Chapter 170: The Protective Brother

Logan felt it before he fully understood it—

A shift, subtle but enough to set every instinct on edge.

His gaze slid toward Aquilo, sharp and unblinking, scanning him from head to toe with the precision of a soldier—and the suspicion of a brother.

Everything about the man screamed control.

Straight posture. Clean lines. The kind of discipline that wasn’t taught overnight but carved through years of command.

A perfect officer. A perfect gentleman. And that was exactly what Logan didn’t trust.

He was too polished, too composed.

Men like that didn’t show their teeth unless they meant to bite.

Behind that calm exterior, Logan saw something else—

A cunning fox.

Patient. Calculating. The kind that waited for the right moment… and took what it wanted without anyone noticing until it was too late.

And right now, that “something” seemed focused on Lara.

Logan’s jaw tightened.

A cold, protective instinct surged up his spine, fast and unyielding.

If I let my guard down for even a second… this man will take her away.

The thought hit hard.

No way.

Before he could think twice, Logan stepped in and pulled Lara closer to his side—firm, unmistakable. A silent claim. A line drawn in broad daylight.

His eyes never left Aquilo.

“Do you know my sister?” Logan asked, his voice low, edged with accusation. “Why are you acting like you know her so well?”

Aquilo turned his gaze to him.

He did not look offended.

But his eyes were assessing.

As if Logan himself had just become the subject under scrutiny.

The air grew heavier.

Then Aquilo spoke.

“Yes,” he said calmly. “I knew her. We’ve been on missions together.”

Logan’s brows pulled together.

That answer didn’t ease anything. If anything—it made things worse.

Aquilo continued, voice even, controlled.

“I was assigned as their commandant when she was a cadet. There was a mission where she was injured.” A brief pause. “I was the one who pulled her out.”

His gaze flickered—just slightly.

“We became… close after that.”

Close.

The word landed wrong.

Logan felt it immediately.

Something in his chest tightened—not jealousy, not quite—but a sharp, territorial unease that refused to settle.

He didn’t like how naturally Aquilo said it.

Didn’t like how it sounded like fact.

Like history that couldn’t be erased.

“I see,” Logan replied.

But there was no real acceptance in his voice.

Only restraint.

Because every instinct he had was still screaming the same warning—

Am I overthinking things? He mused.

Don’t trust him. A voice seemed to echo in his head.

Logan kept his grip on Lara, subtle but firm, his body angled just enough to remain between her and Aquilo.

He was polite, but ready.

Because whatever history Aquilo shared with her—

Logan had already decided one thing.

He wasn’t letting this man get any closer than necessary.

…

Meanwhile, Tony had completely forgotten about the notebook lying open at his feet.

His hands were shaking.

He fumbled for his phone, nearly dropping it before pressing it hard against his ear.

“Boss—boss, can you come here?” he blurted out, his voice tight, breathless, barely coherent from the rush of adrenaline.

A pause.

He turned slightly, pacing in place, eyes darting back to the pillar—as if afraid the inscriptions might vanish if he looked away for too long.

“No, listen to me,” he insisted, lowering his voice but failing to contain the urgency. “This is big. We found an inscription—ancient, on the East Gate reliefs. And—”

His gaze snapped to Lara.

“—someone can actually read it.”

Another pause.

Then, more quietly—

“Yes. I’m serious.”

While Tony was absorbed in his call, the tension around him buzzing like static, Lara slipped her phone from her pocket.

She didn’t draw attention.

Didn’t rush.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, already stepping away before anyone could stop her.

A few paces. Then more.

Far enough to be out of earshot—but not out of sight.

Her expression shifted the moment she was alone.

Calm.

Focused.

Her fingers moved quickly across the screen, precise and deliberate, as if every word she typed carried weight.

A message sent into the unseen.

When she finished, she paused for a brief second—eyes lingering on the screen, unreadable.

Then, just as smoothly, she locked the phone and slipped it back into her pocket.

By the time she turned back—

There was no trace of what she had just done.

…

At the southernmost part of Lanura, in a villa in the mountains, the world was quieter—but no less restless.

The only light came from a laptop screen.

And the figure hunched before it.

A woman in a loose hoodie, sleeves pulled over her wrists, fingers flying across the keyboard in rapid, practiced bursts. Lines of text flickered and shifted as she worked, eyes scanning, correcting, chasing threads of truth others had long abandoned.

Then—

The screen froze.

A notification surged forward, expanding until it swallowed everything else.

“This is the link to the ancient alphabets of Azurverda. Publish it on different platforms. Alter the timestamps. Some should appear old text.”—Nyx

Her breath caught.

Themis pushed back her chair so abruptly that it scraped against the wooden floor. For a moment, she just stared at the message—heart pounding, mind racing.

Then she clicked.

The link opened.

And the world shifted.

Her eyes widened, pupils dilating as lines of script filled the screen—ancient characters, structured, complete… alive. Not fragments. Not guesses.

A full alphabet system.

Her lips parted slightly.

She forgot to blink.

Forgot to breathe.

“This…” she whispered, barely audible. “This isn’t possible…”

Page after page scrolled past—phonetics, syntax, annotations—every detail too precise, too intentional to be a coincidence.

“Who are you… Nyx?” she murmured, voice trembling now. “How do you know so much about Calma? About the old Azuverda…”

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, uncertain for once.

Then the question slipped out—

“Are you… one of us?”

A descendant of the Kromwels.

The name lingered in the quiet room like something forbidden.

Themis exhaled shakily, dragging a hand down her face before forcing herself back into focus.

No time to hesitate.

Not now.

Her fingers returned to the keyboard—faster this time, sharper, driven by something deeper than curiosity.

She has a new goal.

This wasn’t just another article.

This was a key.

Another piece of a history that had been buried, distorted, erased.

And she—

She had sworn to bring it back.

“For you, Grandpa…as promised…” she whispered under her breath.

Then she began to write.

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