Darkness swallowed me whole.

  Sudden unconscious, as if the world had shut its eyes before I could.

  Sound faded last, the rain, the screams, the metal... until even memory loosened its grip.

  Then I was standing.

  Before me, across a narrow river, stood a white horse.

  Whole.

  Four legs.

  Its coat carried the same pale glow I remembered.

  The same presence that had greeted me once, at the edge of death.

  The same horse I had mistaken for a dream, or a mercy.

  My chest tightened.

  "You again," I thought.

  This body was mine now. Broken, incomplete.

  Yet the horse before me stood as I once had—

  Before war, before loss, yet before the fall.

  The distance between us felt not far.

  Close enough to see its eyes.

  Far enough to remind me I could not cross.

  The white horse lowered its head.

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  Its mouth moved.

  No words formed, yet sound reached me all the same.

  A deep, resonant whinny that struck straight through my chest.

  The world shattered.

  I gasped awake.

  Pain slammed back into me all at once.

  My body lurched upright without permission, driven by something deeper than thought.

  Mud tore free beneath my hooves as I staggered forward, vision swimming.

  The track.

  The rain.

  Sir Roland.

  I saw him through the blur on the ground, struggling to rise, one knee failing beneath him.

  And above him loomed a shadow.

  Mort.

  With Nocturne Heirs advanced, hooves lifting with merciless intent.

  The angle was wrong.

  Too close... almost too late.

  Move.

  I did not know how long I had been unconscious.

  Seconds?

  Minutes?

  It did not matter.

  Something inside this body seized control—

  The memory not my own, instinct carved into muscle long before I ever woke in this body.

  Then I ran.

  My legs burned, balance screaming, but my body remembered its purpose.

  I threw myself between them, lifting my remaining foreleg and slamming it down hard, forcing Nocturne Heirs to halt.

  The impact rattled through my bones.

  Mort clicked his tongue.

  “Tch.”

  Not anger, but isappointment.

  His plan had failed.

  The black horse recoiled just enough to break momentum.

  Enough to buy time.

  Rain poured over us, washing blood and mud together, the crowd’s noise collapsing into panic.

  Behind me, steel flashed.

  Sir Roland moved.

  I did not see where the sword came from.

  I did not hear him shout.

  I only felt the sudden shift in the air as he drove the blade forward, striking Nocturne Heirs with desperate precision.

  The black horse screamed.

  Mort swore.

  They pulled back at once, retreating into the chaos before guards or officials could close in.

  The threat dissolved as abruptly as it had formed.

  My legs finally gave out.

  I collapsed where I stood, strength draining as if cut free at the root.

  The rain felt distant now, the ground oddly soft.

  Somewhere, Sir Roland was shouting my name.

  Angela.

  I heard it faintly.

  As darkness crept back in, calmer this time, I felt something loosen inside me.

  Relief.

  The white horse’s presence lingered silent, maybe approving.

  "You did well," it seemed to say.

  My body sank into rest, knowing without question that my task, for now, was complete.

  And that when I opened my eyes again—

  Nothing would ever be the same.