The General's Daughter: The Mission

The trek into the heart of Ourea’s jungle chewed them up and spat them out.

The air was thick enough to drown in, heavy with moisture and the sour stink of rot. Every breath tasted like wet leaves and old decay. Vines clawed at their ankles. Roots coiled across the ground like sleeping snakes, waiting to trip the careless. Even the men dragging them along—hardened, armed, used to violence—looked worn down by it.

Sweat soaked their collars. Boots and sneakers sank into dead leaves.

Even their abductors were suffering and grumbling.

Sandro stumbled again.

He’d been lagging for the past hour, small legs trembling, each step slower than the last. The leader finally snapped, muttered a curse, then barked an order.

”Joshua. Carry him.”

The teenager groaned but obeyed, hoisting Sandro onto his back like extra baggage.

Maybe it was luck.

Sandro was seven, but he looked five—thin wrists, narrow shoulders, light as a sack of rice. Any heavier and Joshua would’ve thrown a fit.

”Boss, I don’t get it,” Gruffy said, swatting at a mosquito and nearly losing his footing. ”We’ve got safehouses all over the capital. Outside too. So why the hell are we coming out here?”

”Use your brain,” the leader snapped. ”Don’t make me explain everything.”

Joshua scratched his head, too tired to argue but too irritated to shut up. Why can’t he just say it? Is it gonna kill him?

”Boss, I had suffered knife wounds and bruises from being beaten up, but...” he dramatically raised his arms, covered in small scratches and green patches. ” these are more painful and itchy. I had never suffered like this in the past.”

The leader only rolled his eyes.

Lara kept quiet.

But the answer slid into place as a sword returned to its sheath.

The mastermind—whoever he was—wanted a scapegoat.

Somebody convenient.

And what better target than the insurgents hiding in the mountains? Blame them. Bury the truth with them. Let the jungle swallow the evidence.

Lara’s stomach tightened.

What kind of ransom would they demand?

She knew that even if Ares gave the ransom, they wouldn’t be freed.

...

The trees grew denser the deeper they went. Sunlight thinned to sickly green threads. The smell of rot grew stronger, clinging to her throat.

And then—

Something felt familiar — the shape of the trees, the bend of the stream somewhere ahead, the way the roots broke through the soil.

Strange. They looked familiar, and yet something felt off.

She’d seen this place before. But that was impossible.

They finally stopped beside a clearing where a narrow stream ran, its water whispering over smooth stones.

”Time for lunch and a short break,” the leader announced.

The men collapsed where they stood.

Lara guided Shay and Sandro to the base of a massive tree. Its roots bulged out of the earth like the ribs of some buried giant. One of them made a natural seat, polished smooth by time.

She lowered herself onto it.

Her fingers brushed the bark.

Cold. Old. Familiar, but something felt off.

And then the memories hit her.

Not faint. Not distant but sharp and clear.

This place, this exact tree, but smaller, and the trunk thinner...

Over half a millennium ago...

She had stood here before.

...

A scream ripped through the trees.

Raw, horrendous, that of a human dying.

Then came the howls.

Lara’s head snapped up.

Her body moved before her mind did.

She ran.

Branches whipped her face. Thorns clawed at her sleeves. Mud stuck to her boots, but she didn’t slow. The jungle blurred into green and shadow as the screams turned hoarse and choked.

Too late. I’m too late.

She burst through the undergrowth and stopped cold.

Blood.

Everywhere.

A pack of wolves crowded around what used to be a man, their muzzles dark and slick, ribs cracking between their jaws like dry twigs. Flesh tore. Bones snapped. The sound was horrifying.

Two more men were still alive—barely.

They swung their blades wildly, backs pressed together, terror turning their strikes sloppy.

One misstepped.

He disappeared into the brush with a strangled yell.

Then—

CRACK.

She heard a sound, like a branch breaking. His screams were cut short. Only silence remained.

Lara looked up instinctively.

Her breath caught.

A pair of legs dangled overhead, limp and twitching, wrapped tight in the coils of a massive python draped across a tree branch. The snake’s body flexed once.

Another crunch.

She forced her gaze away.

Focus. She reminded herself.

Her hand dipped into her quiver.

She took out three oil-soaked arrows and struck a match against the fletching.

FWOOSH!

Fire kissed the arrows’ tips.

She drew her bow and released in one smooth motion—whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—

The arrows slammed into the ground in a wide arc around the last surviving man. Flames bloomed instantly, a ring of light and heat that snapped and hissed, sending sparks into the damp air.

The wolves recoiled, snarling.

Fire! They understood it. It was something they feared... and respected.

The man inside the ring of fire sagged to one knee, sword barely hanging from his fingers. His other hand pressed against his stomach, blood leaking through in thick, dark pulses.

He wouldn’t last long.

Lara vaulted through the flames.

Steel sang as her sword left its sheath.

The wolves circled, flews peeled back, yellow eyes reflecting the firelight.

She planted her feet on the jungle floor and met their stare.

Then she roared. Not a scream out of fear, but a challenge.

Something old. Something feral.

For a second, even the jungle went quiet.

The wolves faltered.

They backed away a step as they snarled.

Lara swung her sword.

The beasts backed away another step, then another, and another.

Finally, they melted into the shadows, growls fading into the trees.

Only the crackle of fire remained.

Lara didn’t relax.

Predators always waited and attacked when you least expected it.

When Lara knew it was safe, she worked fast—snapping dry branches, building the flames higher but controlled, feeding it just enough to keep the light strong without setting the forest ablaze. Smoke curled upward, sharp and bitter.

A boundary. A warning.

Anything with teeth would think twice.

Only then did she turn to the survivor.

He leaned against a tree, sliding down inch by inch, blood smearing the bark. His breathing was shallow. Ragged. Eyes half-closed.

She stepped closer. One more stranger.

One more life she might not save—

Then she saw his face.

And froze.

Her pulse stuttered.

”You...”