The General's Daughter: The Mission

Artemio Fuegerro stood before Lara, the row of medals on his left breast catching the muted midday light. Even beneath the shade of the veranda, the polished metal gleamed with the same ruthless precision as the man who wore them.

”You are very difficult to find these days, Lara.”

His voice was quiet, almost conversational.

That made it worse.

Lara remained still, her hands relaxed at her sides, her eyes fixed on the man whose love and approval she had spent eighteen years chasing.

Eighteen years of trying to become worthy.

Eighteen years of believing that if she obeyed perfectly, fought perfectly, killed perfectly...

...he would finally look at her with pride.

He never had. Not once.

And now she no longer wanted him to.

”I know you’ve recovered all your memories,” Artemio continued. ”Yannis never told me.”

His lips curved faintly.

”He didn’t have to, because I knew.”

His gaze sharpened.

”And yet, you never contacted me. Not once these past few months.”

Silence settled between them.

”Have you forgotten who you really are?” He asked, searching her face with that gaze of his that made even the thirteen-year-old her trembled.

Lara lowered her eyes.

Her long lashes fanned across her pale cheeks, hiding the turmoil that flashed through them.

Forgotten?

No.

She remembered everything now.

The endless drills before sunrise.

The punishments for hesitation.

The cold praise after every successful assignment.

The countless times he reminded her that emotions were weaknesses and attachments were liabilities.

Even her name...

Lara.

He told her was a name he had chosen because she was cheerful as a baby, but the girl she used to be had been erased long ago.

”I haven’t forgotten,” she answered evenly.

The words tasted bitter. She didn’t address him as Dad nor father. He no longer deserved it.

Artemio frowned.

”Look at me.”

The command came instinctively.

Without thinking, her body obeyed before her mind could protest. Years of conditioning moved her muscles before reason caught up.

Her chin lifted and their eyes met.

Artemio studied her in silence.

Not as a father who looked at a daughter but as a commander who was inspecting a weapon.

He was searching for cracks and looking for signs of rust.

He was wondering whether the blade he had forged still belonged to him.

Lara steadied her breathing.

He wanted to see obedience. He wanted to see fear. He wanted the little girl who had learned that approval was earned only through absolute submission.

So she let just enough uncertainty flicker across her eyes.

Not because she feared him. Not anymore.

But because it was safer if he believed she still did.

Artemio seemed satisfied.

”There you are.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly.

You did well in the auction last night.” A faint smile tugged at his lips. ”I didn’t expect you to enthrall Ares Zuvel so quickly.”

”That look in his eyes....he is into youl.”

Lara stiffened but as quickly as her body tensed she relaxed.

”Thank you...” Lara hesitated before adding ”Dad.”

The title felt foreign. Like speaking someone else’s language.

Her stomach twisted and it took sometime before she regained full control of herself.

Artemio’s brow creased for the briefest moment, as though he sensed the distance hidden beneath her polite tone.

Then he dismissed it.

”Remember your mission, Lara.”

The warmth disappeared from his voice.

”I’ve given you enough freedom... enough time. Frankly, I’ve been more patient than I should have been.”

His eyes narrowed.

”You seem to have forgotten why I sent you to the Norse family.”

The words struck like a key turning inside an old lock. Fragments of memories surged to the surface.

A dim training room.

The smell of gun oil.

A photograph sliding across a steel table.

A man with a streak of silver at his temples, standing beside two boys, all three smiling at the camera.

Leonard Norse.

She remembered staring at the photograph until every feature had been burned into her mind.

Then Artemio’s voice.

Cold. Measured. Emotionless.

”This is your final mission. One day you’ll get close enough that he’ll trust you.”

”When that day comes...kill Leonard Norse.”

”No hesitation. Show no mercy.”

”The mission comes before your life.”

”If you fail...”

He had never finished the sentence. She had already seen what happened to those who failed.

The memory shifted.

A younger Lara sat alone in the dark, clutching the photograph.

She had studied Leonard’s face night after night, forcing herself to see a target instead of a human being.

But there had been another picture. One hidden beneath the first. The one photo she fished out from the middle of a lake on a cold autumn afternoon...

Leonard laughing with his wife. His sons and daughter clinging to his arms.

A family...something Lara had never known.

Back then she had wondered—

Would they cry if he died?

Definitely. She ansered her own question.

She was caught looking at that photo and it earned her three days without food.

Weapons weren’t supposed to ask questions.

She returned to the present.

Her fingers curled imperceptibly.

That mission had once been the center of her existence. The purpose she had been raised for. The reason she survived.

Now...

It felt like someone else’s life.

Someone else’s chains.

She lowered her gaze once more.

Her mission?

No.

She has a different mission now.

To protect the family she had finally found. To laugh without permission. To choose her own future. To make sure the people she loved never suffered the way she had.

As for Artemio’s mission, he could take it to hell.

Artemio glanced at his watch.

”You have one month.”

His tone carried no doubt, only expectation.

”Complete your assignment.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away.

His polished shoes echoed against the stone path, each step measured, each stride confident.

He never looked back. He believed that Lara, like always would obey.

Lara watched his retreating figure until it disappeared when he entered the side door.

Only then did she unclench her fists.

Half-moon marks from her own nails were etched into her palms.

The pain grounded her.

No.

She wasn’t his weapon anymore.

And Leonard Norse...

would never die by her hand.