"You gotta be kidding me." Lara sighed as she took in the hospital, crowded with wounded refugees amid an amalgam of coughs, cries and moans. She leaned on Kurtis for a moment who held her instinctively, although they both were exhausted, and not only by the hasty flight through the jungle. Fortunately, that sudden influx of adrenaline had been crucial in keeping them going when they otherwise would've already fallen apart.

"Anna's on the third floor with Kendrick, the partner I've mentioned before." Kurtis explained. "Seems no one's arrived yet to evacuate them. I should go check on the chopper. The sooner we get outta here, the better."

Lara nodded, too tired to argue. "Alright. I'll get her."

"Don't think you can lift her. We have to get Matt too and he's really awf..."

"I can handle this. I'm good at improvising." She cut off, kissing him. "You keep the engine ready for us." And without giving him time to reply, she pushed her way through the mass of people wandering and lying on the grass, ignoring their shoving, grunting, and their hands grabbing her arm or leg for no reason. Soon they left her alone and even began to pull away, intimidated by her presence and boldness.

Kurtis sighed and walked away, going towards the wooded area where he'd left the helicopter.

Of course, she always had to have the last word.

(...)

Who didn't seem intimidated at all by Lara's attitude was an exhausted and disheveled nurse, who waylaid her when she tried to enter the hospital and stopped her with a gesture. "I'm sorry!" She shouted to be heard above the crowd. She spoke in fairly good English. "You can't get in, it's overcrowded inside. We can attend you here." While the newcomer was covered with blood and dirt, she concluded that her injuries weren't serious, considering she had already managed to stand on her feet.

"No need for that." Lara said, and took a step forward. "I'm looking for..."

"Halt!" The nurse yelled again, raising her hand. "You can't get in, and especially not armed."

Lara snorted. It must be a joke, indeed. "Soon you'll need not one but many armed people. The rebels are coming!" She yelled in her face. "I've just come from the jungle and they're not far behind me. This is going to be a slaughter." And again, she dodged her and went inside.

The nurse, who must have been either very brave or very foolish, followed her while protesting. "If you're looking for someone, it will be diffic..."

"Looking for a military man with an injured leg and a girl of about fourteen."

Suddenly, the nurse stopped protesting. Startled, Lara turned to her. "Ah, yes. The handsome soldier's child." She smiled, dreamy, without noticing that her interlocutor's left eyebrow jerked upwards. "They arrived a few hours ago, but he had to leave. Are you related to them?"

"The girl is my daughter."

The nurse then looked down and let out a deep sigh. Lara tried to contain her annoyance. Yes, this is a bloody joke.

"I am so sorry." The nurse said then. "She's... really bad. A brain concussion..."

"Where is she?" Lara cut off, and turning around, strode down the corridor, deftly dodging patients, doctors, family members and wounded flowing in a continuous stream, forcing the nurse to run after her, stumbling.

"Please, stop! You shouldn't...!"

Lara paid no attention. She left the nurse behind, filtering through a mass of stretchers and operating rooms, and began to search the rooms at full speed. The people stared at her: an athletic woman, dressed in hiking clothes, skin covered with remains of mud and blood, and armed to the teeth. At some point she thought she heard someone shouting: "Hey! Is she...?" but she passed by without no more, swatting or pushing away anyone who tried to stop her.

She took the stairs two at a time, dodging the people who were lying and releasing herself abruptly from those who, out of desperation or simple impulse, attempted to grab her. But when she arrived at the hall on the third floor, a chill shook her up and down.

The hall was completely blocked by people. Sick, injured, some standing on their feet – those who still could - and the rest sitting on the floor. All facing an open door, blocking her sight. By making her path by pushing people aside, she saw those who were around the doorframe had knelt on the floor and looked into the room.

Some were crying. Some were silent. Others quickly whispered a few words in a low voice. Lara took a moment to realize they were praying, some with outstretched hands, others with folded hands, others with hands crossed on their chest, depending on the religion to which they belonged, if they belonged to any.

But everyone, absolutely everyone, looked into the room with an expression of rapture. Of absolute, adoring worship.

What the hell was going on?

"Let me pass." She muttered when they blocked her way again. She began to push people without minding the sick and wounded. "Let me pass, dammit!"

They did not understand her, obviously. She barely managed to take ten steps toward the room while she continued to shout to let her pass. Nobody budged an inch. Those who were kneeling didn't even blink, much less look away from the vision that kept them raptured. As if they were seeing an angel.

(...)

Matthew Kendrick was already resigned to be at the front line of the show when he heard a woman shouting in the hallway. Then, a shot was heard and the crowd thronged in the corridor and the room itself seemed to shrink and cry.

Another shot rang out. And other. And other.

The praying crowd retreated, terrified, to make way for a woman the colonel had never seen in person, but who he immediately recognized: an athletic and delectable body, an expressive and defiant face, an impatient and wild look - and all that while being dirty, covered in wounds, her clothes torn, her hair disheveled. She still held the gun up, pointed at the ceiling, with which she had shot her way off.

The brat hadn't lied, then.

"Holy shit." He muttered, amazed.

But the British explorer barely noticed him. She was staring, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, at the girl lying next to him on the couch. Her astonishment lasted only a few seconds. Then she quickly tucked the gun in the back pocket of her torn shorts and in two strides went beside her daughter and leaned over her.

"Don't... don't worry." The colonel said, his voice sounding shaky and stupid. Hell, I'm talking to Lara Croft. "The... the kid will be fine. I... saw something like this... years ago, when serving with her father..."

Lara looked at him for the first time. The colonel couldn't help but wince. God, she was even more impressive live. He was so entranced watching her it took him a few seconds to read the expression in her eyes. She knows. Dammit... she knows.

"I know." She murmured then, and smiled. My God, thought Matt. That bastard Trent... how had he done it? "Colonel Matthew Kendrick, right? I'm Lara Croft."

"Y-yes..." He muttered, like a fucking dork. "At your service." And he'd never meant it more.

She smiled again and looked back at her daughter - who was startlingly alike to her, Matt noticed. She gently pushed strands of damp hair that clung to her daughter's flushed face, covered with a film of sweat.

All around them, kneeling on the floor by her, people approached again - dozens of voices whispering under their breath, gathered in prayer.

(...)

At least in that place she could rest, if resting was what she was doing. But Lara couldn't tell.

She didn't know how long she sat there, her back against the wall and her daughter in her arms, holding her against her chest and barely taking her eyes off her face. She knew that people were huddled around, but that legion of worshipers still didn't make a single noise, they were there just watching and praying, and if someone tried to touch Anna, Colonel Kendrick quickly stretched a crutch and pushed the intruder back without violence, but decisively.

Lara knew she had to do several things, starting with finding someone in that damn hospital that could inform her about the status of communications, the rebel front, and contact authorities. She also had to meet Kurtis, take the helicopter and get out of that living hell.

But she did nothing for she couldn't leave Anna alone. Nor did she want to. She was blank, unable to do anything but hold her and watch the door, hoping and fearing the moment Kurtis came and noticed what was happening to his daughter.

That wouldn't be easy to deal with.

This shouldn't be happening.

But it was happening.

The body in her arms was warm, surprisingly warm, increasingly warmer. Soon she would be burning up, like she'd have a very high fever. A film of sweat covered her skin, reaching also her wet, bloody hair. Still unconscious, but breathing, so agitated and irregular, shaken by involuntary spasms.

Luceat eais... in materia virentis...

But it wasn't fever, although it seemed like one. And she also wasn't dying, but dammit, it looked like that.

Lara leaned over Anna to partially cover her with her body when another spectator reached out and grabbed her frantically - before Kendrick shoved him aside with his crutch, so the intruder left that shining girl alone.

Volare incipit ab initio... ad scopus...

A girl who was shining with a soft, faint, almost imperceptible orange glow.

Anna moved her lips frantically, muttering something without voice, without knowing what she said, lost in the depths of her own unconsciousness.

Maxima vires... ad incrementum...

But Lara knew that chant perfectly. She didn't even need to hear it. Not even read her lips.

The thing was she couldn't tell how Anna could know it.

(...)  

When Kurtis returned, it was after preparing the helicopter and finally contacting radio with India, only to discover that no one would come for Kendrick and therefore, it was he who had to evacuate them all. He brusquely pushed through the people who were stuck in their spot like idiots, and saw them both together with Kendrick: his daughter in her mother's arms, who rocked her gently to calm her down, as the girl was still shaken by mild spasms.

"Trent!" Kendrick suddenly shouted. Incidentally, he looked better missing a leg. "What the...?"

Lara put a finger to her lips and stared at him, making him instantly silent. He even shrank slightly. Surely the woman had make a great impression upon him. But Kurtis barely noticed. He stared at her daughter. Then at Lara.

He seemed to have suddenly aged ten years.

"Is it...?" Lara muttered, lowering her voice.

Kurtis closed his eyes as if in pain, and finally nodded in a weary gesture.

Lara turned to look down at her daughter, who kept mumbling a psalmody she didn't know, she'd never heard in her life, in a language she'd not learned yet.

Lux Veritatis mecum.

(...)  

New Delhi, three days later

Just after they arrived to India, it was broadcast on television that the Sri Lankan rebels had blown up the entire temple complex in the jungle.

Sitting in her bed in a very different hospital, still dressed in pajamas but without any kind of discomfort left, Anna watched that home-made, clumsy and brutal broadcasting in horror. With poor audio due to the paramilitaries' howls and the sound of the explosion, she watched... how those old, beautiful buildings – which she'd played around the previous week and had been there for centuries - disappeared forever, collapsing on themselves in the midst of vast clouds of dust and dirt.

"Bastards." She muttered, trying not to weep in rage. She failed after a few seconds. The images of that unfair devastation dissolved behind a curtain of tears.

Despite the loud television volume, her fine ear distinguished footsteps in the hallway, so she sniffled and wiped her cheeks with swipes. When her mother entered the room, she was again staring at the screen with a calm expression. Anna noticed her standing beside the bed and when she looked up at her, she saw Lara looking at the images, apparently calm but with a flash of anger in her eyes. She still had marks all over her body: cuts, bruises, a swollen cheek, but otherwise she was as good as ever.

Anna didn't know how to be quiet for too long, so she suddenly blurted: "Can't believe it... of all that" she said, making a vague gesture toward the disappeared temples, "this is all that remains." She looked down at the thick carved amber stone resting on her lap.

Lara glanced at her daughter as she absently stroked the Teardrop of Brahma. She could pretend to be calm, but noticed her reddened nose and eyes. "How are you feeling now?" Lara sat beside her and gently stroked her forehead, now bandaged with a fresh patch. "Does it hurt?"

"Please." Said the girl, rolling her eyes.

Lara decided not to tell her the rest of the tale, at least for now. If the destruction of that jewel of antiquity disturbed her like that, better for her not to know yet what those rebels had done with the hospital when they assaulted it... with all the sick and wounded.

And also what had happened to herself, while she was unconscious.

"It's always like this." Lara categorically said, making a vague gesture toward the TV. "They destroy what's older than them, which would have lasted longer than them, and feel better for it."

Anna continued to stroke the amber stone. "It's a shame we have to give it to the counts, right?" She said, referring to those who'd commissioned it back. "But now that it's all that remains, it's become very valuable, I guess."

"We're not going to deliver it to the counts." Anna looked up in surprise. Her mother smiled, albeit with a rare grin due to her swollen face. "It's yours. You've earned it, after all."

The girl's face lit up with a broad smile and suddenly threw her arms around her and pressed a slobbery kiss on Lara's cheek. Fortunately, on the healthy one.

Lara jumped. A part of her would never get used to the intense displays of affection of her daughter, as well as being called "mom". Her parents had raised her up with money, but loveless. The most that could've been expected from Lord Croft was a dry nod of approval. As for Lady Croft, kissing her daughter on the forehead had been the height of sentimentality.

Lara wondered from whom Anna had inherited that affectionate personality. Probably Winston, who'd raised her in her early years with all the tenderness of his dotard ways. The same tenderness that, because of respect, he'd never dared to display towards Lara herself.

"Now I'm gonna finish that sketch!" Anna was saying, enthusiastic. "But what will they say..."

"Leave them to me." Lara placed a lock of brown hair behind her ear and stood. "Have a rest. Sleep a little. In a few hours we'll return to England."

"But I've been sleeping most of the tim..."

A soft bang notified her the end of the discussion.

(...)  

"Well. C'mon. Let it out." Kendrick muttered, gnawing on a huge Havana cigar.

Kurtis looked at him askance.

"Don't play dumb as always." The colonel growled. "Because of you I lost a bloody leg. So tell me. How did you do it?"

"It's not your business." A slight grin danced in the corner of the ex-legionnaire's mouth.

Kendrick snarled. "You lucky bastard. This woman was out of reach, no more for us than a poster at Clarkson's box office. You remember? A crumpled and sticky post..."

Kurtis cleared his throat audibly. Lara brisk approached from the other side of the yard, graceful and elegant despite being still covered with bruises and cuts.

"You mention that poster again and I'll rip off your other leg." Muttered the ex-legionnaire before putting a cigarette between his lips.

"Lady Croft!" The colonel said loudly, bowing his head in greeting. "You're ravishing this morning. May l? I've practiced this all my life for the moment I'd meet a real lady." And he held out his hand to her.

It was tender, almost comical, to see him there, sitting in a wheelchair, the cigar between his teeth and an outstretched hand, his face hopeful. Lara smiled and held out her hand, which he took and kissed, as gently as unhurriedly.

"Don't overdo it, Matt." Kurtis growled.

"Relax, pal." Protested the colonel. "Enchanté, my dear. Well, I'll leave you alone. Gotta go claim my veteran pension." And he began to push the wheels of his chair in the middle of a spasmodic squeak.

"Should we not be the ones to leave, Colonel?" Lara smiled. "At this rate we'll be old when you get to the middle of the yard."

"You don't look like you can age, my dear." Kendrick said, and mischievously winked his eye at her.

"What the hell." Kurtis muttered when the metallic screech was out of earshot.

Lara turned to him with that bright and charming smile of hers. Without transition, she snatched the cigarette from his mouth and threw it to the ground, then stepped on it with the heel of her boot.

"Don't complain. You also had your fun."

"Me?"

"Yes. That little Sri Lankan nurse..."

"Oh, please, don't." He looked down at the crushed cigarette. "Couldn't you let me have this one? I think I've earned it. Quite."

Lara put her arms around his neck. "What do you choose, tobacco or me?"

"What tobacco?" He joked absently, and taking her face with his hands, stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. "Does it hurt?" He said, referring to the blackish swelling on her face.

"Please." She rolled her eyes, unconsciously imitating the same gesture her daughter had done moments before. "You know what happened to the people in the hospital?"

"Yes, I heard this morning. It happened shortly after we left."

"After you got us out of there." Lara leaned her forehead against his. "You're right. You deserve a reward." She added mischievously.

"I thought I got that in the jungle."

"Oh no." She smiled, toying with the strands of hair falling over his forehead. "That was just the appetizer."

Lara let him kiss her for a while, then threw her head back proudly away from him.

"You're always doing that." He sighed.

"You're always complaining." She laughed. "Go see Anna. She woke up."

"Is she...?"

"Perfectly. And she doesn't remember anything."

She saw him hesitate for a moment. Before he could speak, she cut him off: "We'll talk about that when we get back. Now I'm going to the embassy to see if Zip has managed to send me a damn passport." Lara snorted and walked away with the same elegance she'd approached before. "Such a shame my hands were tied, I'd have loved to choke the idiot who burned it."

Kurtis laughed softly. "Don't worry. He was the second one I killed." He looked into her eyes then. "Guess who was the first."

Lara tilted her head and distractedly touched her swollen cheek. "Overprotective fool". She mouthed, and turned her back. Before leaving, she added. "Sometimes I forget how useful you can be."

"Thanks." Kurtis growled as he watched her walk away.

He waited for the sound of her footsteps to fade away. Then he groped his pocket, pulled another cigarette from the pack and put it in his mouth.

He was going to need it from now on. Perhaps more than ever.

His daughter had inherited the curse of his lineage.

It made no sense. But it had happened.

The Gift had awakened in Anna.

"Lux Veritatis mecum." He sighed, depressed, and lit the cigarette.

(...)  

Personal notes of Dr. Kumari. On April 13, 2020

Patient: Anna Croft

Age: 14

Daughter of: Lara Croft. Father of unknown identity.

Diagnosis: Presumptive head trauma with suspected concussion

I say "suspected" because, right now, no damage or serious sequelae is observed in the patient. From the description of the attack, the patient should be suffering terrible consequences amid a slow recovery. However, nothing is seen except for a slight scar on her forehead, the suture evolving favorably.

What's striking is that the patient didn't present any internal injury when she finally got to be examined in New Delhi, after the emergency evacuation from Sri Lanka. The nurse who attended her previously, also evacuated, stated that the patient had gone through a severe episode of fever, convulsions, loss of consciousness and delirium, in which the patient was said to be "singing in a strange language and shining like a lamp" (sic). However, none of these symptoms (?) were present at the time I examined her.

The patient, in a conscious, quiet, and even cheerful status, underwent a series of tests which confirmed the total normality in the apparently injured area, except for the suture. Questioned about her delirium tremens, she stated not remembering anything since she arrived to the hospital in Sri Lanka. She has no memory of what happened while in a state of unconsciousness. Asked about whether she knew Latin, the patient laughed and said "nope" (sic). Her parents refuse to make statements about it and there are no witnesses who can test the version of my colleague, for all those who observed the phenomenon (?) died in the slaughter that followed the emergency evacuation.

I conclude that my colleague from Sri Lanka has certainly exaggerated the severity of the patient's injuries, or might have, in the middle this health emergency, mistook her for some other. It's virtually impossible for the patient, having suffered such trauma, to emerge without brain damage or notable consequences of this episode. So I proceed to close this case.

However, it's remarkable that my colleague insists it was this patient, and not another one. "Say what you want, but it's like a miracle. If it didn't sound crazy, I would say that child has healed herself." (sic)

Honestly, I think there's no doubt that what happened in Sri Lanka was an episode of mass hysteria in which a pained and desperate crowd thought to see things that never happened. Right now, the panorama on the neighboring island is shocking and the rage and impotence generated by the passivity of the world powers before this carnage makes, in my humble opinion, the adventures of three Westerners in the middle of all this chaos totally irrelevant.

THE END