Page 84 of The Shattered Rite

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She thought she’d reached the heart of it.

But the maze had one more truth to unearth.

The corridor narrowed, pressing inward until she had to shoulder through sideways, stone scraping her bare arms, jagged edges snagging against her skin like the world itself was trying to hold her back.

Her breathing grew tighter. Shallow. The pendant at her chest pulsed wildly, the rhythm panicked, too fast, too loud.

“I hate this,” she whispered. “I really, really hate this.”

So does the maze. That’s why it’s fighting you now.

She barked a bitter laugh. “Why does that almost make sense?”

Because you’re finally beginning to trust me.

She shoved herself forward—and then, suddenly, an opening.

A circular chamber.

Carved not from rough stone, but from black-veined obsidian. Smooth as glass. Gleaming like water.

No doors. No sky. No exit.

Only a pillar in the center.

And atop it—

A mirror.

She approached warily, every part of her body screaming to stop, her blade still drawn, still shaking faintly in her grip.

Be ready,Vaeronth warned, lower now. Almost sad.

“I’m so, so tired of hearing that.”

Nevertheless, be ready.He repeated.

The mirror shimmered.

And then it stepped out.

Herself.

Not a younger version. Not a ghost.

This was now.

Clad in the same dark leathers. Holding an identical sword. Every movement mirrored her own. Even the expression was the same: steady. Guarded. And cold.

But the eyes.

The eyes were wrong.

“Another illusion,” Eliryn muttered, half-hopeful.

Not quite,Vaeronth said softly.This one is not made of your fears. It is made of your potential.

Eliryn took a step back.

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