The sound of hooves thundered across the dirt track.

  Dust rose into the air, mixing with the roar of the crowd and the snap of blue-and-red banners above the stands.

  Over and over again, they shouted my name.

  I leaned forward on my old brown horse, eyes locked on the white line ahead.

  The Finish Line.

  The same one I had crossed dozens of times before.

  Yet for some reason, my heart was beating faster than usual.

  Not from fear of losing. From something else.

  A cold, unfamiliar sensation crept up the back of my neck.

  “Easy, Lancer. One more turn.” I whispered, patting his neck.

  He neighed softly... strong, steady, obedient as always.

  Together we cut through the wind, the air stinging my face, tears welling at the corners of my eyes.

  Still, I smiled. This— this was what I lived for.

  The speed. The danger. The freedom.

  Everything was perfect.

  Until the exact moment after we crossed the finish line.

  Lancer’s front hoof slipped on the damp ground.

  His body lurched forward.

  The world tilted violently. I was thrown.

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  Cheers shattered into screams.

  THUD!

  My body struck the dirt.

  Pain exploded through me.

  For a brief second, I could still see Lancer’s tail flailing wildly in panic... then something slammed into my chin.

  White. Pure white.

  Moments later, the racetrack that had been echoing with celebration collapsed into chaos.

  Medics rushed in.

  Someone screamed for a stretcher.

  Blood mixed with dust and sweat.

  I could still feel something my body heavy, unresponsive, my eyes half-open.

  The finish line blurred in my vision.

  "Funny," I thought.

  Even at the end, I’m still looking that way.

  I died at forty-four.

  Never married. No children.

  Only trophies, medals, and memories that smelled faintly of horses.

  At my funeral, people came from far away, old trainers, fellow jockeys, even nobles who had once sponsored me.

  They called me a legend.

  None of them knew how lonely it was, devoting your entire life to the track and leaving nothing else behind.

  “She died doing what she loved,” someone said. It sounded poetic.

  To me, it felt like a prayer left unfinished.

  The drizzle began to fall.

  And then, I opened my eyes.

  I wasn’t in a coffin. Not underground.

  I was standing... no, somehow standing in a wide garden bathed in the soft glow of sunset.

  Grass brushed against something beneath me.

  Something… wrong. Not human.

  In the distance stood a white horse.

  Its coat was dull. Its body thin.

  One of its hind legs was gone, severed at the knee.

  A royal horse, perhaps.

  One that had endured far too much.

  I stared at it. It stared back.

  There was something in its eyes, sorrow, maybe. Or something deeper.

  For reasons I couldn’t explain, the urge to apologize rose in my chest.

  “Poor thing,” I whispered.

  “A horse that strong shouldn’t end like this.”

  The white horse blinked once, then slowly turned away, limping across the garden as the sun dipped below the horizon.

  Its silhouette felt like a shadow from another life.

  And just before my vision blurred, my heart began to race again.

  Heavy and fast, just like it had on the track.

  "Funny," I murmured with a faint smile.

  It feels like I just saw myself.

  White swallowed everything.