The General's Daughter: The Mission

A chorus of deep, familiar growls echoed through the forest.

A massive wolf burst from the underbrush, followed by the rest of his pack.

They crashed into the pursuing wolves like a tidal wave of fur and fangs.

The forest exploded into snarls and snapping jaws.

Relief washed over Lara.

”Gray...”

A smile flickered across her exhausted face.

”Thank you.”

The gray wolf didn’t spare her a glance. He lunged straight into the largest of the attackers, forcing the pack backward. The battle behind them became a blur of teeth, claws, and echoing howls.

It was enough. Just enough.

Lara turned back to the man leaning heavily on the sword.

He had collapsed to one knee. The torch trembled in his hand. His breathing had grown shallow. His eyes were closing.

She dropped beside him.

”Hey...”

Her voice lost its edge. It became almost gentle.

”Stay with me.”

His lashes fluttered. The warmth of her breath brushed his ear.

He wanted to answer but he couldn’t. The darkness was pulling harder now.

Then her tone changed.

”You don’t get to die.”

Her amber eyes burned into his.

”I dragged you this far.”

She grabbed the front of his tunic.

”So after everything you’ve put me through...”

Her voice shook with exhaustion.

”...I won’t forgive you if you die on me, soldier.”

Something stirred inside him. A stubborn spark. He drew a ragged breath.

Slowly...Painfully...

He pushed himself back onto his feet.

He fought the dizziness, his grip on her tightening as he drew from every last ounce of his strength. Her sweet scent, the warmth of her presence steadied him.

And together, they stumbled toward the bridge.

Then he passed out. He did not know how long he has been unconscious. But the pain was so unbearable, like white hot fire spreading through his abdomen that he woke up.

And something distracted him that he forgot about the pain.

The soft glow of the oil lamp framed her face in gold, highlighting high cheekbones and and pink lips. Her long hair, loosely tied back, slipped over her shoulder as she sutured the wound on his stomach.

She was beautiful in a way that was both fierce and untamed.

The next time he opened his eyes, silver moonlight spilled through the narrow window, painting pale streaks across the bamboo walls.

For a moment, he lay still, listening.

The night hummed softly beyond the hut—crickets chirped in the distance, while a cool breeze rustled through the leaves outside.

He pushed aside the coarse blanket covering him.

His bare chest came into view, crisscrossed with fading bruises and healing cuts. Fresh bandages were wrapped snugly around his abdomen, holding a thick herbal poultice against the deepest wound. The sharp sting that had consumed him before was gone, replaced by the cool, soothing scent of medicinal herbs.

His gaze lingered on the careful knots securing the bandages.

Who was this woman?

His thoughts were still sluggish, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, but that single question remained painfully clear.

He remembered her calm voice. Her steady hands.

The unwavering confidence with which she had stitched torn flesh, stopped the bleeding, and mixed herbs he had never seen before.

There had been no hesitation. No wasted movement. Only quiet certainty.

Even the finest physicians in the Imperial Palace could not do what she had done.

Yet somehow...

She had accomplished the impossible.

She had reached into death’s grasp...

...and pulled him back.

[End of Flashback]

Ares blinked.

The moonlit hut vanished. The scent of herbs faded, replaced by the stale air that hasn’t dissipated yet.

His vision blurred as the present rushed back around him.

He had been staring upward for too long.

A sharp ache shot through his neck, and the world tilted beneath his feet.

Before he could lose his balance, a pair of gentle hands caught his arm.

They were warm, steady and familiar.

His breath caught. It was the same touch.

The same quiet reassurance that had guided him across the swaying rope bridge centuries ago.

Slowly, he turned.

Lara was looking up at him, concern softening her features.

”Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Their eyes met. Time seemed to fall away.

Something shifted in Ares’s gaze.

Lara had seen his coldness.

She had seen him amused, guarded, even indifferent.

Lately, she had also seen him looked at her with tenderness that made her felt she was truly special.

But never... never like this.

His eyes searched her face as though committing every detail to memory.

As though he feared she might disappear if he looked away.

There was longing.

But it was more than that.

It was recognition.

The quiet, disbelieving relief of a man who had searched through countless years...

...only to discover that what he had been searching for had been standing before him all along.

...

”Hey, Ares... are you alright? You look so pale.”

Princess Zinnia’s gentle voice cut through the silence, dissolving the strange, invisible thread that had stretched between Ares and Lara. There was no suspicion in her eyes—only sincere concern.

The spell was broken.

Every gaze in the corridor shifted toward Ares.

For the briefest instant, he seemed almost... distant, as though his thoughts had yet to return from somewhere far beyond the restored imperial bedchamber.

Then the familiar mask settled over his features.

”I am fine,” he answered calmly.

He had never cared for being the center of attention.

”I was looking up for too long. I’m simply not used to it. Don’t mind me.”

Though his voice remained steady, it left little room for further questions.

Amelia studied him for a moment before giving a small nod.

”If you’re feeling better, then I’ll take everyone to the Justice Hall. It isn’t much farther—”

She barely managed to finish the sentence before Lara and Ares had already moved ahead, their footsteps carrying them deeper into the palace corridors.

The silence that greeted them was almost reverent.

Lara’s eyes wandered over the vast stone walls.

Once, they had displayed magnificent portraits of Northern’s monarchs—kings and queens whose names had shaped history—and the legendary heroes who had defended the kingdom through every generation. She imagined gilded frames, vibrant banners, and paintings filled with pride and triumph.

Now...

Nothing remained.

The walls stood bare, marked only by faint, outlines of frames and iron hooks where the portraits had once hung. Dust clung stubbornly to the empty spaces, as though even time remembered what had been lost.

A quiet sadness settled over her.

Had the volcanic eruption consumed those priceless pieces of history...

Or had someone removed them before the capital fell, hoping to preserve what little remained of Azuverda’s legacy?

The empty walls offered no answer.