Page 111 of The Shattered Rite
Trust me. Trust nothing else, not even your own senses.
The next stretch led to a wall of rotating beams, each one slick with something that might’ve been oil… or blood. She grabbed hold, climbing fast, ignoring the scream in her limbs.
Hidden mechanisms snapped to life.
Thunk. Shnk.
Spears shot from alcoves in the stone. One grazed her shoulder; another sliced the edge of her braid.
She swung sideways, feet slipping on the beam. A sharp edge ripped straight through the side of her boot and her skin beneath it.
The pain was immediate, hot, and spreading.
She caught a ledge by her fingertips and dangled, legs kicking. Her feet were slick with blood inside the boots now, glass embedded deep.
With a hissed curse, she found footing and climbed. But the damage was done and each step made the pain worsen.
At the next pause—a narrow ledge, nowhere to fall but down—she reached down with shaking hands.
She yanked the boots free, the sound wet and awful.
"Who needs skin, anyway."
They came off reluctantly, soaked red at the soles. She left them behind without ceremony. Let them become part of the arena, like bones offered to a beast.
Barefoot, she moved on.
Skin to glass, skin to stone. No more protection. No illusions.
She ran.
Retracting bridges. Spinning blades. Crumbling tiles.
You are bleeding badly,Vaeronth said, voice tight in her mind.
"Add it to the list," she rasped aloud.
Her feet stopped feeling like her own after the first dozen steps. Each impact felt distant, like she was watching herself from somewhere far inside her skull.
Every step hurt. But pain was simple. Pain was honest.
Vaeronth said again.I am your sight. You will survive this.
She walked a razor-thin rail over open flame, felt heat rise into her skin. At the next crumbling ledge, Eliryn sagged for half a breath. Just half.
This isn't survival, whispered some frayed part of her mind. This is butchery.
She shoved the thought back down just as quickly as it rose. Survival would be enough. She wobbled, but didn’t fall.
And at last—
A tunnel loomed ahead, narrow and silent, its walls slick with condensation that caught the dim light like veins of old silver. From its mouth, the scent of damp stone and old ash drifted out like breath from a sleeping beast.
Then came the arrows.
They rained from nowhere. Black-fletched. Hissing like snakes. Some sliced past so close she felt the air part at her skin. She ducked low, pivoted hard to the left, and the next volley embedded into the stone beside her with a sound like bone snapping.
Then came the voices.
