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He was running like he hadn’t needed to in years. His daughter was in his arms, weeping, crying out for her mother. He didn’t want to think about her. Or his sister—wherever she ended up.
Opalyx set down his daughter in the back of a wagon, knowing the servants inside would take care of her. “Emelia, my beautiful girl,” he said softly, running his hand over her soot-streaked cheek, “you’ll be okay.”
“What about you? And—and mom?” Her voice trembled.
Opalyx said nothing. He took the sword that a servan’t held out to him and carefully avoided his daughter’s gaze.
“You aren’t coming with me… are you?” Emelia stifled her own sobs long enough to speak. Opalyx sighed and pressed one last kiss to his daughter’s cheek. “I love you.”
Then he ignored the pain in his chest and turned back to the fire. He remembered His wife’s eyes, so alike to the flames he stared down.
I’ll be with you soon, sunshine.