Page 6 of Emylia

The sound cracked through the storm, sharp and hollow—like something inside me had finally snapped.

Mud sucked at my skin, cold and clinging. The scent of upturned earth clogged my lungs—thick and wrong and heavy with decay. It buried itself inside me, heavy and soul-consuming, and even then it still couldn't overpower the grief choking me.

"Emmie." His voice—raw and wrecked—cut through the howling wind.

"Don't," I rasped, my voice splintering like shattered glass.

"Please. Don't."

He hesitated—just for a second—and the whole world held its breath with him.

The rain slowed.

The wind stilled.

The very earth seemed to pause—waiting for the moment to break me open.

"They're ready to burn your father."

The words didn’t just hit me.

They shattered inside me.

My head snapped toward Sebastian—and the storm in his molten amber eyes crashed into mine.

He didn’t flinch from my devastation.

He took it.

Absorbed it.

Carried it like it was his own. He always had.

His beautifully sharp features didn't soften the blow. Nothing could. They seared through me, sparking wildfire until all that remained was the raging, broken skeleton of loss.

"They can't," I gasped, barely managing the words. "I—I'm not ready."

The world shuddered.

The storm raged louder.

Or maybe it was my heartbeat.

Maybe it was the last of my strength crumbling.

"You'll never be ready," Sebastian said softly, his voice fraying at the edges. Usually so warm. So teasing.

Now hollow.

A mirror of the emptiness devouring me.

The faint light in his eyes—that impossible golden flicker—dimmed until there was nothing left but sorrow.

I shook my head, helpless against the weight of it.

"I—I don't know if I can make it back," I whispered.

I wasn't sure if I meant my body. My heart. Or my soul.

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