Lara did not answer—at least, not in any way that could be called direct. But sothing in her eyes shifted when they settled on Alia, sothing quieter, deeper... almost reverent.
So that was it.
No wonder Alia had always felt different to her.
From the very first mont they t, there had been an unexplainable pull—a compulsion to protect, to guide, to stay. It hadn’t made sense then.
Now it did.
A descendant of Althea.
The realization settled heavily in her chest.
The body she wore now still stood on uncertain ground—whether she was truly Larissa Reyes, or Larissa Fuegerro, or a Norse if her suspicion was proven, the truth still buried beneath layers of doubt and uncertainties.
But the soul? The soul was undeniable.
She was Lara Norse-Kromwel.
An empress reborn in borrowed flesh.
And Alia... should have been hers to protect by blood, by legacy, by fate itself.
Lara turned back to the ancient scroll, steadying her thoughts.
"This section," she said, her voice low but firm, "ntions the Purge. Briefly—but enough." Her finger traced a faded line of script, ink nearly swallowed by ti. "It warns every patriarch of the Nades to guard the truth. To ensure it survives."
She shifted slightly, pointing to another cluster of symbols.
"And here... instructions. How to preserve the genealogy. How to mark it—so only the rightful can authenticate it."
Alia leaned closer, eyes scanning the text.
But the symbols remained stubbornly foreign—twisted strokes and patterns that seed to shift the longer she stared.
A code. A language lost to ti.
Her brows drew together.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to Lara, suspicion flickering in her deep brown eyes.
How does she understand this?
Lara didn’t need her to ask. The question was loud enough. She could understand Alia’s thoughts but she simply ignored it.
Instead, she turned the conversation with deliberate ease.
"What made you write about the Lost Empire... under the na Themis?"
Alia blinked, caught off guard.
For a mont, the tension eased from her shoulders.
"Grandpa," she said, softer now. "He was obsessed with it. Said the Kromwels were erased... hidden away like they never existed." A faint, bittersweet smile touched her lips. "He believed it was ti they ca back."
Her fingers brushed the edge of the scroll absentmindedly.
"I wrote that novel years ago. It didn’t matter back then. No one cared." She gave a small shrug. "It stayed buried and obscurred... until they discovered the ruins on Isla."
"Does Liam know?" Lara asked casually.
Alia stilled.
The change was imdiate—subtle, but unmistakable.
Her fingers tightened slightly, and the light in her eyes dimd.
"No." A pause. "He wouldn’t care."
There was no bitterness in her voice. Just sothing quieter.
"He has no interest in ," she continued. "The betrothal—it’s aningless to him." A faint, hollow smile ford. "Liam is... cold."
Lara’s gaze lingered on her.
For a fleeting mont, she was reminded of soone else.
Galahad Norse, her second brother.
Brilliant. Loyal. Suspicious in nature. Fearless in battle—and utterly hopeless when it ca to matters of the heart.
Liam carried that sa air. That sa frustrating obliviousness.
n who could command armies... but not understand a single woman.
"Do you like him?" Lara asked, watching her carefully.
Alia froze.
The question seed to root her in place.
Seconds passed.
Then she exhaled slowly.
"Maybe," she admitted. "Before."
Her lips curved faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
"He’s tall. Handso. The kind of man every woman is supposed to want."
Supposed to.
That single thought lingered between them.
Alia turned away, as if shrugging off sothing heavier than she let on. She crossed the room and opened the mini refrigerator, the soft hum filling the silence.
She pulled out two cans of fruit juice and handed one to Lara.
Cold tal brushed against Lara’s fingers.
"But now..." Alia said, her voice lifting—just a touch too bright, as if carefully arranged. "I think I care more about telling the story of my ancestors."
This ti, when her eyes lit up, it wasn’t softness—it was fire.
"The Azurverdan Empire," she continued, almost reverently. "Calma—the very heart of its power." A quiet smile ford, but it carried weight now, conviction. "And the Kromwels... not as myths, not as fragnts—but for what they truly were."
She straightened slightly, as if the words themselves gave her grit.
"Heroes," she said. "The ones who forged unity out of chaos. The ones who brought the kingdoms together... and built the Azuverda we live in today."
Lara gave a low hum in response, her gaze lingering on Alia a mont longer than necessary.
Still so young.
In this era, ti stretched generously ahead. Love could be postponed, set aside, even ignored.
And yet—
Sothing had changed.
Lara had been watching.
Liam’s behavior hadn’t shifted in grand gestures, but in details—small, almost careless attentions. The kind a man gives without realizing he’s begun to care.
Alia didn’t seem to notice.
Or perhaps, she noticed—and chose not to.
But Lara saw it clearly.
...
Alia suddenly pulled out her phone.
"Look at this."
She turned the screen toward Lara.
The image was striking.
Two sarcophagi stood side by side—one carved from obsidian so dark it seed to swallow light, the other sculpted from pristine white marble, glowing faintly even through the screen.
But it wasn’t the coffins that held the eye.
Behind them stretched a vast fresco.
Six figures.
At the center stood General Odin—unyielding, imposing.
And behind him, his five sons.
Battle-hardened. Undefeated. The empire’s shield.
Guardians who had stood against the world itself.
"Isn’t it unbelievable?" Alia said, her voice tinged with frustration. "The Norse family survived all this ti... but there’s nothing about the Kromwels?"
Her grip tightened slightly around her phone.
"Wouldn’t their ancestors have told the story? Passed it down?" Her brows furrowed. "How do you erase sothing like that?"
Lara’s gaze darkened.
She had asked that sa question countless tis.
When she first awakened... that had been her greatest shock.
The Norse na endured.
But the Kromwels— just vanished.
As if history itself had been rewritten.
"I don’t know," Lara said quietly.
But her voice carried sothing colder now.
Sothing certain.
Her eyes returned to the image, lingering on the figures carved into mory.
"But we will."
A faint pause.
Then, almost like a promise—
"I’m sure of it."
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