Page 29 of Emylia

I represented the first real opposition to our laws and customs. If I was allowed to do what was forbidden, what would stop other females from doing the same? The only reason my behavior was tolerated was because I had been a child, just a phase I would grow out of, or that was what they had thought. They were wrong, so incredibly wrong.

If the other inhabitants of Ophelia had their way, I would’ve already been banished a million times over. It was only because my father, uncle, and Sebastian had fought so fearlessly to defend me that I was practically untouchable.

Trying to distract myself, I focused on the sword fighting. Each of the ten rings set up, had two men fighting, the winner moved on to the next round while the loser could no longer participate. Every single competitor fought like their lives depended on it, not giving up until an opponent was defeated or could no longer fight.

Blood, sweat, and a shit-load of injuries were just the start when it came to these contests. So much so that healers were placed at each ring to step in should a contestant need medical assistance.

If not for the death of my father, my mother probably would’ve volunteered to help. She could usually heal circles around the others–but this year, whatever spark she had… it just wasn’t there anymore. She had lost something of herself–a core part that had once made her whole. The piece that made herher.

Only a short couple of minutes passed before I was caught up in the excitement, clapping and cheering along with everyone else. Time evaporated as I lost myself. Before I knew it, it was mid-afternoon and only two competitors remained.

A bear-sized man stepped into the center of the ring, causing complete silence. Thrainn. My heart stopped. Literally stopped. When was the last time I’d seen my uncle?

I knew the answer without even thinking: my father’s funeral. It had taken all my strength to look into his eyes. I knew what I would find, it was something I still dreaded.

The face of a dead man.

Twins were rare, identical twins, basically non-existent. Usually, the genetic irregularity was only seen in the royal bloodlines.

My father and uncle were anomalies; they looked so alike it was almost impossible to tell them apart. Looking into my uncle’s eyes was like seeing a ghost.

Something shattered inside me. The ache was back, fiercer than ever before. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the memories away. I didn’t want to remember, it was too raw, and the pain ran too deep.

As much as I knew I would come face to face with my uncle at some stage, it didn’t make this any easier. Fingernails cut into my palms, blood trickling down my wrists. I hardly felt it. The pain ripping apart my chest silenced everything else.

Through tear-stained eyes, I saw the blurred scarlet glow emanating on my wrist, beckoning me like a siren. Without hesitating, I clasped onto it, holding it so hard that I was surprised it didn’t draw blood. This was my last link to my father. The only thing left that felt like I had a connection to him.

Maybe if I held it hard enough, maybe if I believed enough, it would feel like I hadn’t lost him at all. It was a desperate, futile hope, one that I knew was rationally impossible.

Despite my heart’s objections, I knew what I had to do. Dragging a ragged breath through gritted teeth, I forced my eyes open, confronting the ghost of my father.

A mane of reddish-brown hair was swept wildly into a long ponytail, resting halfway down his robust frame, wiry and thick, like a lion’s mane. It was matched perfectly by a long, coarse beard that tumbled over his stomach, finishing just above his naval. Skin darkened from prolonged time in the sun glistened with sweat, scars covering every inch of them, the thick, pale lines a reminder of a past now forgotten.

One word summed him up perfectly: lethal.

Thrainn was a born leader, molded by whatever past my father and he kept private. I’d asked my mother to spill the truth about their lives before Ophelia, but she would just shake her head and tell me to stay out of trouble.

Only two people had ever rivaled Uncle Thrainn, and one wasn’t here anymore.

I was ready to take so much satisfaction in watching Sebastian finally beat our chief. My hands braced together, I opened my mouth to cheer–but the scream died in my throat as a second silhouette stepped through the crowd, making his way into the center of the ring. Air punched from my lungs leaving me struggling to breathe.

No way! How the Nexus had he made it to the finals?And who was he fighting? Uncle Thrainn or Sebastian?

Those eyes–startling, glacial blue–hit me like a blow. Stole the breath from my lungs. Left me raw, exposed, seen… all in the space of a single heartbeat.

Built like a war prayer, Maalikai could rival the Gods themselves—Ezekiel, Noctharis, Ozias, Aziel– even they might’ve blinked.

Blasphemy? Probably.

But still—standing beside Thrainn, all sharp edges and impossible calm–he looked like he belonged in a myth, not a sparring circle. Torn from the pages of some forgotten legend, a daydream dressed in leather and arrogance.

Too perfect. Too poised. Too everything. And yet… completely out of his depth.

He was going to get obliterated.

And for reasons I couldn’t begin to explain, I kind of wanted to see it. Maybe then, that unsettling spark he lit in me would finally burn out.

“I thought I’d find you here.” My head jerked so fast it was a wonder I didn’t break something.

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