The Last Heir of The Van Declaoria Bloodline - Chapter 1

Alena.

Just hearing her name made the cold rain feel less unpleasant.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and continued walking.

Alena Mileron was four years old.

She had wide eyes and soft hair that refused to stay neatly combed. Every night she waited for Regna to come home, even if it was late.

She lived with her grandmother in the small house.

And every evening followed the same routine.

Alena would sit on the couch with her stuffed rabbit and stare at the front door, determined to stay awake until she heard the handle turn.

Regna never asked her to wait.

But she always did.

After his wife died four years ago, those small moments became the center of his life.

His wife had passed away while giving birth to Alena.

Regna still remembered that day clearly.

The sterile white hospital room.

The slow, rhythmic beeping of medical machines.

The doctor who spoke quietly, choosing words with careful hesitation.

And the newborn baby crying for the first time in a world that had already taken her mother away.

Regna had held Alena that night with trembling hands.

Since then, life had changed.

Not worse.

Just… different.

Everything now revolved around one person.

Alena.

A little later, the house grew quieter.

Alena fell asleep on the couch before she could finish telling her story. The stuffed rabbit was still clutched in her small arms.

Regna carried her carefully to the bedroom.

She barely stirred.

Children slept deeply after waiting too long.

He pulled the blanket over her shoulders and turned off the light.

For a moment, he stood there in the doorway.

Watching.

Then he quietly closed the door.

The living room felt different once the house was silent.

Regna sank down onto the sofa and reached for the remote.

The television flickered to life.

A live football match was playing.

Crowd noise filled the room, distant and echoing through the speakers.

Regna leaned back against the couch, eyes fixed on the screen.

But he wasn’t really watching.

His mind wandered.

Bills.

School fees.

Food.

The small repairs the house still needed.

Life in Arlein was expensive, even at the edge of the city. His salary covered the essentials, but not much more.

Regna rubbed his face slowly.

What kind of future can I give her?

The question returned almost every night.

Alena was still small.

Too small to understand the weight of the world yet.

But one day she would grow older.

She would need school.

Opportunities.

A life better than the one he had.

Regna looked at the television again. The players on the field ran under bright stadium lights, thousands of spectators cheering.

A different world.

A world far away from a small house on the edge of Arlein.

Regna exhaled slowly.

“I’ll figure it out,” he murmured to himself.

He had to.

For Alena.

For the small family that remained.

Because in the end, that was all he had left.

But long before that loss, there had been another one.

One that Regna barely remembered.

His father.

Lukas Mileron.

Regna had been only three years old when Lukas died.

There had been no warning.

No illness.

No explanation.

Just a quiet funeral on a gray morning.

Regna remembered fragments.

The smell of wet soil.

The sound of shovels.

His mother standing beside the grave without crying.

People from nearby farms whispering softly behind them.

But whenever Regna asked what had happened to his father, the answers were always the same.

Short.

Careful.

“Your father was a good man.”

“Some things happen without warning.”

“Don’t worry about the past.”

Lieta never explained more than that.

Not once.

As Regna grew older, he stopped asking.

Part of him believed the truth simply didn’t matter anymore.

His father was gone.

And since that day, it had always been just the two of them.

His mother.

And him.

Lieta Van Declaoria had raised him alone.

She worked quietly, never speaking much about her own past. Regna knew she came from a wealthy family somewhere far beyond Arlein, but the subject rarely surfaced in their conversations.

Their life was simple.

Small house.

Quiet meals.

Long evenings.

Regna never questioned it.

Children rarely do.

To him, his mother was simply… his mother.

The only parent he had ever truly known.

Then years passed.

Regna grew older.

The small house remained the same.

But the family changed again.

Four years ago, when Alena was born and his wife died, the house returned to something familiar.

Three generations.

Grandmother.

Father.

Child.

And once again, Regna found himself living in a home where someone was missing.

Life, it seemed, had a strange way of repeating its patterns.

But Regna had learned not to dwell on those thoughts.

The past could not be rewritten.

The only thing that mattered now was moving forward.

Step by step.

Day by day.

For Alena.

The rain softened slightly as Regna entered the residential area.

Streetlights stood farther apart here. The quiet houses looked warm behind their windows.

He spotted his home from a distance.

The living room light was still on.

That meant two things.

His mother was still awake.

And Alena hadn’t gone to sleep yet.

Regna walked a little faster.

The wind nearly flipped his umbrella inside out, but he steadied it.

Five more steps.

Four.

Three.

He reached the small iron gate in front of the house.

The place was modest. The paint had faded in several places. The roof had leaked once two years ago before he managed to repair it.

But every night, warm light spilled from the windows.

Regna pushed open the gate and walked up the short path.

Rainwater dripped from the edge of the umbrella as he knocked on the door.

Before he could knock again, the door swung open.

A small figure stood there.

“DAD!”

Alena leapt forward instantly.

Regna barely had time to crouch before she collided into him with a tight hug.

He laughed softly.

“Careful,” he said. “I’m soaked.”

Alena didn’t care.

“You’re late.”

“Work took longer today.”

“I waited.”

Regna gently brushed her hair back.

“I know.”

Inside the house, an older woman stood quietly near the kitchen.

Lieta Van Declaoria.

His mother.

She held a dishcloth and watched them with calm, unreadable eyes.

“Come inside before you bring the entire storm in with you,” she said.

Regna smiled faintly.

“Alright, alright.”

He closed the umbrella and stepped into the house.

Warm air surrounded him instantly.

The smell of soup drifted from the kitchen.

Alena pulled his hand toward the couch.

“Dad! Look what I drew!”

She grabbed a crumpled piece of paper from the table and handed it to him.

The drawing was simple.

Three figures.

A tall man.

A small girl.

And a woman with long hair.

Above them was a large sun.

Even though it was night.

Regna stared at the drawing quietly.

“And who is this?” he asked gently.

“That’s Mom,” Alena said.

Regna smiled softly.

“She looks beautiful.”

Alena nodded proudly.

In the kitchen doorway, Lieta watched them silently.

Her expression remained calm.

But behind that calmness was something older.

Something that had never truly disappeared.

Her past.

The name she had abandoned many years ago.

Van Declaoria.

A clan that controlled nearly forty percent of the world’s economy.

A family that once called her the most brilliant heir ever born into their bloodline.

And the family she left behind to marry a simple farmer named Lukas Mileron.

Regna rarely thought about any of that.

To him, it was only an old story.

A world far removed from their quiet house on the edge of Arlein.

But outside the warm glow of their home, the rain continued to fall across the city.

And somewhere far away, inside a dimly lit office, a file had just been reopened.

A name was written on the first page.

Regna Mileron

Beneath it, a short line was added.

Last male descendant of the Van Declaoria bloodline.

A man closed the file slowly.

“Find him,” he said.

Outside, the rain continued to fall over Arlein.

But the real storm…

had only just begun.