The General's Daughter: The Mission

Chapter 152: Left Alone

The breathing was thick and heavy.

No. It was not hers. It was something else.

It was too close, too close, and too real.

Lara squeezed her eyes shut.

If she couldn’t see it, maybe it wouldn’t see her.

But the darkness behind her eyelids was worse.

Because now the shapes were clearer.

Closer.

Waiting right in front of her.

She dropped to the ground, curling into herself, pressing her forehead to her knees.

"Please..." she whispered. "Please don’t let anything take me..."

When nothing happened, she stood, then stumbled as she walked toward the perceived safe direction, guided only by the moonlight that sifted through the canopy above.

But every step Lara took felt wrong, like she was walking somewhere she wasn’t allowed to be. The ground was uneven, roots twisting under her feet like they were trying to trip her, pull her down, and keep her there.

She didn’t know how long she had been walking.

The forest didn’t answer.

It just listened.

Minutes turned into hours. It was long and torturous.

Her legs ached. Her throat burned. Her stomach twisted in on itself, empty and loud.

Find food, her dad said. Survive the night.

Like it was that simple. Like she wasn’t seven but seventeen.

Yes, that was her mission because she had already turned seven.

...

Hidden deep within the skeletal shadows of the forest, three figures stood motionless—so still they seemed carved from the very darkness around them.

Leaves stirred. Branches whispered. But they did not move.

They had been there from the very beginning.

From the moment Lara was abandoned beneath the towering trees.

A faint green glow flickered across one of their faces—the reflection of a night-vision scope. Through it, the small, fragile figure of a girl stumbled forward, her steps uneven, her breaths ragged, her silhouette swallowed again and again by the unforgiving dark.

"Second Lieutenant... don’t you think Captain Fuegerro is going too far?"

The voice was barely more than a breath, quickly swallowed by the night.

Aquilo Vibora—only fifteen, the youngest among them, a cadet on training—tightened his grip on the device as he watched Lara trip over an exposed root, catching herself just before she fell face-first into the dirt.

"That’s his daughter."

There was a pause. Cold and measured.

"He is training her," the Second Lieutenant replied, his tone flat, stripped of anything resembling doubt. "And he gave us explicit orders—to observe and to ensure she does not die."

Not to comfort her. Not to help her. Just... not to let her die.

Aquilo’s jaw clenched, the faintest flicker of unrest passing through his young features. His gaze returned to the trembling girl on the screen—her small hands scraped, her movements slower now, exhaustion creeping into every step.

She was too young. Far too young.

This isn’t training...

The thought rose instinctively, sharp and rebellious.

This is cruelty.

But discipline was carved into his bones deeper than sympathy. His fingers tightened instead of reaching out. His voice remained silent.

Because in their world, orders were absolute.

And compassion—

Was a weakness no one could afford.

Behind the lens, Lara staggered again.

And this time... she didn’t immediately get back up.

...

A sound cut through the silence.

A growl! And it was too close.

Lara froze. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to run—

—but something deeper, older, locked her in place.

Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t be seen.

The bushes ahead of her shifted. Slowly. Deliberately.

Then she saw it. Two amber eyes that seemed to glow in the dark.

Low to the ground. Unblinking. Watching her.

Her breath caught in her throat so sharply it hurt.

The shape stepped forward.

Its silvery fur glistened in the moonlight.

Muscle rolling under skin as it moved—silent, controlled, certain

A massive wolf.

Her mind refused it at first.

That’s not real. That can’t be here. Daddy said, "There are no wild animals there."

But there was. There was.

And it was looking directly at her.

Lara’s body went cold. She couldn’t feel her fingers. Couldn’t feel her feet.

She could hear her heartbeat, loud and erratic, betraying her.

The wolf’s head tilted slightly, as if studying her.

Her knees weakened. Her vision blurred at the edges.

Move.

Her body didn’t listen.

Run.

Nothing.

Instead, she fell on the ground as her knees gave out.

The wolf came closer, seemingly curious.

It took another step. A twig snapped under its weight. The sound shattered whatever fragile control she had left.

Her lungs jerked.

A small, broken gasp escaped her.

The wolf stopped. It lowered its body slightly. It was not attacking but preparing. Its gaze sharpened and locked with hers.

Her mind fractured.

Perhaps it was because of fear. Lara’s hazel eyes turned amber, just like that of the wolf who was now smelling her, saliva dripping down its mouth into Lara’s face.

There it was.

The moment everything shifted.

Lara understood. Not in words, not logically, but completely and with certainty.

I am going to die here.

She couldn’t even cry.

The fear was too big for that.

It swallowed everything else.

A single thought pushed through the fear:

Dad left me here. He left me here to die.

Something inside her cracked.

Her lips parted.

"...please..."

She didn’t know who she was begging.

The wolf?

The forest?

Her father?

Anyone?

Everyone?

A shadow slid out from behind a tree. The metal in his hand was pointing at the wolf’s head.

The wolf licked Lara’s face, then the tension snapped.

With slow, fluid movements, it turned away, slipping back into the darkness like it had never been there at all.

Gone.

Just like that.

Lara stood up but her body gave out.

She collapsed onto the cold ground, her hands digging into the dirt, nails filling with soil as if she needed to hold onto something real.

Her breath came in broken, uneven pulls.

Alive.

She was alive.

But it didn’t feel like survival.

It felt like something had been decided.

Like she had been measured— and spared.

Not saved. Never saved.

...

The shadow peeled away from the darkness—silent, fluid—and slipped behind the thick trunk of a tree, and the forest swallowed it whole.

"Lieutenant... what the hell just happened?" Aquilo whispered, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice. "The wolf just... left?"

The Second Lieutenant remained still, his gaze fixed through the scope, sharp and unblinking.

Beyond the veil of night, Lara had retreated behind a tree. Her small body was curled inward, knees drawn tightly to her chest, arms wrapped around them as if she could hold herself together through sheer will.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t call for help. She just... endured.

"You saw it too," the lieutenant finally said, voice low, edged with something unreadable. "It didn’t attack."

A pause stretched between them, heavy with implication.

"Perhaps..." His eyes narrowed slightly. "It is a mother wolf."

Aquilo frowned, his grip tightening.

The lieutenant’s gaze didn’t waver from the fragile figure on the ground.

"Even beasts recognize something worth sparing," he murmured. "Maybe it saw a child... and chose mercy."