Return of the General's Daughter

Lara stepped into the infirmary just as Shaya slipped out, the wooden door creaking behind her. The scent of antiseptic herbs and faint coppery traces of blood lingered in the air, mingling with the quiet groans and muffled coughs of the wounded.

On one of the cots at the far side of the room, Percival raised his head the moment he saw her. He pressed both palms theatrically to his chest, eyes wide with mock despair.

"Sister, at last you grace me with your presence. My heart is shattered."

Lara arched a brow. "What are you talking about, Perci? I was here last night—and the nights before that." She crossed the room swiftly, skirts brushing against the edge of his cot, and began unwrapping the linen that bound his arm.

"What do you mean by that, Perci. I was here last night and the nights prior." Lara protested. She leaned, then unraveled the bandage and check on his wound.

She gave an exaggerated sigh. "You were sleeping like a log, so you never noticed me visiting.."

Before he could lapse further into dramatics, the door opened again. Asael, Galahad, and Gideon entered together, their tall frames filling the doorway. The timing seemed deliberate, as though they had agreed to converge upon their youngest brother at once.

"And now my brothers have deigned to remember me!" Percival announced loudly enough for half the ward to hear. His voice carried with pride, and a few soldiers cast him sidelong looks—part annoyance, part curiosity. None dared rebuke him, however. He was, after all, the son of General Odin, and his brothers were all celebrated generals in their own right.

Yet rather than heading straight for Percival's bedside, the three men dispersed among the rows of cots. The infirmary stretched wide, fifty beds in all, neatly ordered in five rows of ten.

One by one, the brothers offered each soldier a piece of bread and a ripe banana, their presence lifting spirits far more than the food itself. Murmurs of gratitude rippled through the ward, the wounded men straightening as their commanders spoke words of encouragement. For a moment, the dreary hall felt alive with pride.

By the time the trio circled back to Percival, Lara had already peeled back the bandages, checked the angry red gash on his arm, and secured it once more. The wound was shallow, but its timing had been costly. Percival had been struck just as the Aegis Palace was on the brink of surrender—a foolish lapse in vigilance.

If not for Netser's and Logan's quick reflexes in intercepting the enemy blade, Percival might have been gutted on the spot. Still, in the chaos, one foe had slipped past and slashed at his arm. Logan had subdued that man and managed to come away with only a few scratches, but Percival had not been so fortunate.

"We return to Calma the day after tomorrow," Galahad said, his steady gaze shifting from Percival to Lara. "Will he be strong enough to travel?"

Lara opened her mouth to answer, but Percival cut in, sitting up straighter despite the wince it cost him. "Of course I will. I refuse to linger here any longer. I'm going home—to Calma. No one can stop me."

"Of course, I am." Percival interjected even before Lara could reply. "I want to go home to Calma. I don't want to stay here."

...

While the brothers were busy trading pleasantries, Lara's attention was drawn to a flicker of movement at her side. She turned her head and found Netser shifting uneasily, his hand tightening and loosening in a nervous rhythm. At times, his fingers dug into the thin blanket covering him, crumpling the fabric until it looked as though it had been wrung out.

"Are you all right, Netser?" she asked carefully, her voice edged with concern.

A shadow of worry darkened Netser's expression. His lips pressed tight as he braced himself, planting both palms at his sides before pushing his body upright with visible strain.

"Hey—don't move too much," Lara urged, rising slightly as though to steady him. "Your wound could reopen."

He ignored the warning, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that unsettled her. "A soldier came earlier," he said, his voice low but urgent. "He said the king summoned her." Netser paused, studying Lara's face as though weighing her reaction. Then, more grimly: "I could feel there was something wrong about that summons."

He hesitated, the silence stretching before he finally spoke. "Miss Lara… did you happen to meet Shaya along the way?"

Lara blinked, caught off guard. "No. I haven't seen her."

The brothers, who had fallen silent, exchanged uneasy glances. The air in the room shifted, heavy with unspoken dread.

Lara leaned in slightly. "What time did Shaya leave? Which way did she go?"

"Just before you arrived," Netser replied, his voice tightening. "She turned left.

The infirmary grew quiet after Netser's words, as though even the shadows along the stone walls were listening. A faint draft slipped through the narrow window slit, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and old mortar.

She exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of every gaze resting on her—Netser's strained, the brothers' expectant. Shaya's absence stretched between them like an invisible thread pulled taut, ready to snap.

Lara crossed to the window, her boots scuffing lightly against the rough floor. Beyond the slit, the courtyard lay drowned in twilight. A line of guards marched along the outer wall, their armor glinting like shards of dull silver. She watched them a moment, wondering if any of them had seen Shaya leave—or if they, too, were merely pawns in whatever scheme had taken her from the safety of this place.

Behind her, Netser drew a sharp breath, the sound ragged with the pain he tried to conceal. "She shouldn't have gone alone," he murmured, his voice nearly lost beneath the crackle of flame.

Lara turned back toward him. His shoulders were tense, jaw clenched as though he were holding back more than pain. The brothers looked at each other before Asael spoke. "Don't worry, we will look for her."

A silence lingered, long enough that Lara could hear her own heartbeat echoing faintly in her ears. Then she said, almost to herself, "If Shaya turned left, she would have taken the path toward the guest houses." Her voice was calm, but her chest tightened as she spoke.