The golden light pulsed against my palm as I clutched the pendant—the vessel of my sacrificed memories. We rode without pause, our horses pushed to their limits. Every moment counted in this race against the Shadow Bloom consuming my son.
"Your Grace, we should rest the horses," Captain Reynard called from behind me.
"No," I shouted against the wind. "We continue."
The strange hollowness inside me persisted. I knew I should feel desperate worry for my child, burning anxiety as we galloped toward home—but those emotions seemed distant, like paintings I could observe but not touch. What remained was cold determination, a logical understanding that my son needed me, stripped of the emotional weight that should accompany such knowledge.
When Thorne Estate finally came into view, bathed in the pale light of dawn, I didn't feel the relief I should have. I simply acknowledged we had arrived.
