The next morning unfolded under a pale gold sky, the kind that promised heat long before the sun reached its peak. Lara returned to Isla at the side of Randell Belmont, her presence calm but deliberate, as though she already knew this visit would stir more than dust.
Ares did not join them.
An urgent eting had claid his morning, and the incident with the snake the day before had left threads he refused to ignore.
If sothing had slipped into his mansion unnoticed, he intended to find out how—and why.
So it was only Lara and Asher who accompanied the old man this ti, their small group quieter, but no less purposeful.
Shay had tried to change that.
Again and again, she had tugged at the hem of Lara’s white blouse, her bright eyes pleading, her voice relentless with hope. She wanted to co, to see Isla, to be part of whatever secret world the adults seed to guard so carefully. But Lara had not wavered. Her refusal was gentle, but firm.
"Not yet. The island is too chaotic and there is too much dust."
Two simple words—but they carried a weight Shay did not understand.
This ti, their destination lay deeper within Isla—the southwestern sector, where the land itself seed to rember a different era.
The excavation site of Helias Manor.
Once, long before marriage bound Lara Norse to Alaric, the manor had stood within Lara’s estate. It was more than a residence; it had been a sanctuary.
Within its walls existed Eos Haven—a quiet refuge she had built for broken won, for those discarded, abandoned, or lost. It was a place where shattered lives were not pitied, but rebuilt.
Now, only fragnts remained. Stone foundations clawed up from the earth. Half-buried corridors. Echoes.
Yet even in ruin, the place held its dignity.
Security in the sector was tight. General Artemio Fuegerro oversaw it with unyielding discipline, along with Aquilo, who held a second degree as engineer and helped manage the technical operations behind the excavation.
Randell and Persius had co for a reason.
An ancient scroll, long in Persius’s possession, depicted a map of Lara Norse’s estate. It should help speed up the excavation as the digging would be more targeted.
It was not just a map. It also had the blueprint of the Helias Manor and the Eos Haven — Hidden passages. Concealed chambers. Forgotten architecture.
And Philip, the lead archeologist on-site, might hold the key to deciphering it.
While the old n imrsed themselves in quiet but intense discussion, their voices low and asured over brittle parchnt, Lara drifted at the edges of the site.
She did not need to speak to feel it.
The place rembered her.
Artemio noticed her presence almost imdiately, though he remained where he stood, ever watchful. It was Aquilo who moved.
He approached with steady steps, his expression as composed as ever—but there was sothing different today. Sothing warr.
"It’s good that you ca to visit this area," he said, and for a fleeting mont, a rare smile softened the sharp lines of his face.
Lara tilted her head slightly, the brim of her wide hat casting a gentle shadow over her features. Despite the shade, the heat clung to her, beads of sweat tracing along her temple.
"I accompanied Grandpa Randell," she replied lightly. "Besides... I’m working here. Part-ti."
For a second, Aquilo stilled.
Then his eyes lit—subtle, but unmistakable.
"Really?"
If that were true... then this would not be a rare encounter.
It would be routine.
Opportunity.
Without another word, he extended a bottle of ice-cold water toward her, condensation glistening under the sun.
"It’s hot," he said. "You should cool down."
Lara accepted it without hesitation, her fingers brushing briefly against his.
A small mont.
Barely noticeable.
A short distance away, Asher stood beside his grandfather, at least in position if not in attention. The discussion about maps and hidden structures drifted past him unheard, reduced to aningless noise.
His gaze was locked elsewhere.
On Lara.
And the man standing too close to her.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Built like soone who belonged on a battlefield, as impressive as him.
Asher’s expression darkened.
Without a word, he slipped out his phone, angled it just right, and snapped a photo.
The image captured everything he needed—the distance between them, the offering of water, the ease of familiarity.
He sent it imdiately to the first contact on his list.
There was no hesitation. No second thought.
The ssage he attached was short, but heavy with implication:
"Shay might soon be calling another man, Daddy."
...
Back at the Zuvel mansion in Laguna, the air was thick—not with heat, but with sothing far heavier.
The scent of blood mingled with sweat and urine.
The kind that pressed against the walls and made every breath feel deliberate.
Deep within the estate, far from the polished halls and watchful servants, Ares stood in a dim interrogation room where even light seed reluctant to linger.
A single lamp cast a harsh glow over the figure slumped in a chair—one of the newly hired servants.
Or rather, a spy who had already outlived his usefulness.
The man’s body trembled uncontrollably, his clothes clinging to him, soaked in sweat. His face was pale, lips cracked, eyes unfocused from pain and fear. Whatever loyalty he once had had long since shattered under Ares’s thods.
Ares stood before him, immaculate as ever.
Not a strand of hair out of place. Not a crease on his sleeves. Not a trace of emotion in his eyes.
And that... was what made him terrifying.
"Speak," Ares said quietly.
He did not raise his voice, nor did it sound like a threat.
Just a command.
The servant choked, his voice breaking as the last of his resistance crumbled.
"I—I’ll tell you...! I’ll tell you everything!"
The words spilled out in desperation, tangled and frantic. Nas. Instructions. Paynt routes. And finally—
The truth.
Ares listened without interruption, his expression unchanged.
But the mont the na was spoken, sothing cold flickered in his gaze.
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