Chapter 290: Ghost Of His Past 3

Soon, footsteps echoed through the long stone corridor.

Grandpa Persius’s voice, trembling with awe, broke the silence.

"The Justice Hall," he whispered.

"I never thought I would live to walk these halls. Once, these very walls witnessed the reign of Northem’s greatest kings and generals... and later, the monarchs of Azuverda."

He fell silent, his gaze lingering upon the ancient stone as though he could see ghosts where others saw only empty walls.

Lara barely heard him.

The hallway before her dissolved into another time.

She remembered the first day she had stood here, with Alaric beside her.

The memory drifted over her like morning mist.

She remembered the scent of drying oil paint mingled with polished cedar, the quiet reverence that filled the chamber, and the golden afternoon light spilling through the tall windows.

Portraits stretched the length of one wall—solemn kings of Northem, immortalized in rich oils. Their jeweled crowns gleamed beneath careful brushstrokes, while their watchful eyes seemed to follow every soul who passed beneath them.

Across from them hung at the opposite wall, the heroes of every generation.

Generals. Scholars. Guardians of the realm.

Among them stood the portrait that had stolen her breath.

General Odin Norse.

Her father.

She could still hear Alaric’s voice as clearly as if he were standing beside her now.

"Some of these paintings already existed," he had told her. "I brought them from the royal treasury in Northem. The others I commissioned from artists across the kingdoms—some local, others from lands beyond our borders."

"They’re beautiful..." she had murmured, unable to tear her eyes away. "They almost seem alive."

Alaric had stepped quietly to her side.

"Your father’s portrait," he said softly, "was painted by your brother, Peredur. Didn’t he ever tell you?"

She had slowly shaken her head.

"I knew he painted," she whispered. "But I never imagined... his work could be this extraordinary."

Her fingers had hovered inches from the canvas, afraid that even the slightest touch might ruin the precious painting.

"He captured Father’s spirit perfectly."

Alaric smiled.

"He certainly did."

His gaze rested upon the portrait before returning to her.

"He gave your father your eyes."

A quiet laugh had escaped her.

"You have it backward, my prince."

She turned to him, smiling through tears.

"I inherited his."

The memory warmed her heart even now. A faint smile touched her lips.

When she lifted her eyes, she found Ares watching her.

His obsidian gaze had darkened, filled with an emotion too deep to name. As though he, too, had wandered into the past.

Without a word, Ares reached for her hand.

His touch was gentle. Steady. Grounding.

His fingers closed around hers with quiet certainty, neither demanding nor hesitant.

It was such a simple gesture.

Yet within those ancient halls, where centuries of love, sacrifice, and history lingered in the stone itself, it carried the weight of something far greater.

For one fleeting heartbeat, Lara was no longer certain whose hand she felt.

Alaric’s...

or Ares’s.

The echo of one love seemed to flow seamlessly into the beginning of another.

"I once found a passage in an old manuscript," Persius said, his voice brought her back to the present.

The silver haired man guided them deeper into the hall. "It claimed that the paintings were removed centuries ago by one of Kromwel’s descendants, just before the volcano erupted."

"They were sealed inside a great chest," he continued, "and passed from one generation to the next. Eventually the chest vanished, its location forgotten."

He paused.

"But the key remained."

Ares stopped walking.

The key.

His great-grandfather had guarded it his entire life, protecting its secret until his final breath.

Before he died, he entrusted it to his granddaughter—Ares’s mother.

She, too, kept it hidden from the world.

But fate had been cruel.

Her life was cut tragically short, and the key passed into the hands of Grandpa Randell, who had watched over it ever since.

And his uncle... his uncle would give anything to possess it.

A chill crept down Ares’s spine.

Could they all be searching for the very same relic?

If so...

The key had survived.

But a key was nothing more than a piece of metal without the lock it was meant to open.

And if the chest had truly been lost to history...

Then perhaps the greatest treasure of Azuverda had been waiting centuries for someone to find it.

...

The morning tour had taken its toll on Ares.

By the time they left the Justice Hall, the color had drained from his face. His steps had grown slower, his answers shorter, and every now and then he pressed his fingers against his temple as though trying to quiet an invisible ache.

Lara had noticed every change.

"You should rest during the lunch break," she said gently, unable to hide the concern in her voice.

Ares gave a faint nod.

The memories that had surfaced with every chamber, every forgotten relic had come too quickly, crashing over him in relentless waves. They left him mentally exhausted, and for once he did not argue. Rest was exactly what he needed.

He settled into one of the quiet lounges inside the Imperial Feast Restaurant, closing his eyes as the distant murmur of diners blended with the soft strains of music drifting through the hall.

Lara slipped outside.

The gardens behind the restaurant offered a welcome contrast to the heavy silence of the palace. A stone path wound between flowering shrubs and ancient trees, while a marble fountain murmured softly at the heart of the courtyard. She drew a slow breath, letting the cool breeze carry away the lingering weight of the morning.

Yet her thoughts refused to leave Ares.

Something about him was different today.

Not merely the headache.

Not the weariness.

It was the look in his eyes.

She had caught it more than once as they wandered through the palace—a distant, haunted look, as though he were seeing another world layered over this one. As though every room they entered awakened memories that belonged to someone else... and yet somehow belonged to him.

It unsettled her.

Because she had seen those eyes before.

Centuries ago.

They had belonged to Alaric.

Lara sighed and was about to go back inside when a man in uniform blocked her path.