The General's Daughter: The Mission

The private dock on Isla was unusually lively that morning.

The breeze carried a quiet tension—one that didn’t quite match the calm rhythm of the waves of the lake.

Waiting at the entrance were the Norse brothers.

All of them, Liam, Logan and Lucas.

Including Leonard Norse.

It was not a small welcome—it was excessive, deliberate... almost ceremonial.

When Lara stepped out of the boat with Randell Belmont at her side, accompanied by a servant assigned to attend to the old man during his stay, the weight of their reception became impossible to ignore.

Ares had finally relented.

After days of stubborn resistance, he had stopped arguing with his grandfather and allowed him to remain on Isla—no more exhausting back-and-forth travel.

For once, the old man had won. The grandchild admitted admitted defeat.

Randell took in the scene, his sharp eyes sweeping over the gathered men. Then he chuckled, the sound light but edged with curiosity.

”Why are the mighty men of the Norse family all here?” he said. ”I feel like I’m being given an honor I don’t quite deserve.”

The three brothers exchanged a quick glance. The moment they learned of the true ancestry of Randell Belmont, they treated him with even more respect.

But that day, they did not come to welcome him. They came for their sister.

They wanted to act normal. They really did.

But it was impossible.

Because the moment Lara stepped into view, something in them shifted—something unrestrained.

Their gazes softened.

Warmed.

Overflowed with an affection they could no longer fully hide.

It showed in the way they looked at her—too long, too gentle, too careful.

Randell noticed. But he said nothing.

And Lara...she noticed too.

Her heartbeat quickened, though her expression remained perfectly composed.

So they received the results... Then why... Why aren’t they saying anything? Will they acknowledge me... or not?

”Sister,” Lucas called, stepping forward naturally—as if the word belonged there, as if it had always belonged there. ”We reserved the Isla Pavillion for lunch. You and Grandpa Randell can join us.”

Lara blinked, just once.

That single word ”Sister” echoed louder than anything else.

Still, her voice remained steady. Controlled.

”What’s the occasion?”

Inside, anticipation flickered.

But none of it reached her face.

”It’s sort of a farewell lunch,” Logan said, slipping his hands into his pockets, his tone casual. ”I’m leaving Isla. Got another mission.”

Something inside Lara dipped.

Just slightly. So slight no one else would notice.

So that’s it... Not an acknowledgment. Not today. Was the result they had gotten the inconclusive one? Or... they know—and chose silence?

”Will it take long?” she asked. ”Will you be away for a while?”

Logan’s gaze sharpened just a fraction.

”That depends,” he said. ”On how fast I can uncover the truth.”

His eyes flicked briefly toward Liam.

It was subtle. But not subtle enough as Lara caught it.

And in that single glance, something clicked—though not fully, not yet.

...

In the quiet corner of Isla’s northern sector, something new had risen—unexpected, yet unmistakably deliberate.

Ares had built a restaurant. But not just any restaurant.

It stood apart the moment one laid eyes on it.

The structure carried a retro elegance, its design echoing the golden age of ancient Azuverda—arched doorways, warm amber lighting, intricate carvings that whispered of forgotten nobility. It didn’t feel modern.

It felt... remembered.

Like a piece of history carefully pulled into the present.

As Isla began attracting more high-profile guests, Ares had recognized the business opportunity immediately. Where others saw a ruins, he saw potential.

So he built a restaurant first.

It was not grand but refined.

An establishment meant to draw the right kind of attention.

And for its design, he chose Lara.

Not by plan, but by accident.

Initially, he wanted to contact Themis because she seemed to know a lot about that era.

But one day, he had come across a sketch lying casually on Shay’s desk. A simple drawing—yet detailed enough to hold his gaze longer than expected.

It was a restaurant. Set along the main street of Calma. Elegant. Balanced. Alive with character.

He hadn’t said anything at the time.

He simply took the design—and brought it to life.

Now, standing fully realized before them, it bore a name: Isla Pavilion.

Today was its soft opening.

And its first guests...

Were not ordinary.

...

Randell Belmont and Persius Nades sat across from each other, the quiet sophistication of the place wrapping around them like a silent witness.

”Randell,” Persius said, unable to conceal the triumph in his voice, ”it’s finally confirmed. You and I... share the same ancestors.”

His grin broke through—wide, unrestrained, almost boyish.

A rare sight.

Years of scholarly restraint undone in a single moment.

Unlike Randell, whose proof came from inheritance, Persius had spent decades chasing fragments of truth—ancient scrolls, brittle manuscripts, records that traced back to the era of Alaric himself.

Pieces of history most would never even glimpse.

But Randell...

Randell held something far more definitive.

In his possession was a key.

Old. Worn by time.

A key that unlocked a hidden vault buried deep within a mausoleum long forgotten.

Inside, lay the truth. Carefully preserved. Untouched by time.

The genealogy of Heimdal Kromwel and Alaric Krowmel, recorded with meticulous precision—generation after generation, all the way to the twelfth and then it stopped.

A lineage that can still be disputed because there were missing links.

So Randell hadn’t stopped there.

He didn’t rely on records alone.

To eliminate even the slightest doubt, he ordered ancestry DNA testing—using bone fragments recovered from the Aldrich’s Sarcophagus.

Ancient sacred remains untouched for centuries. He dare not desecrate the tomb but used the most modern technology to extract sample.

The results came back—

Clear. Undeniable and positive.

And when the news broke...

The world reacted instantly.

The internet erupted—again.

Headlines spread like wildfire across every platform:

The Zuvels were confirmed descendants of the first emperor of Azuverda, through their maternal line...

The Belmont bloodline.

And Persius Nades—the renowned scholar of the modern times, the man who had spent his life studying history, was also part of it.

A direct descendant through Princess Althea.

The impact was immediate and explosive.

Prestige surged overnight.

Influence deepened across industries.

And the Zuvel family—

Their standing didn’t just rise. It soared.

Their stock prices climbed relentlessly, numbers pushing higher and higher without pause.

Unstoppable.

As if history itself had returned—

To crown them once more.

...

X paced the length of his room, each step sharp against the marble floor.

Dawn was just a thin line of pale light creeping past the curtains—but sleep refused to come.

Not tonight. Not after what he had seen.

The news had spread like wildfire, swallowing the internet whole. Every headline, every discussion, every whispered speculation pointed to one name—

Ares Zuvel.

X’s jaw tightened.

This wasn’t just recognition. This was momentum. Power gathering.

And if left unchecked... it would become something far harder to stop.

He stilled, staring out into the dim horizon as the first light of day threatened to break.

Time was running out. He could feel it. If he didn’t act now, he wouldn’t just fall behind.

He would lose.

To Ares Zuvel.