Part 1
As the morning sun climbed higher, casting long shadows from the Gillyrian siege engines that rose like monuments to ambition, Bisera descended from the walls with James close behind. The city had erupted into controlled chaos—soldiers rushing to their posts, civilians boarding windows, priests leading prayers in every corner. Yet amidst this storm of preparation, she felt an island of calm wherever James walked beside her.
They made their way toward the citadel where the war council chamber awaited them. The chamber itself was a vaulted room deep within Podem's citadel, where maps covered every surface and the smell of lamp oil mixed with leather and steel. General Serko was already there, his weathered face grim as he studied deployment charts. Other officers filed in quickly—Captain Vesmir, Captain Velika, young Captain Yanko whose earnest dedication made up for his inexperience, and a dozen others who would help orchestrate their desperate defense.
"Three days," Bisera announced without preamble. "Alexander has given us three days before the siege begins in earnest. We use every moment."
She moved to the great map of Podem, her fingers tracing the walls, gates, and defensive positions with practiced precision. "Double the watch on all sections. I want scorpions redistributed according to the Mage's calculations—overlapping fields of fire at every approach. Vesmir, ensure every able-bodied man knows his position. When the assault comes, there can be no confusion."
"What of the civilians, General?" Serko asked, his gruff voice carrying years of experience. "Alexander offers safe passage. Many will want to leave—women, children, the elderly."
Before Bisera could respond, James stepped forward, his modern sensibilities evident in his earnest expression. "We should let them go. No one should be forced to endure a siege, especially non-combatants. In my world—" He caught himself, then continued more carefully. "Basic humanity demands we give people the choice."
The room fell silent. Several officers exchanged glances—the Great Mage's otherworldly origins were known but rarely referenced so directly.
Bisera turned to face him, and something in her expression made the other officers step back slightly, recognizing this as more than a tactical discussion. "James," she said, her voice gentle but firm, "your heart does you credit. But war... war has its own cruel logic."
"Surely Alexander will honor his word," James insisted. "He styles himself as civilized, a true heir to the old empire. Harming refugees would certainly tarnish the image he's so carefully crafted."
"Perhaps not at first." Bisera moved to the window, gazing out at the Gillyrian camp spreading like a golden infection across the valley. "Alexander is indeed honorable—I've studied him for years. But tell me, what happens when this siege stretches not for weeks but months? When his supplies run low and his nobles grow restless?"
She turned back to him, her blue eyes holding a sadness that spoke of too many battles, too many compromises. "I've seen it before, James. One side makes a choice born of desperation—perhaps they poison wells, perhaps they execute prisoners. The other side retaliates, claiming moral justification. Back and forth it goes, each atrocity breeding the next, until even good men find themselves capable of monstrous acts."
General Serko nodded grimly. "She speaks truth, Lord Mage. I've witnessed sieges where both sides began with honor. By the end, they were catapulting plague corpses over the walls."
Young Captain Yanko cleared his throat. "At Deseltos, my grandfather was there. Emperor Boris initially offered terms—anyone surrendering would be spared while those resisting would starve. The garrison chose to resist staunchly, but then they surrendered after a few months of starvation. But at that point, the desire for vengeance was surging among Vakerian troops due to the costly price exacted by the siege. So Emperor Boris, as honorable as he was, was forced to go back on his words..." His voice cracked with the weight of inherited memory.
"But that's different—" James began.
"Is it?" Bisera stepped closer to him, close enough that he could see the weight of command in every line of her face. "Picture this: the siege drags on. Through Seraphina's grace, we have food while Alexander's army starves. His thematic nobles—men who've staked their fortunes on this campaign—watch their wealth drain away. They see our civilians settled in the vicinity of Podem, know their husbands and sons man our defenses."
Her voice dropped lower, more intimate despite their audience. "One night, a desperate general suggests using them as leverage. Alexander refuses, of course. But then another week passes, another month. His men grow mutinous. Political rivals back in Gillyria question his competence. The nobles threaten to withdraw support. And outside our walls, in the countryside, hundreds of hostages settle—ready-made tools to break our will."
"You're talking about possibilities, not certainties," James argued, though his voice had lost some of its conviction.
"In war, possibilities kill as surely as swords." She reached out, almost touching his hand before remembering their audience and pulling back. "James, in your world, there is a higher authority, isn't there? I recall you mentioning an entity that ruled over all nations, headed by an alliance of the five most powerful empires of the world, enforcing civilized rules of warfare to protect the innocent. Here..."
She gestured toward the heavens. "Yes, we have the Spirit. We have Seraphina, who has blessed us beyond measure. But the divine operates by rules I don't fully understand. They seem bound to respect human choice, even when those choices lead to horrific consequences. Free will means the freedom to choose evil. Perhaps that was the price of free will, a privilege desperately sought by the First Couple."
Captain Marcus cleared his throat. "General, if I may—there's also the matter of morale. Even if the families of our men leave for far away regions, given the current state of the empire, our men might be distracted by the uncertainty of their fates."
"They'll fight differently," Bisera finished. "A man defending his home fights twice as hard as one whose mind is weighed down by uncertainty about the whereabouts of his family. But worse—if those refugees choose to settle in the vicinity of Podem due to having no better place to go, they could be taken hostage, used as human shields during assaults..."
She moved back to the map, but James could see the tension in her shoulders. "Can you imagine ordering men to loose arrows at an advancing force that pushes their own wives and children before them? Can you imagine having to make that choice?"
The chamber fell silent, the weight of that image settling over them like a shroud.
"There must be another way," James said quietly. "With Seraphina's help—"
"Seraphina cannot restore the dead," Bisera said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You told me that yourself. Whatever miracles she grants, she cannot pull a departed soul back to the mortal realm. Every life lost to my decisions remains lost forever to their families."
The debate continued, but Bisera's attention had shifted to James. She could see the struggle in his dark eyes—the collision between the far gentler world he came from and the brutal realities of her world.
"Perhaps," she said finally, cutting through the debate, "we offer a middle path. Those who wish to leave may go in the first day. But with the requirement that they leave this region and head northward toward the Vakerian heartland, regardless of the situation there. After that, once Alexander's lines are fully established, the gates close. Make it clear that any who stay will remain until the end of the siege."
It was a compromise that satisfied no one completely, which perhaps made it the right choice.
"General," Captain Yanko ventured, "there's another matter..."
Bisera's expression hardened. "Speak."
"Three spies were caught. From them we learned that quartermaster David has been selling our military supplies and replacing them with inferior goods. Half our crossbow strings would snap on first draw. Captain Remus marked weak points in our walls for the enemy. And Lord Magistrate Kostas..." He hesitated.
"Continue," Bisera commanded.
"He coordinated with Alexander about food supplies. When the siege begins, he planned to poison the grains marked for distribution to civilians. So when we feed them to the civilians, it would appear as if we are trying to deliberately reduce our food burdens by poisoning our own people. They knew, General. They knew we'd prioritize feeding civilians."
James felt sick. "They'd use our compassion against us?"
"Welcome to war," Serko said grimly. "At least we caught them before they could act."
Part 2
As the council dispersed to implement their preparations, Bisera caught James's arm. "Walk with me," she said softly.
They climbed to her private study, a small chamber high in the citadel where she could think without the weight of watching eyes. Maps covered one wall, weapons adorned another, but it was the eastern window that drew them—offering a panoramic view of the enemy host.
"You think me cruel," she said, not making it a question.
"No." James moved to stand beside her. "I think you're forced to make impossible choices. I just... I want to believe there's always a better way."
"That's what I love about you," she said, then caught herself, color rising in her cheeks. They'd confessed their feelings, yes, but speaking of love still felt dangerous, like tempting fate.
James turned to her, his hand finding hers. "Say it again."
"What?"
"What you love about me."
Despite everything—despite the enemy at their gates, despite the weight of command—she smiled. "Your impossible optimism. Your belief that kindness can conquer cruelty. Your conviction that there's always hope for something better."
"And what I love about you," he said, pulling her closer, "is that you make those impossible choices so others don't have to. You carry burdens that would break most people, yet you still find room for compassion."
She leaned into him, allowing herself this moment of weakness. His arms came around her, and she breathed in his scent—leather and herbs and something uniquely him. The familiar warmth of his embrace made her feel safe, cherished, as if the world beyond these walls couldn't touch them. The old wound in her shoulder ached—the one that always troubled her before bloodshed.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, noticing her slight wince.
"Always, before bloodshed," she admitted. Without asking, his hands moved to her shoulders, fingers finding the knots of tension with practiced ease. She stiffened at first, then gradually melted under his touch. The warmth of his palms through the fabric of her tunic sent shivers down her spine.
"In my world," he murmured, working at a particularly tight spot, "we'd have surgery. Physical therapy. Here..."
"Here we have you," she whispered, then caught herself. "Your healing knowledge, I mean."
His hands stilled. "Bisera..."
She turned in his arms, and for a moment, the general's mask slipped entirely. "I'm frightened," she admitted. "Not of death—I've never feared that. But of living without honor. Of choosing between you and duty, or choosing duty over you."
He pulled her close, feeling her tremble against him. The heat of her body pressed against his made his heart race. "When this is over," he murmured against her hair, breathing in the scent of lavender oil she'd used that morning, "when we've survived this somehow... what then?"
"Then we build that life we talked about. Children who inherit your wisdom and my stubbornness—"
"I said it the other way around," she protested, but she was smiling, her breath warm against his neck.
"A home where armor is for display, not daily wear. Where the biggest crisis is deciding what to have for dinner."
"You paint a pretty picture." She pulled back to look at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "But first, we have to survive. And that means making choices that might horrify you."
"I know." He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the moisture that threatened to spill. "But whatever comes, whatever you have to do—I'm with you. Not because Seraphina brought us together, not because of destiny or duty, but because I choose you. Every day, every impossible moment, I stand behind you, for better or for worse."
She kissed him then, fierce and desperate, pouring all her fear and hope into that connection. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as she pressed against him, feeling the solid strength of his chest beneath her palms. When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, hearts pounding in unison.
A knock at the door interrupted them. "General," Vesmir's voice called. "Refugees are already gathering at the north gate. Nearly three hundred souls."
Bisera straightened, the commander reasserting itself over the woman, though her lips still tingled from James's kiss. "I'll be there shortly."
As Vesmir's footsteps faded, she turned back to James, unable to resist one more stolen moment. A mischievous glint entered her eyes. "I see you're no longer repelled by my smell," she teased, her voice low and playful. "I remember when we first met, you couldn't open the glass window of your divine wagon fast enough."
James's lips curved into a smooth smile, his dark eyes warm with affection. "Love covers a multitude of sins," he replied, his voice like velvet.
The words struck something deep within her, and before she could stop herself, Bisera let out a delighted laugh and pushed him away playfully, her cheeks flushing crimson. The girlish gesture surprised her so much that she froze, staring at her own hands as if they belonged to someone else. "I... I don't know what came over me," she murmured, bewildered by this side of herself she'd never known existed.
James caught her hands, bringing them to his lips. "I do," he said softly. "It's called being happy. Being young. Being in love."
She looked at him wonderingly, this man who could make her giggle and blush like a maiden. "You're a true temptation," she whispered.
"Good," he replied, pulling her close for one more brief embrace. "Now, shall we go evaluate those refugees? Together?"
"Together," she agreed, and they descended hand in hand until propriety forced them to separate at the bottom of the stairs.
They made their way to find chaos at the north gate. Families clustered with meager possessions, children crying, elderly leaning on walking sticks. The sight tore at Bisera's heart even as her tactical mind assessed the situation.
"So many," James breathed.
"And this is just the beginning." She raised her voice to address the crowd. "Citizens of Podem! Emperor Alexander has offered safe passage to any who wish to leave before the siege begins. But hear me clearly—this offer stands for today only. After that, our gates close and will not open again until victory or death decides our fate."
An old woman pushed forward, her back bent with age but her eyes sharp. "And if we stay, General? What then?"
"Then you share our risks and our rations. You accept that I cannot guarantee your safety, only that I will defend you with every breath in my body."
"And if we leave?" A young mother clutched a baby to her breast. "Will the Gillyrians truly let us pass safely?"
Bisera hesitated, then chose honesty. "Emperor Alexander has given his word. He is known as an honorable man. But I cannot see into his heart or predict how this siege will unfold. I can only tell you that war makes monsters of us all, eventually. So when you exit these gates, please head northward and get as far away from Podem as possible. The capital is in trouble, but Duke Boris has temporarily restored order in the northwestern regions of the Vakerian homeland, so that is one possible destination you could proceed to. But whatever your choice, please get as far from Podem as you can."
The crowd murmured, fear and indecision rippling through them like wind through grain.
James stepped forward. "Perhaps I can help. I have some experience with healing. Let me examine those who are considering leaving—the very old, the sick, women with young children. For them, the hardships of siege might indeed be worse than the risks of departure."
It took hours, but eventually they processed everyone. Nearly two hundred chose to leave—mostly those James had identified as vulnerable, plus some whose fear of siege outweighed their fear of the unknown. Another hundred decided to stay, unwilling to abandon their homes or trust Gillyrian mercy.
As the last refugee family passed through the gates, pulling a cart with their meager possessions, Bisera watched from the walls. The Gillyrian lines parted to let them through, and she saw Alexander himself, distant but unmistakable on his white horse, ensuring their safe passage.
"He's keeping his word," James observed.
"For now." She couldn't shake the image of those same refugees being used against them later. "I pray I haven't just sent lambs to slaughter."
"You gave them choice. That's all anyone can do."
Part 3
The next morning brought controlled chaos as Podem made its final preparations. Bisera threw herself into the work with fierce energy, as if motion could hold at bay the doubts Alexander had seeded. She supervised the placement of catapults, reviewed water supplies, drilled the militia until even farmers could form a passable shield wall.
James worked alongside her, his modern knowledge proving invaluable. He suggested improvements to their medical stations, organized sanitation protocols that would prevent disease, even helped design better ammunition storage to prevent catastrophic fires.
They met again at midday in the small chapel dedicated to the Universal Spirit. It was one of the few moments of quiet they could steal, and they used it to pray—or in James's case, to think while Bisera prayed.
"Does it get easier?" he asked as she rose from her knees.
"What?"
"Sending people to die. Knowing your decisions will cost lives."
She considered the question seriously. "No. It never gets easier. You just learn to carry the weight without letting it show. Every soldier who falls, every civilian caught in the crossfire—they join the ghosts that visit your dreams."
"Then why do it?"
"Because someone must. Because if good people refuse to make hard choices, then those choices fall to people who don't care about the cost." She touched his face gently, her fingers lingering on his jaw. "That's why I need you with me. To remind me that the cost matters. To keep me human when command demands I be stone."
He caught her hand, pressing it against his cheek. The simple intimacy of the gesture made her breath catch.
As night fell on their second day of preparation, Bisera stood once more on the walls, but this time with her full command staff—those who'd proven their loyalty through deed rather than word. General Serko on her right, James on her left, Captain Vesmir and young Yanko and a dozen others who would stand or fall with Podem.
"Once it begins," she said simply, "Alexander will test us with everything he has. He'll probe for weakness, exploit any division, use every trick centuries of warfare have taught. His onagers will rain stones upon our walls. His Gillyrian fire will seek to burn what cannot be broken. But we have advantages he cannot calculate."
She gestured to the city below, where lights burned in windows and families gathered for what might be their last peaceful evening. "We fight for home. Every stone of these walls knows our footsteps. Every street holds our memories. That matters more than numbers."
"And we have each other," James added, his voice carrying clearly in the night air. "Not just as commander and subordinate, but as people who choose to stand together. That kind of bond can't be bought with Gillyrian gold."
"The Mage speaks truth," Serko growled. "I've served under a dozen commanders, General. You're the first I'd follow into hell itself."
"And hopefully out again," Vesmir added with gallows humor that drew nervous chuckles from the assembled officers.
A chorus of agreement rose from the assembled officers. Bisera felt something ease in her bosom. Yes, there had been betrayals. Yes, they faced impossible odds. But these people, this moment of unity—this was worth defending.
"Then let's make ready," she commanded. "Check every catapult tension, every arrow supply, every water barrel. Soon, we will show Alexander and all the world what Podem's defenders are made of. Dismissed."
As the officers dispersed to their final preparations, she and James remained on the wall. The Gillyrian camp sprawled before them, cooking fires creating a mirror of the stars above. Somewhere in that sea of light, Alexander was making his own preparations, moving pieces on his mental board, calculating the precise amount of force needed to crack their defenses.
"He'll attack the western gate first," Bisera predicted, her tactical mind already engaged. "It's the obvious choice—easiest approach, older construction. He'll expect us to mass our defenders there."
"But?"
"But we'll be ready at the north gate. That's where he'll strike when the western assault stalls. Probably under cover of Gillyrian fire, hoping the flames will blind us to troop movements."
"And you'll counter with...?"
She smiled, and it was the smile of the Lioness of Vakeria. "That would be telling. Even you, my love, don't need to know everything. Some secrets must stay locked until the moment of crisis."
"Fair enough." He pulled her close, and she allowed herself to lean against him, just for a moment. "Just promise me you won't take unnecessary risks. No heroic last stands, no glorious charges into impossible odds."
"I promise to be merely as heroic as absolutely necessary." She felt him tense at her evasion and turned in his arms. "I know what you're asking, James. I'll be as careful as I can."
"Bisera..."
"I know." She rested her head against his shoulder, breathing in his warmth. "I'll be careful. I have too much to live for now to throw my life away cheaply."
They stood together as the last light faded from the western sky, two souls bound by love and duty, preparing to face the storm that morning would bring. Below them, Podem settled into uneasy sleep, while beyond the walls, thirty thousand enemies made ready to test the mathematics of hope against the reality of war.
The third day would dawn soon enough—the final day of uneasy calm. On the fourth morning, the thunder of war drums would break the fragile peace. But for now, in this quiet moment between peace and chaos, they had each other. And perhaps, Bisera thought as she felt James's steady heartbeat against her own, that was miracle enough.