Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 57: Passing Through The Shadow Of Death

Chapter 57: Passing Through The Shadow Of Death

It was him—the leader of the soldiers she had met in town, and he was now at death’s door before her.

Alaric’s vision blurred, the obsidian blackness fading like the last traces of daylight. Against the backdrop of flickering embers, the world distorted, but his focus settled on the face before him—beautiful, ethereal, with eyes so light brown, they shimmered with a hue of amber, glowing softly in the dying light of dusk.

A woman? What in the gods’ name was a woman doing so deep in the jungle? Was he hallucinating, drifting between the edges of consciousness?

He fought the pull of the darkness, his mind clouded with desperation, clinging to the thin thread of life that threatened to snap.

But then, gentle hands eased him onto the damp forest floor. A faint yet sweet scent drifted through his senses, soothing the gnawing pain in his stomach. He exhaled heavily. His body begged for rest. His mind clawed for awareness.

Not yet.

Lara worked swiftly, yanking cloth from her backpack, pressing a paste of yarrow against his open wound. Warm blood seeped through the fabric as she wrapped the bandage tight, her fingers deft despite the rapid beat of her pulse.

Her thoughts, however, drifted for a moment. The mangled bodies the wolves had feasted on—were they the soldiers he’d been with? The chatterbox among them?

She had never wished for anyone’s death, even if the soldier had been an annoying distraction. After all, they were the protectors of the people, the soldiers of the Northem.

She exhaled sharply, pushing the thought aside.

"Come on, soldier," she barked, her voice sharp, laced with urgency. "You need to help me. Get up. We’re not done yet."

The sudden command broke through the haze in Alaric’s mind, and, as if by instinct, he jolted to attention.

With surprising strength, Lara supported him, her body pressed against his as his arm draped across her shoulders for stability. They swayed together, a hesitant dance of survival.

What should’ve been a simple five-minute walk stretched into an agonizing fifteen. The forest around them was swallowed by the dark of night, the sounds of nocturnal insects rising in a symphony of dread.

The three flaming arrows she’d used as makeshift torches were burning low, nearly spent. Lara pulled three more from her quiver, the fire on their tips flickering in the gloom, casting eerie shadows.

She was almost at the hanging bridge when a growl rumbled behind her.

Lara’s breath hitched. Slowly, she turned. Her hand was already on the hilt of her sword. Amber eyes glowed in the darkness. The pack had returned. And this time, they weren’t just chasing. They were hunting.

The first wolf lunged.

Her heart skipped a beat. Instinct took over.

She swung her blade, the sharp hiss of steel cutting through the night air, and the telltale yelp of a wounded wolf echoed across the darkened jungle. She didn’t care whether it lived or died. Her priority was escape.

"Soldier, move it! If you don’t get up, we’ll both be dinner!" she hissed, gritting her teeth. "You’re damn heavy."

Alaric gritted his teeth, forcing his feet forward, driven by her urgency. His heart pounded against his ribs, his muscles screaming in protest. Still, he pushed on.

The pack of wolves, sensing their prey slipping from their grasp, growled louder.

The wolves weren’t giving up.

"Hold these," Lara shoved the burning arrows into his hands as she ordered. The flames were already licking dangerously close to the end.

Alaric wobbled, his knees buckling as he clutched the torch in a death grip.

The wolves’ amber eyes gleamed malevolent in the flickering torchlight. Lara reached for her quiver. There was no time for the bow—the wolves were too close.

She also didn’t have time to notch it—her hand flung the arrow straight into the path of a wolf’s gleaming eyes. A pained yelp followed, but she didn’t dare look back to see if it had struck true.

She grasped another arrow and hurled it, aiming for the glow of an eye, another yelp, another wounded predator.

But they kept coming.

And they were too close.

Suddenly, a thought broke through the tension—Gray. His wolf pack should be nearby.

She whistled sharply, a call cutting through the night.

Silence.

’Damn it!’

Lara pulled another arrow, her fingers trembling slightly as she aimed. There was no time for finesse. She released the arrow, and another howl pierced the night air.

Another arrow. Another throw. Another yelp.

Then—a rustling. Low growls.

Not from the enemy.

A familiar presence surged from the underbrush.

Gray.

A blur of dark fur and snapping jaws, her wolves leaped into the fray, forming a protective barrier between her and the predators.

Relief flooded Lara’s veins.

"Gray, thank you. Take care of them. I owe you one," she murmured, her voice filled with gratitude.

Gray’s ears flicked, but his focus stayed on the fight.

The wolves that had been closing in on them hesitated, then lunged. But Gray, and several others of his pack, lunged forward, forcing the attackers to retreat. The standoff was brief but critical.

In that brief chaos, Lara turned her focus back to Alaric. He was on his knees, one hand gripping the torch, the other bracing against the earth. He was slipping.

She crouched beside him, her voice dropping to something softer. "Hold on. Just a little more."

The man was fading, his weight almost too much for her to bear. She could feel the heat of his body, the ragged breath against her neck. He was barely holding on. But she couldn’t falter. Not now.

Alaric’s breath shuddered as the warmth of her whisper curled against his ear.

For a moment, the haze lifted, but then he closed his eyes. He was too tired, too weak.

"Don’t you dare die on me, soldier! After all the troubles that I have been through! I will not forgive you!"

Her words, laced with threat, seemed to reach him. With a surge of will, Alaric pushed himself to his feet, though his legs felt like lead. He stumbled, but his resolve did not break.