The acrid smell of gunpowder still clung to Sergeant Park’s nostrils, a phantom scent from the hell he’d just escaped. His men had scattered, their courage dissolving under enemy fire. He’d screamed at them, their defiance the final blow. He’d died, forgotten.

Then, darkness. He opened his eyes to a scene of startling tranquility. Intricate carvings adorned the walls of a room furnished with elegant simplicity. It felt… ancient. He closed his eyes, thinking it a final glimpse of the afterlife, but the squeak of an opening door jolted him awake. He felt something was missing on his lower half.

A woman, dressed in flowing robes intricately embroidered with what seemed like gold thread, entered. Her movements were graceful. "It's time to wake up, my lady," she said softly.

"My… lady?" Confusion overwhelmed him. He was a sergeant, a soldier, a man… but this woman called him ‘my lady’? He was utterly, hopelessly lost.