The carriage rattled forward, its wheels grinding against the stones of the narrow road. Colden sat at the reins, his eyes heavy, his mind restless. Behind him, the captives shifted nervously, their bound hands trembling, their silence thick with fear. The air was cold, the sky pale, the road stretching endlessly toward the fourth stop — the place where his nemesis awaited.
The silence broke when another carriage appeared in the distance. Draped in black, its curtains drawn, its horses slow, it moved like a shadow across the road. A mourning carriage.
Colden's breath caught. His chest tightened, his hands faltered on the reins. The sight pierced him, dragging him into despair.
What if what I am searching for isn't even here?
The thought echoed, relentless. His eyes blurred with tears. What if Marco is dead? What if I am chasing a ghost, walking a road that leads only to ruin?
His grip loosened. His resolve cracked. He pulled the reins, turning the carriage around, his heart pounding, his breath shallow. He would go back. Back to Elaine, back to Viremont, back to the others.
He wiped his tears, his hand trembling.
Then — a touch.
A hand on his shoulder.
He froze, his body stiffening. Slowly, he turned.
Isabelle.
Her eyes glistened, her face pale, her voice sharp yet trembling. "Why are you not moving forward?"
Colden's breath broke, his voice raw. "You were right, Mother. There is no hope of him alive. We should just go."
Isabelle's eyes widened, her lips trembling. She shook her head, her voice rising with desperation. "So… so what? So what if he is… uh, dead? That doesn't mean we should stop trying."
Her tears spilled, her voice cracking. "You… you told me, right? That you love him. Then why the denial? Go forward. You have to. You love him, so it shouldn't matter."
Her words struck like a blade, cutting through Colden's despair.
Isabelle's tears fell freely, her voice breaking into a cry. "You must not leave hope! Go… GO!"
The captives stirred, their eyes wide, their bodies trembling at the intensity of her voice. Colden's chest burned, his breath shallow, his heart pounding.
He turned the carriage back around, his hands tightening on the reins. His eyes sharpened, his resolve returning.
Toward the end. Toward the beyond. Toward Marco.
The road stretched ahead, narrow and merciless. The mourning carriage faded into the distance, swallowed by shadows. Colden's carriage pressed forward, its wheels groaning, its horses straining.
The captives sat silent, their fear palpable, their eyes darting nervously. They had heard Isabelle's words, felt her desperation, seen Colden's tears. They knew the weight of what was unfolding.
Colden's mind churned. Marco's face lingered, fragile, broken, desperate. Jeremy's sacrifice echoed, haunting. Isabelle's plea burned, relentless.
He whispered to himself, his voice low, trembling. "I won't leave him. Not now. Not ever."
The carriage moved forward, the road narrowing, the air thickening. The fourth stop loomed ahead, its shadows waiting, its nemesis near.
Isabelle sat back, her tears drying, her breath steadying. She watched Colden, her eyes softening. For a moment, she saw not the boy she had manipulated, not the pawn she had used, but the man who carried love like a burden, who carried hope like a flame.
She whispered, almost to herself. "You will find him. You must."
The captives shivered, their bodies rigid, their minds racing. They knew the danger ahead, the nemesis waiting, the storm approaching.
But Colden did not falter. His hands gripped the reins, his eyes fixed forward, his heart burning.
Toward Marco.
Toward fate.
Toward the prophecy.
TO BE CONTINUED…
NEXT CHAPTER ON 23rd MARCH 2026