Chapter 8

       Her breath hitched as reality settled over her like a cold shadow. She was close, so painfully close—but not close enough. Jareth and Kira were locked in their battle for first. Cassian was maintaining his calculated lead over her. And the finish line was approaching far too fast. No matter how much she pushed, no matter how much she wanted it—this wasn’t her race to win.

       And yet… Even as the truth hit her, even as the taste of near-defeat lingered on her tongue, she didn’t stop. Because if she couldn’t win, she would finish strong. She would prove she belonged. She would not go quietly.

       The roar of the crowd was a distant hum in Celyth’s ears, drowned out by the pounding of hooves and the sharp, rhythmic breaths of Monerach beneath her. The finish line was close—too close—but so were her competitors. Jareth and Kira were locked in a relentless duel at the front, their horses pushing the limits of speed and endurance. Cassian held his ground just ahead of her, calculated and unshaken, his every move a deliberate attempt to keep her at bay.

       And then, through the chaos, she heard it.

       “CELYTH, DON’T GIVE IN!” Jason’s voice tore through the noise like a whip, raw and unrestrained. He was on his feet, gripping the railing so tightly his fingers ached. His shout wasn’t just encouragement—it was desperation, belief, a demand that she push even harder.

       “GO, CELYTH! TAKE IT!” Celyst’s voice followed, just as fierce, just as unyielding. She wasn’t just calling her name—she was commanding her to rise, to fight, to refuse defeat. “MAKE THEM REMEMBER!”

       Monerach’s ears flicked back, as if he understood, as if their voices were fuel, a force stronger than exhaustion. His strides lengthened, his hooves devouring the track.

       Celyth leaned lower, her grip firm, her breath steady. She would not win. She knew that now. But she would not fade quietly. If they would not remember her victory, they would remember her fight.

       Monerach surged forward with everything he had left, muscles coiling and stretching as he fought for every inch. Celyth felt the burn in her arms, the strain in her legs, but she didn’t relent. The race wasn’t just about winning—it was about proving she belonged among them.

      Cassian felt her presence at his side, his jaw tightening as he adjusted his grip. He hadn’t expected her to keep pressing, not after his calculated block. But she wasn’t fading. If anything, she was clawing her way closer.

      The wind howled past her ears, dust whipping against her face as the final stretch loomed. Jareth and Kira were still ahead, locked in their battle for first, their horses stretched so thin it was a wonder they hadn’t collapsed under the sheer force of their speed. Cassian remained in third, his position unshaken—yet now, just inches behind him, Celyth rode like fire given form.

       Jason’s voice was hoarse from screaming, but he didn’t care. He slammed his hands against the railing, “DON’T LET UP!”

       Celyst’s entire body was tense, hands gripping the edge of her seat as if she could somehow push Celyth forward through sheer will, “KEEP GOING, CELYTH! SHOW THEM!”

       The finish line was close—so damn close—but time was running out. Monerach gave one final burst of speed, drawing even with Cassian for a fraction of a second before—

      The world narrowed. The last moment was upon them.

       The finish line loomed, a stark white banner against the blur of dust and motion. The crowd was deafening now—screams, cheers, pounding feet against the stands. Celyth barely heard any of it. All she knew was Monerach’s heartbeat, the stretch and pull of his muscles, the burning fire that carried them forward.

       Jareth and Kira were neck and neck, their duel reaching its climax. Stormbringer’s hooves tore into the dirt, raw power propelling him forward, while Solstice fought with an almost reckless desperation, her golden coat glistening with sweat. They were inches apart. A breath. A whisper.

       Cassian was still ahead of her, Ironheart unwavering in his stride. Celyth pressed Monerach forward one last time, their bodies practically flying across the ground. For a moment—a single, fleeting moment—she was beside Cassian, matching him, challenging him.

       Jason’s voice rang through the chaos, rough and desperate, “GO, CELYTH, GO!”

       Celyst had abandoned all restraint, her hands clenched into fists as she screamed, “YOU CAN DO THIS!”

       But the final second had arrived.

       Kira let out a cry, urging Solstice forward with a last, desperate push. Jareth gritted his teeth, refusing to yield. They lunged.

       The finish line tore beneath them.

       A sharp intake of breath. A moment suspended in time. And then—

       Celyth crossed, just a fraction behind Cassian.

       She hadn’t won.

       But she had finished among them.

***

       The tension in the air was almost suffocating. Celyth stood rigid, spine straight, facing her parents with all the resolve she could muster. Just behind her, Lorcan stood like a quiet sentinel, his presence a subtle but unmistakable warning to the middle-aged couple before them.

       A short distance away, Celyst and Jason exchanged a glance—anxious, uncertain. Right beside them, Seranna shifted uneasily, her fingers curling into her sleeves. The weight of the moment settled heavily on her chest. Seeing Celyth standing there with her head bowed stirred something fierce inside her. Anger, perhaps—or maybe a sense of protectiveness she hadn't expected.

       That girl had poured her heart into the race. For a first-timer, it had been nothing short of extraordinary.

       “Celyth,” her father’s voice rang out—firm, unmistakably commanding.

       The name struck like a whip. Celyth’s head snapped up instantly, eyes locking with Harold’s despite the trembling in her chest. She fought the instinct to look away.

       Beside him, Johanna stood with arms crossed, her expression unreadable, her gaze sharp and unmoving. Celyth couldn’t tell if the sternness in her mother’s eyes was disappointment over her loss… or something far deeper.

       “Celyth,” her father called once again.

       “Yes, Father?”

       Silence settled over them once more—heavy and unrelenting.

       Lorcan’s posture tensed, shoulders squared as his gaze sharpened. If his parents dared to say anything cruel—if they belittled Celyth’s efforts after everything—he wouldn’t hesitate to step in. His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking visibly, a vein in his neck standing out with restrained fury.

       But then Harold moved.

       “Come here,” he said softly, stepping forward with arms open wide.

       Celyth stared at him, stunned. Her breath hitched. She felt her knees weaken as tears welled in her eyes, blurring the sight of the man she had longed to reach for—but never dared to.

       “Celyth, sweetheart...” Johanna’s voice wavered, tender and trembling.

       Before she could respond, Harold pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around her as though he could make up for every lost year in a single moment. His hand moved to her head, ruffling her short hair with a gentleness that sent Celyth’s defenses crumbling.

       She buried her face in his chest, the sobs coming freely now—raw, unfiltered, years of withheld affection spilling out with every tremble of her shoulders.

       Then Johanna joined them, folding her arms around her daughter and husband, pressing kiss after kiss into Celyth’s hair. Her own tears slid freely down her cheeks.

       Behind them, the tension in Lorcan eased. His fists relaxed at his sides, and without realizing it, a faint smile tugged at his lips.

       “Shit…” Jason muttered, swiping quickly at his eyes before the tears could fall. Celyst bumped him with an elbow, blinking rapidly to fight off her own emotions.

       “You did great, sweetheart,” Johanna whispered again, her voice breaking with pride and regret, “You really did…”

      Seranna stepped quietly to Lorcan’s side, her shoulders rising and falling in a deep exhale. It felt as though a weight had been lifted from her—something invisible but heavy that had settled over her ever since the race began. Relief bloomed in her chest, warm and full. She felt… satisfied. As if something that had long been wrong had finally started to right itself.

       They stood in silence, watching the scene unfold under the soft, golden glow of the setting sun. The empty racetrack stretched behind them, bathed in hues of orange and amber, casting long shadows that danced around the reunited family.

       “We’re sorry, Celyth…” Harold’s voice trembled, thick with emotion, “I don’t know if this can ever be enough—not after all these years. But we see it now. We’ve neglected you,”

       The words hit like a blow—not just to Celyth, but to the ones who spoke them. The memories came crashing down on Harold and Johanna with brutal force. All the years they’d spent forcing Celyth to mirror Celyst, expecting her to fit into a mold that was never meant for her. They had been blind—blind to her quiet brilliance, her aching loneliness, her desperate need to be seen.

       “Ego made us blind,” Johanna whispered, her voice breaking. “Blind to your potential. Blind to your longing for love,”

       She kissed her daughter’s forehead, tears spilling freely now—tears for the years lost, for the girl they had overlooked, and for the second chance they barely deserved.

       Johanna’s throat tightened painfully as memories surged—sharp, unrelenting. The way she had treated Celyth when she was just a child now felt like a vice around her chest. She had looked at her daughter not as someone learning, growing, becoming—but as a disappointment. A failure.

       Celyth hadn’t even known what perfection was back then. She didn’t understand expectations, or what it meant to fall short. She hadn’t realized—hadn’t understood—that her very presence was something her parents had resented.

       They had torn up her drawings without a second glance. Ignored the little moments when she had mustered the courage to share a piece of her heart. They never paused. Never listened. Never looked.

       At school, it was no better. Nobody wanted to sit beside her, let alone be her friend. She wandered through classrooms like a shadow, unnoticed, uninvited.

       No one… except Celyst.

       Her own twin had been the only one to truly see her—the only one who felt the ache of the unfairness Celyth bore in silence.

     “Celyst, come here…” Celyth’s voice was soft, almost pleading.

       That was all it took.

       Celyst couldn’t hold back any longer. The dam inside her cracked wide open. With a choked breath, she rushed forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat before flinging her arms around her sister.

       She clung to Celyth as if trying to hold together the pieces of their shared past—the pain, the silence, the stolen childhood they should’ve faced side by side. Her tears came fast and loud, unrestrained, shaking her whole frame as she sobbed into her twin’s shoulder.

       “I’m sorry,” she whispered through the sobs. “I should’ve done more… I should’ve said something sooner…”

       And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of family and the soft glow of the setting sun, two hearts—once fractured—began to mend together.

       Celyth held her twin close, her arms tightening with every tremble of Celyst’s body. The weight of years—of silence, of misunderstanding, of longing for a love that had always felt just out of reach—seemed to slip off her shoulders all at once. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to believe it was okay to be held. To be wanted. To be seen.

       “You were always there,” Celyth murmured into her sister’s hair. “Even when it felt like no one else was. I remembered that. It kept me going.”

       Celyst pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, her expression red and blotchy from crying, but fierce with love. “And I’ll keep being there,” she vowed. “This time, I’ll say something. This time, I’ll fight for you,”

       Their fingers interlaced instinctively, a mirror of childhood habits that had never quite faded. Celyth gave a shaky laugh, the sound caught somewhere between joy and grief. But it was real. It was honest. And that was enough.

       Behind them, Jason sniffled loudly and gave a mock groan, “Okay, I can’t take this—someone get me a tissue or knock me out.”

       That earned a teary chuckle from Celyst, and even Seranna cracked a smile as she leaned against Lorcan’s side. The tension that had clung to them for so long now felt like smoke in the breeze—fading, dissolving, leaving room for something warmer.

       The sky had begun to darken, but in that moment, under its quiet hues, they stood as something more than individuals.

       They stood as a family. Finally whole.

***