Return of the General's Daughter

Odin watched from the manor’s second-floor window with quiet fascination. He leaned against the pane, arms crossed over his chest. "Where did our daughter learn those moves?" he mused aloud. Her strikes were fluid, her stances solid—nothing like the traditional forms he had seen before. No wonder Bener boasted of her skills after their time in Calma.

Just as Lara turned to look at them, Odin moved back toward the bed and pulled his wife so Freya could join him at the window. Her gaze sharpened as she spotted their six sons exiting the manor and stepping onto the lawn, each bringing a weapon.

Asael with his sword.

Galahad with his spear in one hand and another spear in the other.

Bener with his own blade.

Gideon was armed with a bow and arrows, and a sword.

And the twins Percival and Peridur, with swords strapped to their backs.

The sunlight glinted off steel and polished wood as they approached the trio.

Freya’s eyes narrowed. "Darling, what exactly are your sons planning to do with their sister? Are they going to fight her?" Despite the endearment, her glare was sharp, her voice firm.

Odin raised an eyebrow, his hand finding its way to her waist. "I have no idea. Why don’t we watch and find out?" His grip was gentle but steady, and when Freya swatted it away, he only caught her hand, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and led her to the balcony where the view stretched unobstructed over the training grounds.

Below, Lara turned just as her brothers approached. Her brow arched with curiosity, but her smile remained easy. "Good morning, brothers," she called out, her voice clear and steady. "Are you joining me for training, or have you come to conquer the lawn with all that steel?"