The battlefield had finally fallen silent, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and the distant crackle of dying fires. Mydei stood amidst the aftermath, when reports had reached him—his finest general, the one whose strategies had turned the tide of countless battles, had been wounded.

He had never seen the man’s face. The general wore his helm always, spoke little outside of battle plans, and carried himself with a precision that demanded respect. Mydei had never questioned it. Loyalty and skill were all that mattered.

But now, as he strode through the dimly lit corridors of the war camp, something unfamiliar gnawed at him—concern. He had lost too many good soldiers. He would not lose this one.

He reached the general’s chambers and knocked once, sharp and commanding. No answer came. He did not wait. The door swung open beneath his hand.

And then—

You.

A woman sat on the edge of the cot, half-turned toward him, your fingers frozen mid-motion over the bandages wrapped tight around your ribs. Your hair, usually hidden beneath the helm, fell in loose waves over your shoulders, still damp with sweat from the fight. A fresh wound peeked from beneath the linen at your side, stark against your skin.

Mydei stood motionless in the doorway, his mind racing. The general. You. The one who had outmaneuvered enemy lines, who had stood unwavering in the blood and chaos, who had never once faltered in duty—you were a woman.

And now you were staring at him, caught in a moment of vulnerability you had clearly never intended to reveal.

His first instinct was to step back, to leave, to pretend he had seen nothing. But that would have been a dishonor—to you, to your service, to the respect he held for you. So instead, he did the only thing that felt right.

He inclined his head, just slightly. The same way he would have for any warrior of your skill.

Your eyes—wide, startled—locked onto his.

For a moment, the world stopped.