25th September 1671
The climate in Chișinău, the capital of Moldova, was delightfully mild—neither too warm nor too cold. In the early morning, a gentle drizzle descended like a holy blessing of freya upon the grape plantations. The vines, soaked in the soft rain, released a rich, sweet aroma that drifted through the town, a fragrant signal that the harvest season had arrived.
Usually, this time of year in Moldova is a time of happiness. However, unfortunately, with over 50,000 Ottoman soldiers stationed at the fortress due to the Russo-Ottoman War, a tense atmosphere spread all over the city, making everyone's nerves tight and having no mood to begin the harvest.
Hussein Pasha did not have a very good look on his face as he read the intelligence report. "Damn it," he cursed as he threw the milk he was holding in his left hand at the wall.
He crumpled the letter and got up with a grunt.
"Have the troops brace for an all-out attack," he shouted at his subordinates.
