Note: Bolded quotation is a sign of translation.

Disclaimer: This story has gone through multiple versions, with the original idea formed well before January 2022. I would also like to say something which should be obvious: This story was not written to support a war nor to glorify it, but rather, to portray how a relationship between Azula and a noble of a different culture might play out.

Also, I would greatly appreciate hearing what you, the audience, think about this story. For you see, I wish to turn the world of Nitheria from which the Ruskians come into its own set of stories.

"Addressed to His Imperial Highness, Grand Duke Ivan Nikolaievich Asimov:

While I wished to meet you in person, High Command has kept me busy. I have heard from the doctors that you are doing well, and I hope you are released soon. I also heard that my brother has planned to give you the Order of St. Ioakim for your bravery. Furthermore, your unit, the 4th Guards' Regiment and the rest of the newly formed 6th Guard Brigade, will be transferred to the command of the 10th Army. When you arrive at headquarters, you will receive your new epaulettes and complete your promotion to Guard Captain.

Signed: His Imperial Highness, Grand Duke Nikolai Vladimerivich Asimov"

As the morning sun's rays shone over the flat, grassy plains around him, a young, clean-shaven man, attired in a double-breasted tailored officer's greatcoat and a new pair of riding breeches. Sat watching the field before him from atop the diminutive brown mare given to him by the field hospital. Upon cresting a small hill, he gazed at the large encampment centred in the valley, which stretched as far as the eye could see, with a village barely visible in the far distance. He quickly spurred the mare toward the camp, hearing the whistling wind and the clink of his sword while the long silver tassel on his *shako blew in the cool breeze which brushed his youthful face. When he approached, he slowed down while being sure not to accidentally ride into the men who packed the dirt road leading into the camp. He saw the soldiers loading various equipment into carts, with some even bothering to salute him as he trotted by before an officer noticed him and called out for them to stop what they were doing and pay their respects. He replied with his own as he rode past before relaxing once he made it beyond the crowded entrance. He smiled as he glanced around, glad to be back at the forefront of things.

(*shako: A felt and leather helmet worn by soldiers)

In the aftermath of the battle of Bylowa two weeks ago, he had been wounded twice during an assault by thankfully unenchanted swords. Then, only several days before his return, his unit had been transferred from the 2nd Army under Colonel-General Alexei Antonivich Fydorov to the 10th "special" Army, a new formation. Or so his father wrote in the letter he received a week ago, which also contained the transfer.

When he arrived at the massive tent in the center, which he assumed to be the headquarters, the man effortlessly dismounted. Before entering, he handed the reigns and his greatcoat to an aide before walking up and opening the tent's flap, ducking to ensure the tall black plume on his shako didn't get in the way. Inside, he was surprised to see several older men dressed in black priest robes, speaking with a tall man dressed similarly to himself, though his uniform had gold leaf decoration on the cuffs and collar. His cocked hat, with its distinctive black-fathered plume, sat on the great table in the center of the tent, exposing his short brown hair, slightly overgrown sideburns, and beard. The man then turned to him, a warm smile appearing as livid blue met livid blue. He quickly moved over to him before embracing him. "It is good to see you again, Ivan," he said, breaking the embrace.

"Likewise, Father," he began as a smug smirk appeared on his features. "I knew you would be the commander,"

His father feigned a hurt expression, though his eyes betrayed his happiness. "Did I make it so so obvious?"

Ivan chuckled lightly in response. "Yes, I should say you did," he replied as his father turned back to the table, gesturing for him to follow.

Then, his father turned and dismissed the priests with a wave of his hand before coming to the other end. Once there, he picked up an envelope sealed with the Imperial double-headed eagle and a pair of gold-embroidered red epaulettes. With these in hand, he presented them to Ivan. "Here you are, my boy, just as I promised," he stated as Ivan took them before he reverently took the letter opener that stood on the desk and used it to cut the wax seal. Once open, he took out a silver cross with the coat of arms of his family in the center and held it by the black and yellow ribbon with a steel backing to keep the ribbon in place.

"May I?" his father asked as he gestured to the medal. Ivan then nodded and gave it to him before standing with his arms firmly at his sides, his head held high, and his eyes fixed forward. "Captain Ivan Nikolaevich Asimov, on this day, the 10th of June, 2019AD, and on behalf of Tsar Vladimir II, I award you the Order of St. Ioakim. For your bravery in leading the assault on the Kordish gun line in the battle of Bylowa," he said before he unbuttoned Ivan's jacket just enough to pin it to his left above his heart before doing them back. "Congratulations," then the two exchanged a salute before Ivan relaxed, and his father turned to an officer that Ivan had not noticed until this point. "Is everything recorded?" he asked.

The other man finished writing and turned to him before nodding. "Yes, Sir, it is done," he replied as Ivan exchanged his epaulettes.

"Good. You may go, Major Shostakovich. I would like to have a moment alone," said his father as the Major saluted before walking out of the tent.

Once he was gone, he turned to Ivan. "So, my boy, I'm sure you're wondering why we are not at the front,"

Ivan scratched his chin in thought, remembering how confused he was once he had heard where the 10th Army made camp. It took up position in the countryside between Buzurovsk and Kalma, with several dozen versts (equivalent to a mile each) between the Army and either of the towns. "Yes, why are we stationed in the middle of nowhere?"

Instead of responding immediately, he gave a light chuckle. "Well, my boy, remember when you were young and said that you wished to visit other worlds?" he asked as Ivan thought it over before nodding expectantly. "Well, then I'd suggest you get ready to pack. Because we're leaving Ruskia today,"

Ivan's mouth fell as his eyes widened before quickly regaining his composure, his father chuckling in response at having gotten the better of him yet again. "Of course, Father, I will be ready," he said excitedly before saluting and turning to leave... Only to quickly turn back. "By the way, where is my tent?"

His father stifled a chuckle as he turned and led Ivan out of the tent. "Down that way, five rows, then turn left. It will be the biggest on the right," he said, pointing down one of the main paths leading away from the HQ. Ivan then nodded before saluting his father and marching down the path. Now that he was on the ground, Ivan had a clearer picture of the men and the occasional woman, moving about the camp like an army of ants. With scenes of soldiers relaxing, their green jackets left to hang on the backs of chairs or hanging out to dry after being washed. Ivan noted the women who dashed to and fro, carrying clothes or helping the men pack, and while it was unusual for such things to happen before a move, in this case, he could understand. After all, if they were going to another world, they may as well look their best.

Once he arrived at his tent, Ivan stepped inside, only to hear someone behind him. "Hello, Ivan Nikolaevich," said a voice he recognized immediately.

Ivan quickly turned around and saw a tall, shaven man dressed in the attire of a lifeguard hussar officer, minus the pelisse (the over jacket worn by hussars) and his shako with its long, white plume held in his arm. "It is good to see you again, Pyotr Kirillich," he said as he smiled and embraced the man.

When the two broke the embrace, Ivan looked at him. "How long have you been waiting?" he asked.

Pyotr put a hand to his chin as he leaned on one of the supports of the tent. "Well, let's see, I spoke with a young village girl, who was visiting her aunt in the camp," he began as Ivan shook his head. Typical Pyotr, he thought. "Then, once I heard you were coming. I decided to wait for my old friend,"

"Of course you did. As we both know, you can't go a day without looking for another female companion to spend the day with," Ivan began as Pyotr snorted. "So, tell me, do you know where we are going?"

Pyotr shook his head in response. "Unfortunately, only the priests and your father know," he replied as he dusted off his uniform.

Ivan walked over and sat on the wooden folding chair near the back of the tent as the fatigue of riding for six hours straight caught up with him. "I should've expected as much," he said, taking a brief look around his tent; his coat hung from the back of the chair with a sleeping cot on the floor. A backpack stood beside the bed, and an unlit oil lamp hung from one of the supports. "So, how did you get here? I thought the Lifeguard Hussars were with the 1st Army,"

At this, Pyotr snikkered. "Oh, I was. I even managed to get in a few skirmishes with Kordish and Ostish Hussars. But then, not a week ago, I received a letter from Nikolai Vladimirovich, ordering my unit to join your corps and his new Army," he said in response.

Ivan laid back, taking his shako and placing it beside him. "I see. Well, I can't say I'm surprised. Seeing as our paths seemingly always collide," he began before sitting up and stretching. "I think I'll take a nap. My legs could use a rest," Pyotr nodded in understanding before turning and leaving the tent. Once he did, Ivan undid his double-breasted officer's jacket and hung it over his greatcoat. As Ivan did, his eyes wandered to the barely noticeable seam which ran along the center of it. For a moment, his mind blanked as he recalled his hand clutching that very spot- Ivan shook his head and found he had unconsciously drifted his hand to where he once bled. He sighed before lying down, hoping he would have a dreamless sleep.

After sleeping for about an hour, Ivan awoke and decided to go for a walk. First, he took his jacket that he had hung over his greatcoat and put it on, making sure to do up all the buttons save the two on the top layer. Then, Ivan opened the pack beside the bed and fished around inside. Once he felt something woolly and soft, he took hold, pulling out a green fatigue cap with a red band. Ivan placed it on his head, deciding to leave his shako behind, wishing to wear something light before walking outside. Once out of the tent, he could see the *colours of his Regiment fluttering above the Regimental HQ a few dozen paces away, with the tents of the other officers surrounding it. Ivan turned and set out on the path, walking past the officers' quarter, and setting his eyes on the enlisted of the Regiment, with many seen chatting, eating, or inspecting their rifles, before they stood and saluted him as Ivan again saluted back and marched past. These men were almost entirely composed of the lower nobility, second sons, or young men looking for adventure. The officers, by contrast, were the sons of the highest nobility in the country, and he felt honoured to call himself one of them, even though he was only fifteen. (*Colours: The flags denoting each Regiment, with the first Battalion carrying both the Regiments' colour and the Colonel's colour, the most valuable flag in a Regiment, with the others given two identical regimental flags.)

However, when he arrived at the accommodations of the grenadiers-

"It's the Lieutenant!" came a shout, and Ivan suddenly found himself surrounded by his men.

"I am glad to see you in good health!" shouted Pasha, his Sargent-Major, as the middle-aged man saluted him before shaking his hand and embracing him. "When I saw you get dragged away by the medics, I feared we would never see you again,"

"Well, let's be thankful it wasn't as bad as it looked," he replied as he broke the embrace. "How have you all been,"

Pasha grinned from under his thick mustache and spectacles. "We've been well, Your Imperial Highness," he began. "After the battle, our unit rotated to the rear to rest and replace our losses. However, after only a week, the Colonel received orders to come here," he finished. "Would you care for an inspection, Sir?"

In response, Ivan chuckled. "But of course, if you would do the honours," he said as they both turned.

"Platoon, form up!" shouted Pasha as the men quickly arranged themselves in a straight line, with the tallest and most high ranking on the right, all standing at attention. Then, once everyone was in formation, the Sargent-Major joined them.

"One, two, count!" commanded Ivan as the first man turned his head to his left and shouted: "One!" before the next man bellowed: "Two!" this then continued to the eighty-fifth man at the end. "Form two ranks!" on his order, every 2nd man stepped back once before stepping to the right to form up behind their fellows. "Align!" on this command, all the men, save for the two at the right end, turned their heads to look right before filling in the gaps left by the previous command. "Attention!" all the men who had turned to their right snapped to face their front.

Now that everyone was ready, Ivan began pacing around, quietly inspecting each man. Once satisfied, he returned to his position at the front of the formation and turned to face his men. "Well, now that I have your attention, I believe I should tell you all that happened," he began. "As I'm sure you're aware, I was hospitalized for the past two weeks. But, I assure you, I have fully recovered. As for my survival, I have you to thank for saving my life," he continued. "As a result of our collective actions at Bylowa, I am now called upon to be your Captain, and whether you were by my side in the battle or a new face, you are the finest soldiers the Tsar could ask for!" he concluded.

"Ura, Ura, Ura!" shouted his men in reply.

In response, Ivan beamed. "Dismissed!" he commanded as the men separated, and Ivan continued on his way, his grin never wavering.

Edit: I hope the rewrite made it easier to understand.