Page 87 of The Shattered Rite
Today, you survived. That is victory enough.
“What if there’s more?”
There will be,Vaeronth said softly.But not today.
She paused at the threshold, glancing back at the pile of dust where her reflection had shattered.
Then, voice bone-dry:
“Next time I fight myself, she better show up with sass, not steel. I might stand a chance at winning a verbal argument.”
A pause. She let her sword hang low, dragging it halfheartedly behind her.
“And if these dragon marks don’t start coming with built-in stamina soon, I’m filing a complaint.”
You are being very dramatic,Vaeronth rumbled dryly.
She huffed. “Says the creature who gets to hitch a ride in my pendant while I’m over here doing all the cardio.”
There was a pause, like even the ancient dragon had no rebuttal.
Technically, you are correct,he conceded at last.
She smirked. “Damn right, I am.”
Chapter 14: What Remains
“A true warrior isn’t the one who strikes hardest, but the one who carries ruin without letting it shape his name.”—Torren Vex, war-widow of Stonefell
The gate hissed open.
Stone groaned in protest as it parted, mist uncoiling across the threshold like something alive. Eliryn stepped through, her boots striking bare flagstones. For an instant, she half-expected more illusions to pounce. More traps. More visions gnawing at her mind.
But no phantoms came.
This space was plain, almost insultingly so after the labyrinth’s torments. A long, rectangular hall stretched before her, empty except for a row of benches bolted to the walls. The air was cool, damp with salt, and the ceilings arched overheadin silent mockery of some grand temple. Gulls wheeled beyond high, barred windows, their cries thin and hungry.
It felt like the maze had simply spit her out here. Like she hadn’tearnedher exit so much as been expelled, too stubborn to die.
Only one figure waited beyond the gate: tall, robed in silver and charcoal, spine straight as a swordblade. The steward.
He stood alone in the center of the room, a brass bell dangled from his wrist.
He did not ring it, though his hand was posed as though he wanted to.
His eyes fixed on her like she was something sharp. Dangerous.
“The dragonrider,” he said, voice cool. “You’re the first.”
Eliryn didn’t answer right away. She stepped forward slowly, wary.
The steward’s gaze flicked briefly from her sword, to her pendant, to her eyes, lingering on her ghostlight irises.
“Yeah. They do that,” she said flatly, catching his look. “Spooky eyes. Part of the new aesthetic.”
He flinched. Barely.
But she saw it.
