Return of the General's Daughter

Shaya had always considered herself stronger than most women. She had fled her home alone, endured a bandit raid, and survived a pirate attack that had nearly broken her spirit. She had fought off men who would have defiled her, and through every trial, she had come out alive.

Strength had become her shield, and she believed it enough to keep her safe.

So when Baron Gabor cornered her earlier, she had stood her ground. Her fists struck, her body twisted with desperate precision, and for a moment she thought she could outlast him.

But the longer she fought, the more the baron got excited as though her resistance only fueled his hunger. His hands were merciless, his weight overwhelming, and worst of all—he, too, knew the language of combat. His martial skill made her efforts falter.

Her limbs had grown heavy, her breath ragged. The certainty struck her like a blade: she was not strong enough. Against him, she was just a helpless prey.

She thought it would be her end.

Then fate turned its wheel once more. The Norse siblings had arrived, pulling her from the brink before the Baron's cruelty could consume her.

Later, she learned why the baron's gaze had fallen on her. He had first noticed her tending to wounded soldiers, her gentle hands and quiet courage catching his interest. And when Baron Gabor "wanted" something—or someone—he always took it.

This was not his first transgression. From the southern lands of Estalis to the royal capital itself, his appetite had gone unchecked. Kings before had turned a blind eye, allowing him to pluck women like the spoils of war.

He was untouchable—or so he thought.

Gabor controlled the lifeblood of Estalis: Salt and the bounty of the sea. His grip on the trade made him a kingmaker in his own right. Worse, he had ties to the dreaded Pirates of Surienste. While Zura and Westalis suffered constant raids, Estalis enjoyed suspicious peace, shielded by Gabor's alliance with the pirate captain.

When he was dragged in chains toward the dungeon, he still shouted threats. "If the captain learns I am imprisoned, Estalis will choke! Your salt, your sea trade—it will all burn!"

Shaya's body shook with apprehension as she watched him disappear into the pathways leading to the dungeon. A heavy weight settled in her chest. The shadows around her seemed to deepen, wrapping her in an unsettling embrace as the echoes of their footsteps faded into the darkness.

"Are you alright, Shaya?" Lara's soothing voice reached her ear. Her face full of concern.

"Thank you… for saving me," she whispered, her voice uneven, her hands still shaking. "Please, thank your brothers as well."

Lara's expression softened. She pressed a warm cup into Shaya's palms, the steam curling like a promise of calm. "Drink this. It will steady you."

Shaya clutched the cup as though it were an anchor.

"We gave our words to Bener," Lara added, her tone sharpening with resolve. "If you came to harm under our watch, he would never forgive us. Neither would we." Her brothers, standing nearby, nodded their agreement.

With quiet efficiency, Lara sent Gideon to inform Netser that Shaya was safe. Then, with a steady hand on Shaya's arm, she guided her back to the courtyard where the other women from the military campaign rested.

The night air was cool there, filled with the low murmur of tired voices. For the first time since the ordeal, Shaya allowed herself to breathe.

"Finish the tea," Lara said gently. "Let it soothe your nerves. Tonight, you must rest."

That night, sleep never found Shaya.

She lay awake among the other women, the Baron's shadow still loomed over her—his rough grip, the heat of his breath, the weight of knowing that for all her struggles, she had nearly been broken.

And Gabor's words echoed in her mind like a curse.

If the Pirates of Surienste learned what had been done to him…Would Estalis be dragged into the storm?

Her body trembled in waves. It wasn't from cold, nor exhaustion. It was the memory of helplessness.

"Shaya… are you alright?" Lazira's voice broke the silence of the women's quarters. She had been listening to the restless tossing for hours, each shift of the blankets betraying Shaya's turmoil. "You've been turning in your bed since lie down."

Shaya hesitated before replying, her voice low and strained. "I'm fine, Lazira. Just… unsettled. What happened tonight keeps replaying in my head."

Veronica sat up, her tone fierce. "After what that bastard tried to do to you? If I ever cross paths with him, I'll make sure he never harms another woman again. Not with these boots of mine." She stamped her heel against the floor, drawing a few nervous giggles.

Aryana leaned closer, eyes glinting with mischief. "That reminds me—have you heard about the story of the magistrate in the Calma? He was beaten to a pulp and his manhood kicked so many times that it turned into a mush."

Marjan's face lit up. "Yes! She was Thalia, wasn't she? I've always wanted to meet her. Imagine facing down a magistrate like that. She's a hero."

The chatter filled the air with warmth, but Shaya remained silent. Her fingers twisted the hem of her blanket, her chest heavy with unspoken words. Finally, she sighed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I realized something tonight. I thought I was strong, stronger than most women. But against Baron Gabor, I was powerless. If I had Lara's strength… I could have stopped him."

Lazira shifted closer, her hand brushing Shaya's shoulder. Her voice was gentle but firm. "Strength isn't only born—it's built. You're still standing, Shaya. That means you can grow stronger. You will."

...

At dawn, when the first pale light touched the courtyard, Shaya slipped away quietly. She wandered into the training grounds, where soldiers were already drilling. Their grunts, the clash of wooden weapons, the rhythm of feet against earth—these sounds steadied her racing thoughts.

This… this is what I lack, she realized. Not courage. Not heart. But training and skill.

Her fists clenched. She would not be prey again.

"Up so early?" a familiar voice asked.

Lara approached, her eyes studied Shaya with the quiet understanding of someone who had seen fear before.

Shaya's lips pressed together before she spoke. "I need to be stronger. I have been lucky a few times, but what if my luck runs out?" Her voice shook, but her gaze was steady. "Teach me, please."

For a moment, Lara said nothing. Then she handed Shaya a thick stick. Its weight was reassuring, solid in her grasp.

"Strength isn't only in muscle," Lara said. "It's in how you fight, how you endure, and how you rise after being struck down. If you're ready, then start here. Start now."

Shaya's hands tightened on the stick. Her arms still quivered, her body still remembered the Baron's grip, but her spirit sparked with something new—something sharper than fear —resolve!

And as the sun rose higher, her first strikes echoed across the yard. They were clumsy, uneven—but each one struck harder than the last.

Her recovery had begun.