Page 42 of Emylia

Or maybe left for someone.

My breath hitched, and for a second, I just stared. It felt strange, like stumbling across something sacred—or forbidden. Like I wasn’t supposed to see it, let alone touch it.

My pulse kicked into overdrive, blood thudding in my ears. I twisted around, scanning the field.

Thank the Gods—empty.

Not a soul in sight.

Without thinking, I let my finger drift across my wrist, tracing the familiar path to the dark red ruby on my bracelet. As I debated what I was about to do, I wondered what my father would say.

Somehow, I thought he’d be proud. Reckless or not, he’d always backed my bad decisions with that infuriating half-smile of his.

Drawing in a ragged breath, I turned back to the bow. And Gods—it was beautiful. Like, holy hot-damn beautiful. Whoever crafted this knew exactly what they were doing.

With more hesitation than I cared to admit, I reached out. My hand shook slightly, the wood cool beneath my fingertips, smooth as silk. The second I touched it, something in me settled. The balance in my hands—flawless. Like it had been waiting for me.

I knew I shouldn’t even be touching the damn thing. But then I spotted a full quiver of arrows—and a delighted squeal slipped out before I could stop it.

I was reckless.

But notusuallythis reckless.

Practicing at home was one thing—tucked away where no one ever ventured except for my family. But here, in the Ophelian Fields, everything was open.

Exposed.

I could easily be caught.

And for some reason, that only made me want it more.

Tendrils of obstreperousness unfurled, animating like a fury taking over its host. I didn’t care how much trouble I’d be in if I got caught; screw the stupid rules.

Stupid and reckless were a dangerous combination, but that was who I was.

No point in trying to deny it.

But was I stupid enough to take a shot?

Without a second’s hesitation, I knew the answer:

Nexus yes.

I glanced around one last time, checking that the coast was clear. Still, no one in sight.

A wicked smile tipped my lips as I marched out ten paces and faced the target. Carefully, I placed the quiver at my feet, withdrawing a single arrow.

I twirled it between my fingers, examining its uniqueness. Whoever had made the bow had also made the arrows. I could tell by the flourish they put on each arrowhead; a carving of a wolf.

Carefully, I nocked an arrow. A nervous whoosh of air escaped me. I filled my lungs with another deep breath, pulling back the string.

Knots formed between my shoulder blades as my muscles strained with the resistance. I was strong, abnormally strong for a female, but I could barely pull the string back; the bow was made for someone much larger and stronger than me.

Determination sparked in my chest, flaring brighter until it surged like lightning through my veins. This might be my only chance—I wouldn’t let it slip through my fingers. I just had to be stronger. More relentless.

Relentless I could do.

Obstinance was practically etched into my bones.

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