Page 2 of Emylia

It was my father who carved my first bow.

Who taught me to aim.

Who taught me to fight—until I was sharp-edged, ruthless, unafraid.

I’d rather have a daughter who can stand her ground, even if the world calls her a rebel, than one who is powerless in the face of danger.

“Even if you break the law,” he acknowledged, his voice a rough whisper—pride and sorrow tangled at the edges, barely holding shape.

His gaze raked over me, slow and reverent—like he was trying to memorize every inch before time stole it from him. His eyes didn’t just see me—they clung to me, as if his gaze alone could hold me here, could make this moment stretch beyond its end.

“You cannot suppress the beauty and strength of who you are just to fit into a world too small to hold you. You have a light inside you, Emylia—brighter than anything I’ve ever known. One that refuses to be dimmed.” His voice cracked. Still, he didn’t stop. “Let it burn,” he whispered.

“Be who you were born to be. Knowing that—no matter what happens—you’ll always have your mother’s and my eternal love. Become a burning inferno, my daughter. Don’t let my death extinguish that.”

Something inside me fractured—quietly, completely. My voice was gone. My body, numb. Only the tears remained—falling, blurring, burning—but I didn’t blink. Icouldn’t. Not when every second with him was already slipping away.

Then he pulled me in.

Arms that had once been strong enough to lift me with ease now trembled, barely able to hold me. Barely felt like they could support the weight of my head, let alone the weight of my grief.

Still, they wrapped around me like a promise. Like he was still trying to carry the weight of my grief, even when his body could no longer bear its own.

It was there, in that fragile warmth, that I understood the truth:

His strength had never just been in his body. It was in his soul. Primal. Incapacitating. Unapologetic. Something born inside him—beyond his body’s failures. A force that didn’t shrink from death. Itroaredat it.

One lastfuck youhurled at the inevitable.

He didn’t cower from dying. He faced it like it was a battle worth bleeding for. And for the briefest heartbeat—his defiance made me feel strong too. Knowing he was brave enough to meet death head-on made me feel—for a moment—resilient too.

But the moment didn’t last.

The weight of losing him came crashing down all over again–violent, unrelenting. It didn’t just steal the breath from my lungs. It tore it from me–left me shattered, wrecked, gasping in a grief too deep to ever surface from.

“I can’t do this without you,” I whispered.

The words broke open between us—shameful. Desperate. A sob tore loose from my chest before I could stop it. I didn’t want to be brave.

Not now.

Not for this.

He didn’t flinch.

“Emylia,” he murmured, pulling me closer. “This is another part of life–one we all must face. You don’t have to fear it. Draw power from the ache. Let the pain become your fire. Let it carve strength into your bones. Let it forge you into something even fiercer. What breaks you now… will one day carry you we all have to face.” His eyes softened as he took in the way I was crumbling. “You are stronger than you know. And I believe—no, Iknow—this will only make you tougher. You will become an unstoppable force… but only if you believe in yourself. Do you understand?”

My voice trembled. “I don’t feel strong.”

“You are,” he said. “You just don’t see it yet.”

His hand tightened around mine. What little strength he had left bled into me—one final time.

Then his voice changed.

Softened.

Broke.

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