Page 86 of The Shattered Rite
“I get it.”
She stood straighter.
Her sword wavered once—then she let it fall from her grip.
It clattered to the floor.
Her copy hesitated.
“I choose not to become you.”
Silence rang louder than swords.
Her reflection faltered, head tilting.
“I’m not just prophecy,” Eliryn whispered. “I’m not just power.”
Step by step, she crossed the glass floor.
“I remember who I was. I remember hands that healed. I remember wanting something more than glory.”
The mirror hesitated. The copy’s head tilted, confused.
“I’m not just a blade,” Eliryn rasped. “I didn’t ask for this life. But if I had known that all this was possible… I think I would’ve welcomed the prophecy. To prove that legends could be real again.”
The mirror’s surface cracked, spider-web thin across its chest.
“If the world wants to burn me down, I’ll be the one setting the fire.”
The mirror-Eliryn trembled.
Eliryn whispered, steady now:
“I am not afraid of myself anymore.”
And the reflection shattered.
A single crack—then a hundred.
Shards of obsidian spiraled upward, dissolving to dust as they rose.
She stood alone.
Silence. Total and complete.
And then—
A doorway bloomed from the wall.
Real. Solid. Lit with golden light.
Vaeronth’s voice came, reverent now.
You’ve done it. You’ve reached the end.
Eliryn staggered toward her blade, scooping it up off the ground before heading for the opening, each step leaving blood behind.
“I’m not sure I won,” she whispered.
