Oleksandr rides back towards the town, each movement of his horse causing a fresh wave of pain in his back. He can feel the arrow shifting with each stride, and the blood loss is making him feel lightheaded and dizzy. He rides into the nearest town in the dead of night, the street deserted and silent. He scans the buildings, trying to find a surgeon's parlor. Finally, he spots a sign, and he dismounts, his legs nearly buckling under him, and stumbles up to the door. Oleksandr bangs on the door, his strength fading each time his fist hits the wood.

"Oi! Open up!" He calls out, his voice hoarse. After a moment, a light flickers on inside, and footsteps approach the door. Then the door opens, revealing a bleary-eyed surgeon in a nightgown. Oleksandr leans against the doorframe, too weak to stand on his own. He turns his body so the surgeon can see the arrow sticking out just under his shoulder blade, wordlessly indicating his injury. The surgeon's eyes widen in shock as he takes in the extent of the wound.

"Dear God, man! How long have you been like this?"

“About... three hours…" Oleksandr pants.

"Three hours!?" The surgeon exclaims incredulously, ushering him inside, supporting him. "You've been walking around with an arrow in your back for three damn hours?"

Oleksandr nods, his breathing labored. "About that," he mutters through clenched teeth.

"Csilla!" He calls out, signaling for someone else to come. "We got an injury here!" A moment later, a petite middle-aged woman with a concerned expression walks in. She gasps when she sees Oleksandr, his injury obvious in the lamplight, his tunic and pant leg drenched in blood, his face pale and clammy. He sits Oleksandr down in a chair and makes him lean his body against a table, exposing his back, as he cuts off his tunic.

"You need chainmail, man! Chainmail! It's made for a reason, you know!" The surgeon mutters, shaking his head slightly. The woman, Csilla, comes over with a tray of medical supplies and begins to clean the wound. The surgeon and his wife work quickly and efficiently, cleaning the wound and preparing to remove the arrow. Oleksandr rests his head against his forearms on the table, feeling the world swim around him. The blood loss is taking its toll now that his adrenaline is fading, and he's starting to feel lightheaded and groggy. He blacks out.

Oleksandr stirred from sleep, his senses slowly coming to life as he felt the soft, luxurious fabric beneath him. He blinked, disoriented, the edges of sleep still clinging to his mind like cobwebs. He sat up carefully, feeling the cool air against his bare skin, the only thing covering him being his simple loincloth. His fingers traced the surface of the blood-red velvet sheets, so smooth and plush that they seemed to melt beneath his touch. The pillows were soft as clouds, their silken cases slipping against his calloused hands. He glanced around, taking in the setting, the rich, deep hues of the bedclothes creating a stark contrast to the pale light that seemed to filter through the sheer curtains draped around him like a canopy.

But beyond the delicate curtains, the room—or rather, the bed—stretched into infinity. It was as if he were adrift in a sea of velvet and silk, the edges of the bed fading into a hazy, indistinct horizon. The curtains fluttered gently, stirred by an unseen breeze, but the rest of the world seemed to hold its breath, silent and still. Oleksandr’s heart quickened as he took in the surreal landscape. The space around him was both intimate and boundless, a place where time seemed to lose its meaning. The air was thick with the sweet, heady scent of burning incense and candles, mingling with the rich, intoxicating aroma of a woman's perfume and the earthy undertone of natural musk clinging to the sheets. As Oleksandr stretched, his muscles still sluggish from sleep, he noticed the blankets beside him shift, almost imperceptibly at first, then filling out as if a body were materializing from the very fabric. The shape of a woman began to rise from the mattress itself, her form emerging slowly, eerily, like a phantom being conjured from the depths of the bed.

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She pushes the blankets back with a graceful, fluid motion, revealing her face as she crawls closer to him. It's her, the same woman he'd seen dancing in the field of flowers, the vision that had haunted his dreams. Petite and ethereal, she moved with a hypnotic grace, straddling him as if she belonged there, her warm, nude body pressing against his bare chest, her long hair flowing down her back tickling his thighs. Her hands slid over his muscled torso, her fingers tracing the contours of his skin with a touch that was both gentle and electrifying, sending shivers racing down his spine as he stared up at her in a mix of awe and longing.

She leans in, her lips brushing against his ear, "you're too reckless, my love…" she hums, her voice sultry and breathless as she straddles him. He can feel her bare legs pressed against his waist, her body warm against his skin. Oleksandr finds himself at a loss for words, completely captivated by the woman's sudden appearance and the way she's touching him. He reaches out to touch her, his hand tracing up her bare back. As she guides him to sit up, her legs still on either side of his hips, she brings his face to her chest. Her slender arms wrap around his shoulders, holding him close as his head rests against her chest. Oleksandr can feel the warmth of her body against his, and he can smell that sweet, musky perfume that seems to cling to her skin. He looks up at her, his eyes drinking in her beautiful features.

"You always throw yourself into danger… without thinking." She scolds gently while she caresses his hair, her fingers weaving through the golden locks. Oleksandr can feel her body press against his as she holds him close, the smoothness of her skin against his bare chest, the fullness of her breasts pressed against his face. She runs her fingers through his hair, her slender digits tracing his scalp, while she continues to chastise him.

"You must value your life more... You're loved more than you know." Her body presses harder against him, her hips shifting in a way that sends a jolt of heat through his body. He can feel the dampness of her core through the thin fabric of his loincloth, and he struggles to keep himself in control.

"But... I do what I must.." He manages to reply in a whisper, his hands gripping her hips, the heat between them building. Oleksandr's eyes flutter shut as he takes in the sensations. Her touch, her scent, her body pressed against his, the way her hips move against his own... all of it is overwhelming and dizzying. He lets out a low moan, his control slipping as he involuntarily bucks against her, causing her to let out a small gasp.

"And what of me?" She murmurs in his ear, her hands moving to his shoulders. "What am I supposed to do if you get yourself killed? Hmm?" She shifts in his lap, her hips rocking against his in a slow, deliberate motion. Her grip tightens on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin slightly. Oleksandr can feel the heat between them growing hotter, more desperate. His hands grip her hips harder, pulling her down against him as he feels the cloth between them getting damp. Her hands move from his shoulders to caress his face, her fingers tracing his jawline and tracing over his lips.

"I'd be devastated... I'd be left all alone..." She whispers in his ear, her voice soft and vulnerable. Oleksandr can hardly think straight anymore. The way she's moving against him, the sound of her voice in his ear, the way her body feels against his... it's driving him wild. He lifts her up and lays her down on the bed, the softness of the velvet against her, as he covers her with his body. His face buries itself in the crook of her neck, kissing and biting at the soft skin, inhaling her hair. He feels her foot against his loincloth, pushing it off him as his body lays on top of hers, skin against skin.

"I'll never leave you..." He murmurs, peppering her neck and collarbone with kisses, "never, never..." Oleksandr's hips buck against hers, as if driven by a force beyond his control. She moans and wraps her legs around his hips, pulling him closer, arching her body beneath him. Everywhere he touches her feels like heaven, and his own skin is on fire. He kisses and nips at her, his mouth moving down her neck to her chest, his body moving against hers in a desperate and primal way.

"I want you," he whispers, his voice a ragged growl. "I need you." She tangles her fingers in his golden hair, holding him close as she kisses him.

"Then take me," she whispers back, her voice filled with desire. "Make me yours." Oleksandr lifts his head, his eyes locking onto hers for a moment before he kisses her again, deeply, his tongue seeking hers, his body moving against hers in a passionate and urgent rhythm.

"Meet me... in Montenegro..." She whispers.