Return of the General's Daughter

Night fell like a shroud over the hills and plains of Carles, cloaking the town in a tense, pre-storm silence. A cold wind whispered through the grass, carrying with it the scent of smoke and blood—reminders of battles not yet over.

Night fell swiftly over the plains and the hills, wrapping Carles in a cloak of uneasy silence. Inside the secret cavern, General Marlon sat beside Odin, his arm freshly bandaged, though pain still pulsed beneath the wrappings. A map of Carles lay between them, weighed down with stones and marked with blood.

"We strike before the sun breaks the sky," Odin said, his voice like iron dragged across stone. "No siege. No waiting. No mercy. We scale the walls, take the passage beneath the kitchen. A decoy at the gate will fracture their lines. While they’re distracted, we end this."

"They won’t expect a counterattack so soon," Alaric added. "They’ll believe we retreated for good. We should attack the manor at the same time."

"And if they did expect it," said Lara, stepping into the firelight, "they won’t be ready for us."

Her brothers stood behind her, armored and armed, each one radiating grim anticipation.

Marlon looked across the map, then at his son standing beside him.

"Merlin," he said, voice steady. "You’ll take the western wall. You’ve walked that stone once already. You know the terrain. You lead the breach."

Merlin stiffened—surprised, then slowly nodded. "I won’t fail."

"You won’t," Marlon replied. "Because you’ve already earned this."

He looked at Odin and hesitated. "My men and I can attack the Town Hall."

Odin nodded. "Your nephews will go with you along with some of the Phoenix Legion. I will go with Alaric and Lara to infiltrate the Marquina Manor."