Page 66 of The Shattered Rite
At last, the corridor narrowed. The arch ahead loomed: a carved threshold etched with old runes that shimmered faintly like something breathing in the stone. Another guard waited, hooded and silent.
“This is where I leave you.”
She hesitated. Then, against her better judgment: “Do you want to tell me good luck?”
Silas shook his head slowly. “Luck won’t help you.”
“Thats fine, I've never been very lucky.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
She blinked.
“Waiting for what?”
“For you to come back.”
Eliryn’s throat tightened. She made herself smirk instead.
“No pressure.”
“Don’t make me regret hoping.”
“Silas?”
He looked at her.
“I’m really not good at this whole ‘hope’ thing.”
“Neither am I.”
And with that, she stepped toward the arch.
At the top of the spiral descent, she paused once more, hand pressed to the cold wall. Torchlight flickered across the narrow steps ahead.
She glanced back.
Silas still stood there, unmoving.
Watching.
Hoping.
She swallowed.
And went down.
The stone door beyond rumbled open, revealing a corridor lit by red crystal. The light was low, flickering. The shadows stretched long.
She walked in.
The door sealed shut behind her.
Steady now, Eliryn.Vaeronth cautioned.
The corridor led into a vaulted chamber carved from black-veined stone. The walls pulsed faintly, alive with some ancient rhythm. She stepped lightly onto a polished floor that mirrored her shape in a distorted silhouette.
Overhead, the ceiling arched like a cathedral vault, inset with spiral constellations of crystal. The room thrummed with quiet magic. As she moved, hovering glyphs ignited and faded, recognizing her dragonmarks.
