Return of the General's Daughter

The afternoon smelled of salt and woodsmoke, the tide whispering against Lavista's docks. The Phoenix Legion had settled into into their tasks guarding even beyond the town walls, sentries pacing the perimeter.

Lara was busy the entire afternoon, taking care of the injured, suturing wounds, and applying medicinal salve, but her hand never strayed far from her sword.

When she left earlier, Pamela's laughter with Marina had unsettled her—pure and innocent.

And yet, for all her instincts, Lara had left Pamela. She let them play. She thought her young ward needed it.

Now, the mistake burned like iron in her chest.

When she came back, Pamela was nowhere to be seen.

She went to their tent. Pamela was not there. The flap stirred in the afternoon wind, and Lara's heart thundered in her ears. A guard lay slumped by the entrance, drinking a cup of coffeee. He was not bothered at all.

On the ground, small footprints pressed into the dirt, leading toward Lavista's alleys. Smaller still, another set followed—Marina's.

"Where is Pam?" She asked and there was an edge in her voice that made the guard's hand holding the cup tremble.

"Miss Lara, Pam went with her friend. She said that she wanted to look at the house on a boat."

Lara cursed under her breath and went to look for Alaric. Within moments, the camp stirred, the Legion moving like a stirred hornet's nest.

But Lara was already running, her blade drawn, chasing the ghost of two children through the winding streets.

The town was alive with whispers, shutters half-open, villagers watching silently as the chase passed. Their eyes did not show surprise, only resignation, as if they had been warned that something would be taken from them that day.

By the time Lara reached the shoreline, the truth cut her deeper than any blade.

Five hundred meters from the shoreline, a ship waited in Lavista Bay. From its mast hung Pamela—bound, suspended high, her small figure illuminated by afternoon light. The sea breeze whipped her hair across her terrified face.

The townsfolk had gathered on the beach, their murmurs carrying like a tide.

"Is that the cursed child?"

"What do you mean by a cursed child? She is the symbol of hope for us."

"They said all her family died and she was the only one who survived. Can you not call that a curse?"

"She brings death with her shadow…"

"The sea avenged the death of its masters and takes back its due…"

Lara's vision narrowed, as if she were peering through a long, dark tunnel. The rhythmic crash of the waves against the shore faded into an indistinct roar, while the cheerful chatter of passersby dissolved into a meaningless murmur.

Alaric's figure emerged beside her, but even his presence felt distant and hazy. All around her was overwhelmed by the piercing, anguished wail and cries for help that erupted from Pamela's throat—raw and primal, a sound that seemed to echo off the very cliffs surrounding the docks, pulling Lara deeper into the taut silence of that unbearable moment.

On the sand, Marina stood among the crowd, her wide eyes glistening. But when she turned, Lara caught it—the smallest flicker of a smirk before the girl melted into the onlookers, swallowed by the tide of bodies.

Betrayal.

How can a child be so vicious?  And yet Lara thought about herself when she was at her age. Wasn't she the same?

She was trained to be.

The Phoenix Legion surged forward, but the Zurans had chosen their theater well. Soldiers could not storm a ship anchored in deep water without boats, and even if they did, Pamela's fragile body on the mast made any assault perilous.

Lara's knuckles whitened on her sword hilt. She could feel the trap closing—not just steel and rope, but the eyes of Lavista itself. The child had been made into a spectacle, a symbol turned inside out.

Alaric's voice was low, grim. "They don't just want her. They want her seen, broken, and dead."

Even the seasoned General Odin was helpless as he looked at the innocent child displayed like a lamb to be slaughtered.

Above them, Pamela twisted against her bonds, her small voice cracking against the wind.

"Sister! Sister, help me!" Pamela's pitiful cries cut through Lara's heart like a knife.

The tide lapped higher on the shore. Lara's breath came sharp, ragged. She had fought armies, slain beasts, and held her ground against men twice her size. But this—this was a war of shadows, and Zura had struck its first true blow.

She stepped forward, her voice carrying over the hush of the crowd.

"You think to break us with fear? You think to turn this child into your weapon?" Her sword gleamed in the afternoon light. "Then know this—before the night is done, I will take her back. And when I do, the shadows you send will learn what it means to cross us."

But even as the fire lit her words, Lara's heart was stone. Because she knew the Zurans had not placed Pamela there merely to terrify. They had placed her there because they expected the Legion to fail.

And from the corner of the watching crowd, Marina's absence confirmed it. Her father, who was a farmer, had taken her away.

"You did well, child." The man's voice was warm and reassuring. He looked different than the farmer from just the night before; now he stood before her clad in a merchant's fine attire, the fabric rich and ornate, glinting softly in the fading light. The vivid colors of his garments contrasted sharply with the earthy tones he had worn earlier, creating an air of authority and urgency.

"Now we must escape this place and return to Zura," he continued, determination etched across his face as he scanned the surroundings, ready to lead her to safety.

Marina was actually not his child. She was a trafficked child sold into Zura. Turik saw a potential in her even when she was four years old, and so she was sent to his training ground: The Orphanage.

"I am sure, General Turik will be proud of you and reward you for your efforts."

The man turned back and smirked when he saw that more and more people were gathered in the shoreline.

The trap was already deeper than they could see.