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.
