Page 170 of The Shattered Rite
Vaeronth…She called out in her mind.
I am here.
Her voice cracked in their bond.
I need you. I… I’m not enough anymore.
There was a pause, heavy as stone. Then his voice came—slow and molten as a hearth long gone cold.
You will always be enough. But I can help show you.
Her eyes stung. She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to believe him.
Clear your mind,he whispered.
She obeyed.
And the world shifted.
It wasn’t as sharp as her own vision. Not truly. But shesaw.
Breath and heat and motion. Threads of presence. Glimmers of pulse and thought. Like watching a tapestry woven from living light.
Three judges sat before her, draped in gold. Tables scattered with scrolls and knives. Hidden watchers behind lattice screens. She felt their attention like static.
To her left: Garic. Solid. Steady.
To her right: Whitvale. Tense. Coiled.
And above them all, pulsing and vast—the silent, oppressive weight of the Flame.
Watching.
Waiting.
For judgment.
Her pulse hammered, but she sat taller.
She remembered Malric’s voice. His hands. His tenderness.
She remembered Silas’s blood on her skin.
Let them test her. Let them try.
She was Eliryn, the Last Dragonrider.
And she had already survived more than they would ever understand.
Chapter 27: The Trial of Knowing
“Memory is a blade no forge can temper; it cuts whether wielded or denied.”—Elder Scribe Althara
The scrape of a chair. The shift of robes. The faint crackle of parchment.
Then came the voice—measured, deep, a sound used to being obeyed.
“Chosen.”
