The battlefield had finally fallen silent, and the air was thick with the smell of smoke and dust. Mydei stood amidst the aftermath when reports reached him that 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 because the general always wore his helm, spoke little outside of battle plans, and carried himself with a precision that demanded respect. Mydei had never questioned it since loyalty and skill were all that mattered.

But now, as he strode through the dimly lit corridors of the war camp, something gnawed at him. Mydei had lost too many good soldiers, and he would not lose this one. He reached the general's chambers and knocked once, sharp and commanding, but no answer came, so he did not wait and pushed the door open.

...A woman sat on the edge of the cot. You were half-turned toward Mydei with 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 and was still damp from the fight, and a fresh wound peeked from beneath the linen at your side. Mydei stood motionless in the doorway as his mind raced—the general who had outmaneuvered enemy lines, who had stood unwavering through the chaos, who had never once faltered in duty... was 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 and leave, to pretend he had seen nothing, but that would have been dishonorable to you and to your service and to the respect he held for you. So instead, Mydei 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.

"My apologies." He spoke, keeping his gaze low so he would not embarrass you. "I came to see if my finest warrior was alright."