you should explore the pleasures of companionship yourself."

A flush rose to Saralta's cheeks. "Mother!" she exclaimed, a mix of embarrassment and indignation. "I have no interest in such distractions. My focus is on honing my skills and growing stronger. Such things would only slow me down."

Yuying chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling as they sat side by side on the plush cushions. "Enjoying life doesn't have to hinder your growth. It certainly hasn't slowed me down."

Without a hint of exertion, she reached out and firmly grasped Saralta's wrist. "Try to break free," she challenged with a gentle smile.

Saralta immediately tensed, muscles coiling as she attempted to pull away. To her astonishment, she couldn't move an inch. Despite her considerable strength and rigorous training, her mother's grip remained unyielding and effortless. She realized, incredulous, that Yuying's hold was impossibly strong, all while she appeared completely relaxed.

"How...?" Saralta breathed, astonished.

Yuying released her with a gentle smile. "You see? Enjoying my time with your father hasn't diminished my abilities. Perhaps you could take note."

Saralta's face flushed deeper. "You're shameless," she muttered, though a hint of a smile played on her lips.

Yuying's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Perhaps. But life is too short to deny oneself happiness."

Yuying's gaze softened, but her voice remained steady. "Freedom comes in many forms, my child," she said softly. "It's about understanding what to reveal and what to hide so that you can have what you want in life. For me, freedom is the safety to love and be loved. You must decide what kind of freedom you seek."

"And remember," Yuying added, "strength isn't just about physical prowess. It's about understanding when to act and when to remain still."

They continued talking late into the night, sharing stories and insights. Yuying recounted tales of her homeland—the Dragon Realm—with its towering mountains and mist-shrouded valleys. She spoke of ancient practices and philosophies, of the art of cultivation that Saralta had begun to explore.

"Those scrolls you've acquired contain wisdom that many overlook," Yuying noted. "They may be dismissed as myths here, but there is truth within them."

"I'm eager to learn more," Saralta admitted. "Perhaps you could teach me?"

Yuying's eyes gleamed. "Perhaps. But remember, patience is a virtue. All in due time."