Return of the General's Daughter

Lara also collapsed onto the ground, her garments smeared with crimson. The sight struck Alaric like a dagger—his pupils constricted as he dropped to his knees beside her. His hands trembled violently as he pressed them against her stomach, desperate to stop the bleeding he imagined was there.

"Lara…" his voice cracked, heavy with dread.

General Odin and the Norse brothers caught sight of the scene: Alaric pressing his hands over Lara's stomach, her body streaked with blood. Their hearts lurched, and with a roar they forced their way through the street, kicking aside groaning pirates who dared to block their path.

"Lara..."

"Sister.."

Their voices overlapped, sharp with panic, a chorus of anguish that rang in Lara's skull like iron striking iron. She winced, pressing a hand to her temple.

"Don't worry," she sighed, her tone more sheepish than pained. "I… just slipped. This isn't even my blood." Her cheeks flushed as she muttered the words, embarrassed to be the cause of their alarm.

Relief swept over Alaric like a storm breaking. He exhaled a shuddering breath and pulled her tightly into his arms, unwilling to let go now that fear had loosened its grip on his chest.

The Norse brothers exchanged glances, their faces hardening. To them, Alaric's display was excessive, almost galling—they had nearly believed their sister was mortally wounded. They cast him a disdainful look but said nothing.

Their attention shifted when Gideon's voice cut through the tension. His eyes fixed on the body lying in a spreading pool of blood.

"How can this be Hook?" he muttered, staring at the mangled corpse of the pirate—his infamous iron claw lying severed beside him.

Gideon's lip curled as memories surfaced. "Two years ago, when Alaric purged Calma of its corrupt lords, Hook tried to flee. Bener, Percival, and I hunted him all the way to River Praya. Bener struck off his right hand. The coward used his own comrade as a shield, then hurled himself into the river. We thought he drowned." Gideon punctuated the memory with a vicious kick to the corpse. "Yet the vermin crawled back from death. His life was damnably tenacious "I never thought he could have survived that night."

"Don't dwell on it, brother," Asael said, resting a steadying hand on Gideon's shoulder. "The eastern seas will breathe easier with these two scoundrels gone."

But Galahad's eyes were still sharp with fury. "Gone, yes—but death is too merciful. Hook deserved worse. He should have rotted like Scarface."

In the distance, the clash of steel and the screams of dying men had faded into silence. What remained was the groan of the wounded, the stench of salt and iron, and the heavy stillness that followed the carnage.

The soldiers moved methodically across the blood-soaked docks of Zaraga. They hauled away the pirate corpses, dragging them to burn on great pyres at the far end of the harbor. The wounded were carried to a makeshift infirmary, which the trained soldiers of the Phoenix Legion set up at the town square.

Others scoured the wreckage of boats still smoldering, stamping out flames before they could spread to the warehouses. The clamor of battle had been replaced by the rasp of brooms on stone, the creak of wagons, and the hushed murmurs of the living.

Alaric stood at the heart of it all, his dark cloak stiff with drying blood. His gaze swept over the harbor, sharp and unflinching, though the weight of what had transpired pressed heavily on his shoulders. Beside him, General Odin gave commands in a booming voice, ensuring the men worked swiftly, his presence as immovable as the mountains.

Lara, still stained with blood, was tending the injured.

From the shadows of the alleys, the people of Zaraga began to emerge. At first cautiously—heads peeking out from behind shuttered doors, their eyes brightened with gratitude as the terror had ended. Then, slowly, they came in waves. Men with soot-stained faces, women clutching children, elders leaning on staffs. They gathered in the square overlooking the harbor, their eyes drawn to the men who had saved them.

A cheer rose, tentative at first, then swelling until it rolled like thunder over the battered city.

"Thank you, brave heroes. You are the saviors of Zaraga!"

The words echoed from mouth to mouth, until even the smallest child was chanting the names. Flowers were brought, hastily gathered from gardens, and scattered across the stones at the soldiers' feet.

Alaric froze for a moment, staring down at the fragile bloom cradled in his calloused palm. His throat tightened. He knelt, gently resting his hand on the boy's head. "Be brave," he said softly.

General Odin, less given to tenderness, raised his arm and barked to the crowd: "Zaraga is safe. Your town stands. The pirates who plagued your seas will trouble you no more!" His words ignited another cheer, fiercer than before, a cry of triumph that carried into the smoke-streaked sky.

The Norse brothers stood at the edge of the gathering, their faces still shadowed with disdain for Alaric for almost giving them a heart attack earlier, but even they could not ignore the gratitude pouring from the townsfolk. Galahad muttered something under his breath, half-grumbling, half-acknowledging the people's joy.

Amid the swelling voices and the spreading joy, a thin figure edged through the crowd. A girl, no older than eight, her hair tangled and cheeks streaked with soot and tears. She clutched the hem of her tattered dress as she crept closer—not toward Prince Alaric, nor General Odin, but toward Lara.

Her eyes were wide, brimming with something fiercer than fear. It was awe.

"You… it was you," the girl whispered, her voice almost lost beneath the cheer of the crowd. "You killed them. The man with the Hook and the Pirate Captain."

Lara blinked, taken aback by the intensity of the child's gaze. "I—" she began, but the girl pressed on, fists trembling.

"They murdered my parents and my little brother. Right in front of me." Her voice cracked, grief spilling out in sharp fragments. "I hated them. I prayed someone would make them pay. And you… you did."

Tears streaked anew down the girl's dirt-smudged face, but she was smiling through them—fragile, radiant, desperate with gratitude. She dropped to her knees and clutched at Lara's hand with both of hers.

"Thank you," she whispered, voice breaking. "Thank you for avenging them. My family can now rest peacefully."

For a moment, Lara was struck silent. Her chest tightened, and a pang of sorrow pierced her heart at the rawness of the child's pain. She knelt, cupping the girl's cheek gently, brushing away the tears with bloodstained fingers.

"No child should have to see what you've seen—"