Page 103 of Dalla's Royal Guards

And Musad… Musad had grown quieter with each passing day since Dalla’s death. His fire had turned inward, burning like a dying star—brilliant but unstable. The last transmission Hari had heard from him was a single word—”Copy”—after Mario had called for him to take the western part of the complex.

It had been too long since he had heard another word from his oldest son.

Tears burned in his eyes as he rose slowly from the couch and turned toward the mural along the far wall, the mural that had once held a blank set of tiles where Dalla Bogadottir had stood. When she returned to wherever she went between deaths, so had her likeness returned to the mural. But it was not the same as before.

Before, Dalla had been captured in a moment of defiance—bow drawn, her face alight with fury and determination, charging into battle.

Now… now she stood with her long braid draped over one shoulder, her gaze distant and sorrowful as she looked out over the sea. She was no longer the warrior charging forward; she was a wounded soul watching from afar, her eyes fixed on the horizon—on Narva.

Hari moved toward her image, each step heavier than the last. The tile beneath Dalla’s feet shimmered slightly in the candlelight.

A static burst from the radio made him flinch.

“Nasser’s team is taking heavy fire—north quadrant of the mine!” a voice shouted. “We’ve got wounded! Repeat, we’ve got wounded!”

“Musad! Musad, come in!” Mario’s voice came next, thick with urgency. “Do you copy? I repeat—Musad!”

Hari’s breath hitched. He reached out with a trembling hand and placed it gently on Dalla’s image.

“Please,” he whispered.

The tile was cool under his palm. “Please, Dalla… they need you.”

His throat tightened. “My sons… they are brave, but they are broken. Since you left, I have watched them come apart. Piece by piece. They are taking chances no man should. They walk into battle as if it would end their grief, not their lives. They need you to come back. Not just for them. For Narva. For all of us.”

His eyes lifted to meet hers.

“Your love… it’s rare. Powerful. The kind that rewrites time and bends fate. It’s not done. You’re not done.”

He leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching the tile.

“Please,” he whispered again, tears streaking down his cheeks. “Come back. Come back before I lose them both.“

For a long moment, there was only the soft hiss of static.

Then—

Warmth.

A gentle heat bloomed beneath his palm.

Hari drew in a shuddering breath. Slowly, he lifted his head.

The mural had changed again—and what he saw filled his heart.

Tears blurred his vision, and a trembling smile curved his lips.

“Thank you, my dear. Thank you,” he breathed.

Vasbin Complex: Kashir

The complex air was thick with gunpowder and dust. Smoke curled in every direction, blurring shapes and shadows. Musad’s pulse thundered in his ears as he swept the ruined corridor, rifle raised. Mario and Nasser had taken different sections of the complex. The last of Hellman’s supporters had holed up in the upper levels of the mining facility, but resistance was crumbling fast.

He could feel it.

An end.

He exited the complex after his team found the remains of Hannibal Crosse. The man had been crushed under a ton of concrete from a collapsing wall. Musad exited the building, turning toward Mario when he heard his brother-in-law welcome him in an almost desperate tone.