Page 82 of The Shattered Rite
But her heart clenched, because somewhere deep, some small, jagged part of her believed it.
Behind the girl, the laughter twisted—slipping into something colder. Children crumpled to the ground like dolls with their strings cut. Honey turned to rot. The air reeked of smoke and burnt grass.
Eliryn flinched. “This isn’t real.”
Isn’t it?whispered the maze. Or maybe it was her own mind.
The girl stepped closer, voice rising, cruel and bright. “You’ll never be one of them. You weren’t enough for your village. You won’t be enough for the throne. Not with those eyes. Not with that cursed blood.”
“I’m not cursed,” Eliryn rasped, fists trembling.
“Then why do they all look away?” The illusion hissed.
The younger version lunged—suddenly, violently—eyes wild, blade in hand. Her movements were fast, feral, a perfect echo of Eliryn’s own style but stripped of dragonblood. Unhoned. Angry.
“You left me behind!” she shouted, slashing downward. “You left the girl who didn’t know how to fight!”
Eliryn parried with a cry, metal ringing. Her hands burned. Her body felt too heavy. “You’re me,” she hissed, locking blades. "I grew up, but I never stopped carrying you.”
The girl snarled, pressing close. “You hate who you were. You hate where you came from.”
Eliryn bared her teeth. “I don’t hate my past.”
"Liar."
The other children closed in, shadows now, limbs sharp and broken, eyes empty. They carried no faces anymore. Just twisted weapons made of bone and iron, screeching like wind through a broken door.
Eliryn spun, striking fast. One, two, three. They dissolved into ash as her blade passed through them. But more came.
“Vaeronth—” she gasped.
I am with you. But this battle must be yours.
The younger Eliryn circled, voice breaking. “You’ll never be more than what they made you. A strange girl with strange eyes, chasing a title that was never meant for her.”
For half a heartbeat, Eliryn’s blade dipped.
Then her chin lifted.
“I am strange,” she said softly. “And maybe the gods should have chosen someone better for their prophecy.”
She stepped forward.
“But here I am.”
She met the girl’s gaze—her own gaze—and stepped into her.
“I didn’t survive this long just to lose to a memory,” she rasped. “Not now.”
Their swords clashed. Once. Twice. Sparks flew. Her body burned, her arms screamed, but she didn’t stop.
“I didn’t leave you behind,” Eliryn snarled, locking blades again. “I carried you. Every mile. Every night. Through every scar.”
She knocked the blade from the girl’s hand with a final, brutal strike. The younger version stumbled, breath ragged, tears falling silently.
“I just wanted to belong,” the girl whispered, voice cracking.
“So did I,” Eliryn breathed. “But we were made for more.”
