Chapter 195: Echoes of a Broken Lineage 3

Lara did not answer—at least, not in any way that could be called direct. But something in her eyes shifted when they settled on Amelia, something quieter, deeper… almost reverent.

So that was it.

No wonder Amelia had always felt different to her.

From the very first moment they met, there had been an unexplainable pull—a compulsion to protect, to guide, to stay. It hadn’t made sense then.

Now it did.

A descendant of Althea.

The realization settled heavily in her chest.

The body she wore now still stood on uncertain ground—whether she was truly Larissa Reyes, or Larissa Fuegerro, or a Norse if her suspicion was proven, the truth still buried beneath layers of doubt and uncertainties.

But the soul? The soul was undeniable.

She was Lara Norse-Kromwel.

An empress reborn in borrowed flesh.

And Amelia… should have been hers to protect by blood, by legacy, by fate itself.

Lara turned back to the ancient scroll, steadying her thoughts.

“This section,” she said, her voice low but firm, “mentions the Purge. Briefly—but enough.” Her finger traced a faded line of script, ink nearly swallowed by time. “It warns every patriarch of the Nades to guard the truth. To ensure it survives.”

She shifted slightly, pointing to another cluster of symbols.

“And here… instructions. How to preserve the genealogy. How to mark it—so only the rightful can authenticate it.”

Amelia leaned closer, eyes scanning the text.

But the symbols remained stubbornly foreign—twisted strokes and patterns that seemed to shift the longer she stared.

A code. A language lost to time.

Her brows drew together.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze to Lara, suspicion flickering in her deep brown eyes.

How does she understand this?

Lara didn’t need her to ask. The question was loud enough. She could understand Amelia’s thoughts but she simply ignored it.

Instead, she turned the conversation with deliberate ease.

“What made you write about the Lost Empire… under the name Themis?”

Amelia blinked, caught off guard.

For a moment, the tension eased from her shoulders.

“Grandpa,” she said, softer now. “He was obsessed with it. Said the Kromwels were erased… hidden away like they never existed.” A faint, bittersweet smile touched her lips. “He believed it was time they came back.”

Her fingers brushed the edge of the scroll absentmindedly.

“I wrote that novel years ago. It didn’t matter back then. No one cared.” She gave a small shrug. “It stayed buried and obscurred… until they discovered the ruins on Isla.”

“Does Liam know?” Lara asked casually.

Amelia stilled.

The change was immediate—subtle, but unmistakable.

Her fingers tightened slightly, and the light in her eyes dimmed.

“No.” A pause. “He wouldn’t care.”

There was no bitterness in her voice. Just something quieter.

“He has no interest in me,” she continued. “The betrothal—it’s meaningless to him.” A faint, hollow smile formed. “Liam is… cold.”

Lara’s gaze lingered on her.

For a fleeting moment, she was reminded of someone else.

Galahad Norse, her second brother.

Brilliant. Loyal. Suspicious in nature. Fearless in battle—and utterly hopeless when it came to matters of the heart.

Liam carried that same air. That same frustrating obliviousness.

Men who could command armies… but not understand a single woman.

“Do you like him?” Lara asked, watching her carefully.

Amelia froze.

The question seemed to root her in place.

Seconds passed.

Then she exhaled slowly.

“Maybe,” she admitted. “Before.”

Her lips curved faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“He’s tall. Handsome. The kind of man every woman is supposed to want.”

Supposed to.

That single thought lingered between them.

Amelia turned away, as if shrugging off something heavier than she let on. She crossed the room and opened the mini refrigerator, the soft hum filling the silence.

She pulled out two cans of fruit juice and handed one to Lara.

Cold metal brushed against Lara’s fingers.

“But now…” Amelia said, her voice lifting—just a touch too bright, as if carefully arranged. “I think I care more about telling the story of my ancestors.”

This time, when her eyes lit up, it wasn’t softness—it was fire.

“The Azurverdan Empire,” she continued, almost reverently. “Calma—the very heart of its power.” A quiet smile formed, but it carried weight now, conviction. “And the Kromwels… not as myths, not as fragments—but for what they truly were.”

She straightened slightly, as if the words themselves gave her grit.

“Heroes,” she said. “The ones who forged unity out of chaos. The ones who brought the kingdoms together… and built the Azuverda we live in today.”

Lara gave a low hum in response, her gaze lingering on Amelia a moment longer than necessary.

Still so young.

In this era, time stretched generously ahead. Love could be postponed, set aside, even ignored.

And yet—

Something had changed.

Lara had been watching.

Liam’s behavior hadn’t shifted in grand gestures, but in details—small, almost careless attentions. The kind a man gives without realizing he’s begun to care.

Amelia didn’t seem to notice.

Or perhaps, she noticed—and chose not to.

But Lara saw it clearly.

…

Amelia suddenly pulled out her phone.

“Look at this.”

She turned the screen toward Lara.

The image was striking.

Two sarcophagi stood side by side—one carved from obsidian so dark it seemed to swallow light, the other sculpted from pristine white marble, glowing faintly even through the screen.

But it wasn’t the coffins that held the eye.

Behind them stretched a vast fresco.

Six figures.

At the center stood General Odin—unyielding, imposing.

And behind him, his five sons.

Battle-hardened. Undefeated. The empire’s shield.

Guardians who had stood against the world itself.

“Isn’t it unbelievable?” Amelia said, her voice tinged with frustration. “The Norse family survived all this time… but there’s nothing about the Kromwels?”

Her grip tightened slightly around her phone.

“Wouldn’t their ancestors have told the story? Passed it down?” Her brows furrowed. “How do you erase something like that?”

Lara’s gaze darkened.

She had asked that same question countless times.

When she first awakened… that had been her greatest shock.

The Norse name endured.

But the Kromwels— just vanished.

As if history itself had been rewritten.

“I don’t know,” Lara said quietly.

But her voice carried something colder now.

Something certain.

Her eyes returned to the image, lingering on the figures carved into memory.

“But we will.”

A faint pause.

Then, almost like a promise—

“I’m sure of it.”

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