Emylia (The Agertherian Chronicles #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“E mylia.” My name was a distant whisper, reaching me like an echo. I barely recognized it. Fire danced through my veins—slow, cruel—its heat no comfort. It was molten, liquid agony, licking through my body in all its devastating glory.

Stealing my breath.

Wringing the love out of my hope.

“Emylia.”

I forced my eyes open—my heart instantly crumbling at the sight of my father.

This wasn’t him.

This was a shadow. A husk. An empty shell.

In that moment, something inside me tore–slow, silent, irrevocable. Like the world had tilted… and would never be okay again.

The man I loved was gone—stolen by the disease that had been leeching the life from him piece by piece, like the cold, merciless bloodsucker of a disease it was.

It hadn’t just taken his strength. It had stolen everything.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I desperately tried to conjure his face—the one I knew. The one I had loved my entire life. But it was already gone. Lost. Replaced by the gaunt, lifeless figure before me.

His wild red mane had metamorphosed into a ghostly salt and pepper grey, dull and lifeless. Cheeks that had once been so full and splashed with vibrant pinks and reds were now sunken and tinted in ghoulish hues. A body that had once felt invincible, embodied with brute, unapologetic strength, now resembled little more than skin and bone. It looked like he could’ve been undone–turned to ash–by nothing more than a broken wind.

But his voice—even now, even like this—it still carried the weight of a king.

His fingers brushed mine. Barely a squeeze. But it anchored me. Kept me tethered. Brown eyes burned into mine—hot and bright, like the sun on desert stone. My knees buckled, collapsing to the wooden floor beside the bed with a dull, echoing thud. I barely registered the impact.

Not through the grief.

Not through the bone-deep, soul-splintering ache that had numbed everything else. Pain didn’t touch me anymore.

It wouldn’t dare.

My hands trembled as they found his—desperate, shaking, like clinging to the last ember of a dying fire. It felt like the moment itself had drained the strength from me, leaving only the raw tremor of unspoken words.

“You’ve made me so incredibly proud,” he said, voice thick. “It’s my greatest regret… that I won’t get to watch you grow into the extraordinary woman I know you’ll become.” He paused. A sharp breath. Strained.

“No force in this world can stand against you–not when your rage is woven into your very being, etched like runes into the marrow of your bones by the Gods themselves.” His hand trembled as it squeezed mine–a flicker of strength, fading but deliberate. Like he needed me to feel it. To believe it. “That fire burning at your core is wild… and sacred. You are fearless. Untamed. A storm the world should fear… and a flame the Gods themselves would worship.”

I lost the will to breathe. To speak. Because his words didn’t break me–they hollowed me. Stole the air from my lungs and left me crumbling, silent, undone.

“Neither your mother nor I ever believed you were meant for mediocre.” he whispered. “We’ve always known…you were destined for more. From the moment we caught you trying to climb the tallest tree in Aelinthia Forrest–Gods, you were barely three years old…” A rough chuckle escaped him.

Fragile. Broken. Stitched from fading memory.

“You were born to disrupt, to rise, to matter .” Another breath that barely filled his lungs shuttered through him. “Whatever path you choose—” He faltered, but only slightly. “Whether it’s what the world expects… or what it fears… you’ll always have our love. Our support.”

“Even if I break the law?” I rasped, a tear-drenched smile barely tugging at the corner of my lips.

We both knew I had a special talent for breaking Ophelia’s laws.

Well—one in particular.

It was forbidden for a woman to wield a weapon. The punishment: branding and banishment.

But my parents never stopped me. Not because they weren’t afraid of the consequences—but because they knew me, to my very core. Knew I could never be contained by the shape the world tried to force me into. And they would rather see me burn bright and risk everything than disappear into the shadows to survive.

It was my father who carved my first bow.

Who taught me to aim.

Who taught me to fight—until I was sharp-edged, ruthless, unafraid.

I’d rather have a daughter who can stand her ground, even if the world calls her a rebel, than one who is powerless in the face of danger.

“Even if you break the law,” he acknowledged, his voice a rough whisper—pride and sorrow tangled at the edges, barely holding shape.

His gaze raked over me, slow and reverent—like he was trying to memorize every inch before time stole it from him. His eyes didn’t just see me—they clung to me, as if his gaze alone could hold me here, could make this moment stretch beyond its end.

“You cannot suppress the beauty and strength of who you are just to fit into a world too small to hold you. You have a light inside you, Emylia—brighter than anything I’ve ever known. One that refuses to be dimmed.” His voice cracked. Still, he didn’t stop. “Let it burn,” he whispered.

“Be who you were born to be. Knowing that—no matter what happens—you’ll always have your mother’s and my eternal love. Become a burning inferno, my daughter. Don’t let my death extinguish that.”

Something inside me fractured—quietly, completely. My voice was gone. My body, numb. Only the tears remained—falling, blurring, burning—but I didn’t blink. I couldn’t . Not when every second with him was already slipping away.

Then he pulled me in.

Arms that had once been strong enough to lift me with ease now trembled, barely able to hold me. Barely felt like they could support the weight of my head, let alone the weight of my grief.

Still, they wrapped around me like a promise. Like he was still trying to carry the weight of my grief, even when his body could no longer bear its own.

It was there, in that fragile warmth, that I understood the truth:

His strength had never just been in his body. It was in his soul. Primal. Incapacitating. Unapologetic. Something born inside him—beyond his body’s failures. A force that didn’t shrink from death. It roared at it.

One last fuck you hurled at the inevitable.

He didn’t cower from dying. He faced it like it was a battle worth bleeding for. And for the briefest heartbeat—his defiance made me feel strong too. Knowing he was brave enough to meet death head-on made me feel—for a moment—resilient too.

But the moment didn’t last.

The weight of losing him came crashing down all over again–violent, unrelenting. It didn’t just steal the breath from my lungs. It tore it from me–left me shattered, wrecked, gasping in a grief too deep to ever surface from.

“I can’t do this without you,” I whispered.

The words broke open between us—shameful. Desperate. A sob tore loose from my chest before I could stop it. I didn’t want to be brave.

Not now.

Not for this.

He didn’t flinch.

“Emylia,” he murmured, pulling me closer. “This is another part of life–one we all must face. You don’t have to fear it. Draw power from the ache. Let the pain become your fire. Let it carve strength into your bones. Let it forge you into something even fiercer. What breaks you now… will one day carry you we all have to face.” His eyes softened as he took in the way I was crumbling. “You are stronger than you know. And I believe—no, I know —this will only make you tougher. You will become an unstoppable force… but only if you believe in yourself. Do you understand?”

My voice trembled. “I don’t feel strong.”

“You are,” he said. “You just don’t see it yet.”

His hand tightened around mine. What little strength he had left bled into me—one final time.

Then his voice changed.

Softened.

Broke.

“Your mother will need you,” he said. “Promise me you’ll take care of her. Promise me you won’t let her face this alone.”

It stole what little breath I had left.

How could he ask that of me? I was barely holding on. How could I carry both of us? But how could I refuse him? Not when he was dying. Not when this was the last thing he would ever ask of me. This was a promise I would have to make. A promise I would have to keep.

“I promise,” I whispered. “No matter what it costs.”

He nodded—once.

Slow.

Final.

“The stars may fade,” he whispered, “and everything you know may shift… but she’ll need your light. And I know you’re strong enough to carry the weight of that burden.”

He leaned forward and kissed my forehead.

The warmth of his lips lingered, burning into my skin like a final blessing.