The General's Daughter: The Mission

The following morning, the Crown Prince and the First Princess of Zalmeria departed for Isla under the escort of Ares and Lara. The lake was calm as usual, the blue of the sky reflected on its surface, and the waters glittered beneath the morning sun as the yacht circled around the island before heading to the dock.

Erina Ramuz had eagerly invited herself along, determined to entertain the visiting royals. She drifted to the bow of the boat, where the breeze whipped strands of her hair across her face and billowed the hem of her flowing white skirt like a banner.

Resting her hands on the polished railing, she gazed out at the island before speaking with a wistful sigh.

”What a pity Azuverda abandoned its monarchy and embraced democracy.”

Her voice carried easily over the wind.

”I envy Zalmeria. Your royal family has endured for centuries while so many others disappeared.”

Standing a short distance away, Prince Yohannes watched the approaching silhouette of Isla. The island slowly emerged from the morning haze, lush and emerald against blue headed Alta-Tierra mountain range. Only after a moment did he answer.

”The Zalmerian people simply chose to preserve what they cherish,” he said evenly. ”Our kings are not merely rulers—they are symbols of our nation’s identity. The people take pride in that heritage.”

He folded his arms against the railing, his expression calm but thoughtful.

”There have always been ministers with progressive ideals who proposed replacing the monarchy with a democratic republic. Some believed it was the inevitable path of the modern times.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

”But every proposal failed because the people themselves rejected it.”

He glanced toward the fluttering royal banner flying at the stern.

”They understood that we are among the very few monarchies left in the world. Preserving that legacy became a source of national pride. In the end, it wasn’t the Crown that defended itself.”

”It was the people.”

Erina listened with sparkling eyes.

She stepped beside him, craning her neck slightly. At one hundred sixty-five centimeters, she considered herself fairly tall, yet Prince Yohannes still stood nearly a head above her. His broad shoulders and composed bearing made him seem even taller.

”I wish our country had remained a monarchy,” she murmured dreamily. ”It sounds... romantic.”

In her imagination, a princess occupied a place far more glamorous than the daughter of a president. Royal blood, ancient castles, glittering state banquets, jeweled crowns, elegant gowns, and centuries-old traditions—all of it seemed infinitely more prestigious than politics and elections.

For a fleeting moment, she pictured herself in a magnificent tiara instead of standing on the deck of a yacht.

Prince Yohannes studied her in silence.

There was no mockery in his expression, only something difficult to read—a mixture of amusement, pity, and quiet understanding.

At last, he looked away toward the island ahead.

Some dreams, he thought, were beautiful precisely because they belonged in dreams.

...

The island had been placed under an unprecedented level of security.

Only the royal delegation of Zalmeria and a select group of distinguished guests—the largest benefactors of the Calma Rehabilitation Fund—had been granted permission to set foot on Isla that day.

Every access point was guarded, patrol boats circled the coastline, and security personnel stood watch at every checkpoint. No media. No tourists. No exceptions.

Today marked the long-awaited unveiling of Hevenfort.

Months of painstaking excavation had finally uncovered the ancient palace in its entirety. The layers of earth that had concealed it for centuries had been stripped away, revealing weathered stone walls, towering gates, and forgotten halls that had not seen the light of day for generations.

For historians, it was the discovery of a lifetime.

For the people of Azuverda, it was the return of a piece of their forgotten past.

Amelia could barely contain her excitement as she waited beside Lara at Hevenfort’s imposing entrance. Dressed in a traditional costume, she shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, her eyes fixed on the approaching entourage.

She and her grandfather, Persius Nades, were entrusted with personally accompanying the Zalmerian royal delegation throughout the tour—a responsibility that filled her with pride and nervous anticipation.

Persius had spent the previous night poring over one of the oldest scrolls preserved in his private archives.

Within its faded ink was a fascinating account: centuries ago, the Kingdom of Zalmeria and the Empire of Azuverda had maintained diplomatic relations and traded across the sea. Their kingdoms had exchanged not only goods, but knowledge, craftsmen, and emissaries.

It was a remarkable historical connection.

Yet when Persius had shared the record with Lara, she had simply frowned.

’I don’t remember the Zalmerians,’ she thought.

If the two kingdoms truly had dealings with one another...

...then it must have happened after her lifetime.

...

It had been days since Lara last set foot on Isla.

The previous time she had visited, Hevenfort was still half-buried beneath centuries of earth, with only a portion of its weathered façade exposed to the sun.

Now the palace stood proudly against the sky, reclaimed from history.

But it was not the ancient stone that caught her attention.

The once-barren ground, dull and lifeless after centuries of being buried, was now dusted with countless flecks of green. Tiny shoots had pierced through the soil, carpeting the earth with the first signs of new life.

Lara slowed to a stop.

Without a word, she drifted away from Amelia and knelt on the ground.

Her fingers reached toward one of the fragile sprouts. Gently, she pinched a single blade between her fingertips, careful not to damage it. It was soft, delicate... barely awake from its long slumber.

A faint breath escaped her lips.

”Alpine Meadow Grass...”

The name came instinctively.

It had once grown only on the windswept peak of Mount Ourea, flourishing where few other plants could survive.

Long ago, she had carried a handful of seeds back from the mountains and painstakingly cultivated them herself.

She had planted them here, across the front gardens of Hevenfort.

She had planted them around Helian Manor as well.

She had imagined they would bloom every June, just as they always had.

A gentle smile, touched with nostalgia, curved her lips.

How stubborn you are.

Buried beneath stone and soil for more than five hundred years...

...and you still found your way back to the light.

The smile lingered only for a heartbeat.

Then Lara’s expression stiffened.

Almost as if she had caught herself committing an unforgivable mistake, she smoothed away every trace of warmth from her face and rose to her feet once more, her familiar composure settling over her like a mask.