Page 85 of The Shattered Rite
“Meaning?”
It is what you become… if you surrender to the path without restraint. If you choose power without purpose. Survival without soul.
Her reflection lifted its blade and stepped into the air, dropping form the platform in a silent, predatory glide. Stone took the impact with a hollow thud; dust rose in a tight halo around its boots as it came to rest a breath away from Eliryn.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Eliryn lunged.
Metal met metal in a bone-jarring clang. Sparks scattered like spilled starlight. She pivoted, struck again, but her mirror blocked her every blow with calm precision.
“This isn’t fair!” she snapped, parrying desperately.
Her skin split open as the hilt bit into her hand. Blood slicked her grip, hot and sticky, but she refused to loosen her hold.
Pain was just another thing she'd have to carry.
“Vaeronth!” she gritted.
I’m here.
“How do I beat myself?”
You don’t.
She nearly cursed aloud.
Vaeronth’s voice growled inside her mind.
You cannot outfight yourself.
“I’m open to ideas!”
She rolled to the side, barely avoiding a downward slash that cracked the stone floor where she’d just stood. She scrambled upright, sword sagging in her grip.
Her copy fought in silence. No taunts. No gloating. Just relentless, precise brutality. It was… clinical.
“I miss the creepy children,” she gasped.
That is concerning.
She ducked another strike, her whole body screaming.
“What do I do?”
Choose what she never will.
Her reflection advanced, blade raised, silent and merciless.
And then she saw it.
Her reflection was perfect.
Flawless.
Empty.
Eliryn’s chest tightened.
