Return of the General's Daughter-Chapter 385: The Eos Haven

"The goddess Eos embodies the dawn and is a personification of the daily renewal of life. Her emergence each morning signifies hope, rebirth, and the cyclical nature of existence.

Eos Haven, the name chosen by Lara to become the abode of the broken vases she picked up along the way—her Gabriellas."

...

The day before Marlon’s arrival at Calma, Odin and his sons, freshly returned from their reconnaissance, were preparing to visit Alaric’s palace. But as they reached the gravel path that curved toward the enormous gate of Helias Manor, a familiar carriage appeared on the horizon, its wheels crunching against the stones, sunlight glinting off its polished frame.

Alaric stepped down from the carriage with his usual commanding presence, but his expression darkened the moment his gaze swept over the Norse family. His sharp eyes scanned the group, lingering on the empty space where someone should have been.

"Lara is not with you," he said, his voice carrying both accusation and longing.

"She’s at Eos Haven," Odin replied gruffly, reading the tension etched on the prince’s face. "With the Gabriella ladies."

He knew that look in Alaric’s eyes—it was the look of a man who had been waiting too long for someone who mattered too much. Lara had stayed behind in Ourea with her master, the twins, Sandoz and Reya. It had been over a week since Alaric last saw her. No wonder he looked as if something vital was missing from his world.

Before Alaric could move, Odin raised a hand. "Before you see her, we need to discuss something of great importance."

"We’ll discuss it later, General," Alaric said sharply, already turning away. "I’ll go to Eos Haven first."

Without another word, he strode off, his boots grinding into the gravel as his pace quickened.

He whistled and from the grazing land at the far side of the estate, a beautiful chocolate brown war horse appeared. The horse was a pair. He gifted it to Lara on her eighteenth birthday. The other one, he kept on the estate for his ride everytime he visited and it was quite often.

He mounted the steed and without further delay galloped to the back of the estate.

Eos Haven, though part of Lara’s estate, stood apart from Helias Manor, its borders marked by a dense two-meter tall thicket fence. Earthen pots lined the perimeter, overflowing with herbs that filled the air with the scent of basil, rosemary, mint, thyme and wild sage. From afar, the fence appeared almost alive, like a green wall breathing with the rhythm of nature.

The haven was more than just a retreat. In modern times, it would have passed as a bustling economic hub—though on a smaller, more intimate scale.

Lara had overseen the construction of two-story workshops where garments, sturdy leather bags, and tents for soldiers were meticulously crafted. Another building housed her herbal medicine and skincare products, its windows steaming with the scent of freshly ground flowers and roots.

Farther south, separated by a grove of flaming fire trees and slender cedars, were the workshops of Hephastus, Gideon, and Peredur. Here, the rhythmic hammering of metal and the hiss of molten iron created a symphony of invention.

Once prototypes were perfected, they were transported to Isarnville—formerly known as Villages 1 to 3—a place Alaric had chosen as Calma’s industrial heart. Nestled on rocky grounds near the River Praya, it was far enough from the mountains yet close enough to water for transport.

Lara has drawn the blueprint of a water wheel which Alaric found interesting. He modified it to power up mechanical conveyors that helped them speed up their manufacturing process.

Alaric made his way to the Gabriella Hall, his stride firm and impatient. Inside, he found Thalia and Mona, along with the sisters Zeeta and Leah, their laughter softening the hall’s stately ambiance. But Lara was nowhere to be seen.

"Your Highness," Thalia said with a courteous bow, "Lara is at Hope Hospital with Felix. She’s checking on the new medic recruits."

Alaric’s jaw tightened. A low hum of acknowledgment escaped him, but his eyes betrayed a shadow of disappointment. As he left the hall, the air seemed to shift—the sisters felt it, a subtle chill as if a storm cloud had passed over them.

Alaric brooded. Didn’t she miss him as much as he missed her? Why hadn’t she sought him out the moment she returned from Ourea? Was Felix and the hospital more important than him?

The prince’s thoughts soured, and by the time he headed toward the hospital, a faint scowl had settled on his face.

For the past two years, Lara had transformed Calma’s approach to healing. She personally trained Felix and a select group of Alaric’s elite soldiers in the basics of surgery, suturing, and battlefield medicine. Her Aunt Delia and Lena had taken on nursing roles, while local healers were recruited and taught modern practices under Lara’s watchful guidance.

Hope Hospital stood on the northern edge of Lara’s estate, its U-shaped two-story structure facing the bustling town center. Its location was strategic, chosen for accessibility, but also for the warmth of light that streamed through its broad windows at dawn.

Yet, as Alaric stepped out of the Gabriella Hall, a familiar sound drew his attention—the rhythmic clop of hooves and the squeak of metal wheels.

Alaric froze mid-step, his breath catching as if the world had slowed around him.

Lara.

She rode astride her horse which she named Chestnut, because of its color. She rode with effortless grace, the sunlight catching strands of her copper brown hair and turning them to burnished gold. The wind teased the edges of her riding cloak, revealing a glimpse of the strong yet elegant figure beneath. She laughed at something Percival said, her voice—light and melodic—carrying across the courtyard and piercing straight into Alaric’s chest.

He felt that laugh like a spark against his skin. It was only a week but he felt it had been far too long.

Alaric’s hand curled into a fist at his side. How many days had he counted, waiting for her return? How many nights had he stared toward Ourea, convincing himself that the ache in his chest was nothing but foolish longing?

And now here she was—radiant, untouchable—and she hadn’t even sought him out.

As Lara drew closer, she spotted him. For a fleeting moment, her posture shifted, her smile faltering as her eyes—those sharp, mesmerizing eyes—locked onto his. Something unreadable flickered across her face, when she saw the crease on his forehead.

"My Prince," she called, reining in her horse a few paces from him. "I didn’t expect you to be here." Lara had changed her way of calling Alaric when she turned 18.

Didn’t expect me? The words pricked something raw inside him.

"I had hoped," Alaric said slowly, his voice rougher than intended, "that the first person you would look for upon returning from Ourea... would be me."

The Sandoz and the twins exchanged nervous glances and quietly dismounted their bikes sensing the sudden tension between their prince and Lara. Percival cleared his throat and muttered something about checking the horses, quickly leading the others away.

Lara slid gracefully from her saddle, landing lightly on her boots. She faced him with a calm, measured expression—too calm, as though she was guarding herself. "I had obligations," she said softly. "The new medic recruits needed me at Hope Hospital. Felix was—"

"Felix," Alaric cut in, the name tasting like iron on his tongue. "It seems he has seen more of you in the past week than I have in months."

Her brows knit together, her lips parting slightly in surprise. "Are you... jealous?"

He stepped forward, closing the space between them until the scent of her—a mix of fresh fresh flowers and something uniquely Lara—wrapped around him like a tether. "Shouldn’t I be?" he murmured, his voice low, almost dangerous. "When the woman I—" He stopped himself, jaw clenching, the weight of unspoken words hanging thick between them.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air was charged, almost humming, as if the earth itself waited for one of them to break the silence.

Finally, Lara lowered her gaze, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Alaric, I... I missed you. More than I can say. But there is so much work to be done—Calma needs us both."

Then she tiptoed and gave Alaric a peck on the cheek. If her parents or brothers see her do that, the would surely be shocked.

Alaric exhaled sharply, the tension in his shoulders easing, but only slightly. "Calma can have a moment without you," he said, his tone softening. "But I cannot."

Lara’s breath caught at his words, her heart thudding like a drum against her ribs. For a moment, all the noise of the world—the clinking of tools from the distant workshops, the chatter of the twins, even the restless stamping of her horse’s hooves—faded into silence.

Alaric was close now, so close that the warmth of his presence wrapped around her like a shield. She had seen him as a prince, a warrior, a commander who bore the weight of an entire army without flinching. But now, standing before her, there was something raw in his gaze, a vulnerability that she rarely glimpsed.

’What is wrong with Alaric. Is he possessed or something?’