Page 115 of The Shattered Rite
He moved with steadiness, not a showman like Whitvale but a man used to enduring. He bled some. He stumbled once, but he never faltered.
When he reached the rotating beams, Eliryn saw him pause for breath before starting the climb.
Spears launched. Traps clicked.
But she called out again: “Left side after the fourth beam!”
She watched Garic leap clear, landing heavy but whole.
She didn't let herself exhale. Not yet.
The trust he'd shown in her hit her harder than the pain pulsing her feet. She didn't let herself question it. Not now.
It was slow. Brutal. But Garic made it to the final tunnel, where the illusions bled through again. She saw him flinch, heard his voice call a name: “Bran.”
One of his sons, no doubt.
The fire in her chest rose.
She shouted again. “Garic! They’re not real. That’s not him. You’re almost through!”
And then—
He ran.
The illusions screamed. Shadows tried to follow.
But Garic emerged, bleeding and scraped, but alive.
He dropped to the floor, hands on his knees, gasping. Then raised his head to her. Although she had trouble getting her eyes to focus, she knew they connected.
And from across the balcony, Whitvale rolled his eyes and clapped sarcastically. "How sweet," he drawled. "Didn't know you two were close."
Eliryn didn’t look at him.
Her eyes were locked on Garic. And her dragon’s voice echoed through her.
The true trial was not just the course itself. It was loyalty. Integrity. You’ve passed both in the eyes of the gods.
She nodded—more to herself than anyone else.
Only three remained now.
The arena doors sealed behind Garic with a low, iron groan, the echoes dying slowly through the stone chamber.
Eliryn exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of watching others fail.
But Garic was alive. And he was walking toward her now, bruised and bloodied.
She met him at the edge of the platform where she’d been watching.Her knees threatened to give as she stepped toward him, but she locked them. Not now. Not in front of Whitvale. She could rest later. Maybe. Hopefully.
“You made it,” she said, voice hoarse.
Garic gave her a tired smirk. “You sound surprised.”
“I am,” she said. “There were more dangers than just the arena.”
Garic followed her gaze toward the far edge of the room, where Whitvale lingered in the shadows, wiping sweat from his brow and pretending not to listen.
