Page 13 of The Shattered Rite (The Sightless Prophecy Trilogy #1)

“That’s your question? Not ‘Where is your med-wing?’ Not ‘What’s the next trial?’ But ‘There’s food?’ ”

Eliryn shrugged, smiling faintly. “Seems relevant. I nearly died yesterday. And the day before. I could eat a mountain. Though, it would be nice to know where things are located here.”

He shook his head, still chuckling, though wariness lingered in his voice. “You’re in the North Wing of Castle Othren. Built before the last Sundering. The wings shift sometimes—by design. You shouldn't leave the castle grounds until the last test is complete.”

She tilted her head slightly. “And the cuffs? Why won’t they work on me?”

That erased his grin. His voice lowered. “They’re soul-forged. Meant to suppress will. Control breath. Anyone who resists is slowly drained of their magic. They’ve worked on kings. Mages. Even bloodborn.”

“But not me.”

“No.” He looked at her again. “They don’t work on dragonblood.”

She touched her wrist absently, where the cuffs should have been, where they had rested just before the start of the trial.

Vaeronth whispered, Because you are not theirs. We belong only to ourselves. And we do not kneel for any other power.

She shrugged, wrestling with the idea of being bonded to something so powerful. “Well… I am sorry I scared you before with my word vomit.”

“I wasn’t scared,” he said too quickly, then winced. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

She gave him a crooked smile, softer now. “I’m… not going to hurt you.”

“I know that.” His tone was gentle now. Honest.

A beat.

“I think.”

She laughed once, short and real.

“So, Dragonrider?” he asked softly, glancing at her again. “Is that what you… are?”

Eliryn hesitated. “I guess so.”

She rubbed at the marks on her arms, fidgeting.

“I didn’t… mean for it to happen.”

He was silent for a moment. Then, quieter:

“I think most important things happen that way.”

She blinked, glancing at him in surprise.

His expression was open, earnest despite the fact that she definitely still terrified him.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

“For what?”

“For… that.”

They turned down another corridor, warmer than the others, with faint orange light bleeding through the seams of heavy wooden doors lining either side.

“Room eleven,” he said, pausing near the door and stepping aside. “You’ll find everything you need inside. You’ll be summoned when it's time for the next trial.”

She stepped past him but paused just inside the frame. “Thank you,” she said again, sincerely.

He blinked. “For what?”

“For speaking with me.” She had noticed that the other guards did not entertain conversation with their chosen.

The guard hesitated… then offered a short, respectful nod.

Eliryn disappeared into the room beyond.

The door clicked shut behind her.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Eliryn stood still.

No screaming. No blood. No watching eyes.

Just warmth. Quiet. Breath.

Her own.

And Vaeronth, steady and impossible in the back of her mind like an old song she’d somehow always known.

The room felt wrong. Luxurious, yes, but like it belonged to someone else.

A stranger. Carpet swallowed her footsteps.

A porcelain tub steamed in the corner, water laced with lavender.

A feast sat waiting on polished wood: bread, cheese, spiced roots, and meat pink at the center.

Beside it, a pitcher of water glinted like treasure.

She just… stood there.

For three whole heartbeats.

Then: “Okay. Either this is real, or I’ve actually died.”

Vaeronth, dry as sun-scorched stone: You are alive.

She huffed. “Right. Says the dragon inside my mind.”

Don't sass me when you can't even work up the courage to walk across the room.

“Gods, no need to call me out on it.”

Her knees gave out the moment she neared the food, and she dropped straight onto the carpet like a stone.

A second later, she was tearing into bread, then root vegetables, cheese, anything her shaking hands could grab. It wasn’t graceful. She ate like survival was still a question mark.

Not alone anymore, but still not safe.

Not yet.

Vaeronth watched from within—silent, but present. She could feel him, his vast presence coiled in the bond they shared.

“I’m fine,” she muttered mid-bite. “Completely fine. Normal night. Got chased by monsters, fell through a mountain, found out dragons aren’t extinct after all, bonded to said dragon, got a magical tattoo that may or may not be alive, and now I’m sitting in a room fit for royalty eating more food than I have in an entire season. ”

She paused. Swallowed.

“You know, when you say it out loud, it doesn’t sound that weird.”

A pause.

It sounds absurd.

She laughed, exhausted. “See? I knew you’d get it.”

Silence. Then, his voice, quieter: You do not need to understand all at once. You know what the prophecy proclaims; the rest will come with time.

She slowed, resting her forehead against the edge of the table, breath shaking out of her like smoke. “I’m trying, Vaeronth. I really am.”

I know.

She hadn’t expected that to help. But it did. Enough that the trembling in her hands began to still.

When she lifted her head, she studied her fingers—the runes curling across them like vines that refused to stop growing. They shifted when she flexed, restless, alive.

“I wasn’t supposed to be this,” she murmured. “I was supposed to be… just a healer. I had a garden, once. Red roses.” She swallowed hard. “My mother planted the first bush with me. Said one day, I’d grow into something far more dangerous than thorns.”

And you have.

Her lips curved, humorless. “All that’s left of it now is ash.”

Ash feeds new roots.

She huffed a laugh, jagged but real.

Her marks glimmered faintly, catching the lamplight like embers stitched beneath her skin. She wouldn't recognize the woman she had become. And yet… she wasn’t afraid of her, either.

“My mother warned me,” she whispered, almost to herself. “She said I would be more than I wanted to be. More than I was ready for.” Her fingers brushed the runes. “And here I am. No garden. No roses. Just fire.”

Not fire. Power. And you were never meant to be less.

Silence settled, deep as a heartbeat. Then Vaeronth added, low and certain:

Stop mourning the girl you were. And stop apologizing for the woman you are now.

She swallowed.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Rising slowly, she crossed to the tub. The tattered remains of her shirt and trousers fell away easily, dropping in clumps of bloodstained fabric.

Her skin looked… wrong, and right. Dragon marks shimmered in the soft steam, curling down her arms, her back, over her ribs. Patterns meant for battle, not bathing.

She slipped into the water, hissing as heat licked over bruised skin. It wasn’t just warmth. It was cleansing. Like her body had been holding on for far too long, and only now could begin to let go.

“I thought of my mother,” she whispered into the steam, her arms resting on the sides of the tub. “When I walked into the hall. When they looked at me.”

Vaeronth didn’t interrupt.

“She would have been proud." A pause. "I think."

The silence that followed felt heavy, so she filled it. "She used to talk about the old ways, the old powers, like they were more than history. And I laughed. I didn’t believe her. I just thought… she needed something to believe in because we had so little.”

She believed in you, Vaeronth said.

Eliryn smiled faintly. Her eyes stung, but she didn’t cry.

She slid deeper into the water until it kissed her chin. “I’m still scared, Vaeronth,” she admitted quietly. “I don’t know if I can carry all of this.”

A long pause. Then:

We will carry it together.

The room held her silence, warm and quiet and whole . For the first time in days, there was no fear.

Just steam.

And the quiet, burning promise of what she had become.