Page 92 of The Shattered Rite
But the seed of it.
The gate behind them groaned again, slow and reluctant, like it hated whatever came next.
“Here we go again,” Eliryn muttered.
“Time to see who remains,” Garic replied.
Eliryn and Garic rose as one, instinct pulling them upright. Another figure stumbled through the mist.
Tall. Wiry. Wrapped in dark leather with gold-threaded cuffs that now hung loose and stained. Sweat slicked his hair to his brow, and a tear along the hem of his coat exposed a flash of bruised skin. His eyes snapped up.
And locked on Eliryn.
Her stomach clenched. She didn’t draw her blade, but her fingers brushed the hilt, muscle memory sharp as ever.
Garic noticed. His voice was low. “You know him?”
“I remember him,” she murmured. “From the start of this trial. The dais.”
Garic narrowed his eyes. “That one’s from Whitvale, isn’t he?”
The man saw her proximity to Garic, likely recognizing the warrior standing beside her, and froze for half a second, just long enough for the mask to crack. Then his lips curved into something between a smirk and a sneer.
She could have answered his sneer. Mocked him. Cut him down with words sharper than her blade.
She didn't bother.
Let him waste energy pretending; she'd save hers for the next battle.
Beside her, Garic grunted. “I remember him. All mouth. Walked like he owned the stone. Talked like he thought he’d already won.”
Eliryn gave the faintest nod. “Slimy bravado.”
Garic chuckled dryly. “More snake than man.”
Eliryn’s gaze held steady. “He wasn’t alone when I encountered him. There were five of them back then. For a moment, I thought they’d attack me together—but something in the maze started hunting them first. I defended myself as best I could against the one who charged me. I left him alive. But this snake looked like he’d have been happy to try his luck at ending me too.”
Garic’s expression darkened. “And yet here you are.”
The man from Whitvale strode forward now, chest puffed, trying too hard to look casual. But his boots dragged slightly. His left sleeve was darkened with blood.
“You’re still breathing,” Whitvale muttered, not trying to hide his disdain.
Eliryn tilted her head, unimpressed. “You look even worse than you did running away.”
He dusted off his coat half-heartedly, as if posturing could erase the maze’s damage. “Don’t get smug, dragonblood. I got here on my own. Pretty sure you can’t say the same.”
Garic stepped forward just slightly, enough so that his shadow crossed the path between them. “Don’t mistake your survival as something that's permanent,” he said.
Whitvale’s bravado cracked, just slightly. His gaze flicked between them, recalculating. And for the first time, Eliryn realized Garic wasn’t just standing beside her.
He was standingwithher.
Whitvale's gaze flicked between the two of them. His bravado thinned as he turned away, dismissing them. He threw himself down onto the farthest bench, lounging like it hadn’t taken everything he had to pretend he wasn't affected.
Eliryn exhaled.
“I hadn’t realized the chosen would turn on one another,” she said softly, only for Garic’s ears.
