Page 179 of The Shattered Rite
In awe.
Her skin still shimmered faintly, her runes etched brighter than they’d ever been. Her eyes, now dimming, still held that inner light—like the embers of something divine.
Garic turned toward her, stunned into speechlessness.
Vraxxis whispered, “No.”
The Flamekeeper spoke once more, softer now:
“The Flame has named its sovereign.”
Eliryn bowed her head.
Not in surrender.
But in the terrible, unspoken understanding:
She was no longer her own.
Eliryn rose and took a step back, unsteady. Her hands trembled.
Vaeronth whispered in her mind.
Be still. Something is coming.
Then—
A horn. Sharp.
Another. Closer now. Urgent.
Shouting broke across the upper balconies. Movement surged at the gates. Somewhere below, a scream cut through the silence like a knife.
“Eliryn!”
Garic’s voice. Sharp. Desperate.
“Stay with me!”
She turned, blindly, reaching. Her fingers grazed his for a heartbeat—a single heartbeat—
Then the world shattered.
The crowd broke.
A scream splintered the air.
She spun, too late, reaching for what was already gone. Garic’s voice vanished into chaos. Bodies surged past her, slamming into her shoulders, her ribs, her hips.
Then someone struck her from behind.
Hard.
She fell off the platform.
The stone hit her knees first, then her ribs, then her head. Her breath fled her body. The weight of people storming past knocked into her, boots scraping her back, a heel clipping her cheek, another body crashing over her shoulder.
She curled in on herself, arms covering her head.
