Page 15 of Emylia

It brought me to the edge of breaking.

But I did not shatter.

Because I was my father's daughter.

If I were anyone else, I might have crumbled.

But I wasn’t.

As much as his death destroyed me... I was a fighter. And not even losing him would be enough to break me.

Not a single tear escaped as we saddled the horses, minutes dissolving into nothing until we were ready to ride.

Taking Stormfire’s reins—named for the fierce gray-speckled hide she wore like armor—I led her down the familiar trail, every step heavy with the weight of everything I was leaving behind.

Hedges of orange blossom lined either side of the path, their sweet, heady perfume weaving through the air until it wrapped around me like an invisible shroud.

Above, the storm clouds had cleared, unveiling a brilliant, careless blue sky that felt almost cruel in its brightness—yet with it, the faintest whisper of hope stirred.

I shifted in the saddle, feeling the ache of the leather against my thighs, the warm strength of Stormfire beneath me. Everything around me looked the same—but I wasn’t.

The path wound through the fields, and I let Stormfire move at a slow, steady pace. Each hoofbeat drummed against the earth like a heartbeat I no longer trusted.

"Can you please wait a second?" I called out, my voice rasping with something raw and half-broken.

Before my mother could answer, I swung down from the saddle, boots hitting the dirt hard enough to jolt through my spine.

I didn’t hesitate—I ran.

The willow waited expectantly at the edge of the path, as though it knew I would return. Its silvery leaves whispering in the breeze like it knew I needed one last thing before I could walk away–as if the tree itself understood I wasn’t ready to let go just yet. I pressed both hands against the rough bark, breathing in the sharp, earthy scent.

The runes I had carved still glistened faintly under the touch of something I could only explain as magik, their grooves warm against my fingertips.

A hum stirred inside me. Maybe it was the tree. Maybe it was the echo of him. Maybe it was the part of me I hadn’t buried yet.

"I love you, Daddy," I whispered. The words clawed up my throat, brittle as dry leaves, nearly shattering in the air.

I rested my forehead against the trunk, letting the grief pour out—not in tears, but in the silent throb of my heart against the ancient wood.

I stayed there until the ache in my chest dulled to a low, constant thrum. Then, without a word, I turned away.

I swung back onto Stormfire’s back, hands trembling as I gathered the reins. The leather was rough against my palms, grounding me.

Soul heavy with shadows, I urged her forward. The wind caught my hair, tugging it free in wild ribbons as we rode, our house shrinking to a pale speck behind us.

I didn’t look back again.

I couldn’t.

A knot tightened in my stomach, curling cold and sharp beneath my ribs. I drank in one last breath of the sea air, the scent of salt and magik thick on the wind.

Until my father’s death, I had believed our home was the most beautiful place in the world—cradled between forest and sea, blessed by ancient magik.

It had always felt eternal.

Untouchable.

But now... now it was just another place grief had hollowed out.

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