The Last Heir of the Van Declaoria Bloodline - Chapter 2

Morning came quietly to the edge of Arlein.

The rain had stopped.

But the streets were still wet, reflecting pale morning light across the narrow roads.

Regna stood in the kitchen, pouring coffee into a chipped mug.

The house smelled of toast and soup from the night before.

Behind him, Alena sat at the small dining table, swinging her legs under the chair.

Her stuffed rabbit rested beside her plate.

“Dad,” she said suddenly.

Regna turned.

“Yes?”

“Will it rain again today?”

He glanced out the window.

Gray clouds still hung above the city.

“Maybe,” he said.

Alena nodded thoughtfully, as if the weather was something important to consider.

Lieta entered the room carrying a bowl of soup.

Her movements were calm.

Always calm.

She placed the bowl in front of Alena.

“Eat first,” she said.

Alena obeyed.

Regna watched them quietly.

For a moment, everything felt normal.

Too normal.

Across the city, inside a tall building of black glass and steel, a meeting had already begun.

The room was large.

Dark.

Silent.

A single long table stretched across the center.

Six people sat around it.

Men and women in expensive suits.

Their faces were calm, but the tension in the room was unmistakable.

At the head of the table sat an older man.

Silver hair.

Sharp eyes.

He opened a thin folder.

The name on the first page was familiar.

Regna Mileron.

The man looked around the room.

“So,” he said slowly.

“The heir lives.”

No one spoke.

Another man leaned forward.

“We confirmed the bloodline,” he said.

“DNA records match the original registry.”

The silver-haired man closed the folder.

“And the mother?”

“Lieta Van Declaoria.”

The room fell even quieter.

One woman finally spoke.

“She was supposed to disappear.”

“She did,” another replied.

“For nearly thirty years.”

The silver-haired man tapped the folder lightly.

“But now her son exists.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“And that makes him… a problem.”

Regna locked the front door before leaving for work.

Alena waved from the window.

“Bye, Dad!”

“Bye.”

“Don’t be late!”

“I’ll try.”

He walked down the small path toward the gate.

The morning air was cool.

Clouds drifted slowly across the sky.

For a moment, Regna felt the strange sensation that someone was watching him.

He turned.

The street looked empty.

A car drove past.

A neighbor walked a dog.

Nothing unusual.

Regna shook his head.

Probably nothing.

He closed the gate and started toward the bus stop.

Across the street, a black sedan sat parked beneath a tree.

Inside the car, a man watched quietly.

Dark suit.

Earpiece.

Cold eyes.

He spoke softly into a phone.

“Target confirmed.”

A voice answered from the other side.

“Maintain distance.”

“Understood.”

The man watched Regna disappear down the street.

Then the sedan slowly pulled away.

Regna arrived at the office building twenty minutes later.

The place looked exactly the same as always.

Gray walls.

Fluorescent lights.

Stacks of paperwork.

No one here knew anything about Van Declaoria.

No one here cared.

Regna sat down at his desk and turned on the computer.

Another day.

Another pile of reports.

He opened the first file and began typing.

Numbers.

Columns.

Routine.

Yet something felt strange.

Like the quiet before a storm.

Back at the house, Lieta stood in the kitchen washing dishes.

But her attention was somewhere else.

Her eyes rested on the window.

Watching the empty street.

She dried her hands slowly.

Then walked to a drawer near the sink.

Inside was an old phone.

Not a smartphone.

Something older.

Something rarely used.

She stared at it for several seconds.

Then she closed the drawer again.

Not yet.

At noon, the silver-haired man stood by a large window overlooking the city skyline.

Behind him, the folder still rested on the table.

One of the others approached carefully.

“What are your orders?”

The man didn’t turn around.

“For now,” he said calmly.

“We observe.”

“And if Lieta moves?”

The man finally looked back.

His expression carried no emotion.

“Then we remind her.”

He picked up the folder again.

“Bloodlines,” he said quietly, “have a habit of returning.”

He closed it.

“And when they do…”

His voice became colder.

“…they must be erased completely.”

Outside, the clouds gathered once more above Arlein.

And somewhere in the city, Regna Mileron continued his ordinary day.

Unaware that powerful people had already begun planning his end.

The storm had not arrived yet.

But its shadow was already moving.

Slowly.

Quietly.

Toward him.