Page 157 of The Shattered Rite
“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “He wasn’t a threat. He was—he was kind. He wasgood.Why would someone wanthimdead?”
A long pause.
Then—Vaeronth, his voice coiling around her thoughts like smoke:Because kindness is dangerous in places built on fear.
Eliryn bowed her head, pressing her blood-stained hands to her eyes—useless now. She could feel the truth of it sinking into her bones like rot.
Kindness wasn’t just weakness here.
It was defiance.
And someone had cut it down.
No one spoke. Not Garic. Not Whitvale. Not the guard stationed outside the door.
But inside her, something shifted.
She’d thought she knew how dangerous this place could be.
She’d been wrong.
Silas hadn’t died for her.
He’d diedwith herbeside him. And the thought hollowed her worse than grief.
Her hands curled into fists in her lap.
Someone had sent that blade.
And she would make sure it found its way back.
Chapter 24: In the Shadow of Loss
“When the blade hangs above your head, even your enemies start to look like friends.”—Tales of the Last Trials
The door had been sealed for what felt like hours.
Eliryn sat against the cold stone wall, knees drawn in, hands clasped tight to stop their shaking. She could still feel Silas's blood on her skin. The scent of it had soaked into her sleeves.
Garic sat beside her, a steady presence. He hadn’t tried to speak again—just offered silence and a firm grip when her breath had started to quicken, when the panic clawed up the back of her throat. His hand on hers had been grounding. Not enough. But it helped.
Across the room, Whitvale paced like a caged wolf. His usual easy grace was gone, replaced by short, agitated strides and the occasional curse muttered under his breath. He hadn’t sat once.
You should not sit silent while grief devours you,Vaeronth murmured in her mind. His presence was a low hum now, simmering.Let me burn for you.
“I need you calm,” she whispered inwardly. “I need me calm.”
The only sound in the chamber was the soft tap of Whitvale’s boots on stone and the occasional shift of Garic’s clothing as he adjusted beside her.
Then—new footsteps.
Boots. Crisp. Measured. Multiple pairs.
The lock on the door turned with a heavy click.
Eliryn sat up straighter, forcing stillness into herself. Her heart pounded so loud she was sure they could hear it.
The door swung open, and a figure stepped through; one she recognized by voice alone, long before anyone spoke his name.
