Page 297 of Emylia

The fight slipping from her veins.

My stomach hollowed out.

No. Not again.

I couldn’t lose another parent.

I couldn’t lose her.

I just couldn’t.

“No matter what happens,” she rasped, blood tinting the edges of her mouth, “know that I love you more than life itself. I would do anything for you.”

“Mom, please hang on. I can heal this. I just need to siphon—” I whispered it like a prayer, like I could rewrite fate.

She shook her head, the movement so small, so final it gutted me. “Not even I could heal this.”

My tongue grew thick. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.

“I am so incredibly proud of you," she said, each word softer, more fragile. "And I love you... so, so much."

“I love you.” My voice cracked open. Tears streamed unchecked down my cheeks.

"I'm going to finally see your father again." A faint smile crossed her face—sad, but peaceful, like she had already let go of the world.

No.

No, no, no.

“You’re not going to die,” I gritted out, the words shaking with fury and terror. “You’re going to fight. You’re going to live.” Emotion entangled every word, strangling the air in my lungs.

“It’s okay, Emylia,” she whispered. "You’re going to be okay."

Her hand found mine—squeezed it—reassuring, steady—but it did nothing to quiet the storm breaking loose inside me.

I sobbed, the sound raw, tearing from somewhere deep, somewhere primal.

“No," I gasped. "I'm not. I can't survive losing you too."

Her other hand grasped mine, gripping so tightly our fingers turned white.

“You can," she breathed. "And you will. You are the strongest person I know.” Her hand lifted, weak, trembling—tapped against my heart. “In here.”

“Mom, p—please fight.” I was begging. Pleading.

I would have thrown myself into the void if it meant saving her.

She shook her head once, slow, almost apologetic. "Even though I want to... I can't."

Her gaze drifted to Maalikai.

"Please... take me to my husband. I don’t have much time left."

Maalikai, face drawn and stricken, lifted her carefully into his arms. He carried her to the willow—the sacred place where I had carved my father’s rune.

The tree swayed, whispering above us. Gently, he lowered her down. Her hand reached—shaking—to Maalikai’s injured arm. A thin wash of blue, the softest magik, glowed over his wound. The skin knitted closed.

“There," she murmured. "Now you can protect my daughter.”

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