Page 37 of The Shattered Rite (The Sightless Prophecy Trilogy #1)

“Some truths arrive like sunrise—soft at first, until you realize they’ve changed the shape of everything." —Field Notes from the Western Watch, Vol. III

Eliryn woke slowly, the way one wakes after an injury—mind surfacing first, body second. Her limbs felt heavy, warm beneath the layered furs, but not quite her own. Her breath was steady, though, and for the first time in what felt like days, her sleep had been restorative.

Light filtered faintly through the narrow, high window. Morning, but not early.

She shifted slightly beneath the covers, her voice rough. "Vaeronth?"

I’m here, came his voice in her mind, smooth as riverstone, steady as ever. And before you ask—no, there’s been no summons. The steward hasn’t stirred the air today.

She exhaled slowly, tension leaking out of her by degrees. "So I have time?"

Indeed, Vaeronth said. His voice softened. And we should use it. I need air. Space. Sunlight. My form is tight inside this place. My wings ache.

She smiled faintly, eyes still closed. "You want to stretch."

A dragon does not stretch. A dragon flies. A pause. Then, quieter: Even if only for a little while.

Eliryn pushed herself upright with a quiet groan. Her muscles protested sharply, her ribs aching with each breath. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood carefully, barefoot on the polished stone floor. Her knees buckled, and she caught herself against a low table, knuckles white.

"Maybe we’ll both need a while before we’re back to normal," she murmured.

Speak for yourself, Vaeronth grumbled fondly. You are fragile. I am not.

She chuckled softly, despite herself. "Don’t get cocky."

Well I'm not wrong, am I?

Her lips curved, if only for a moment.

She made her way slowly toward the bathing alcove, trailing blood-flaked footprints behind.

The stone tub steamed gently, already filled.

The room had prepared it while she slept.

The scent hit her first: cool and sharp, like mint and lavender wrapped in smoke.

Herbs floated among soft petals—heather, bellflower, starleaf.

You’re hesitating, Vaeronth observed.

"It’s… a lot." She whispered. "To be given such comfort is… still unsettling."

Too bad, he said. Let yourself enjoy it.

She undressed stiffly and stepped into the water with a hiss. The heat scalded at first, then dulled into warmth that seeped deep, unwinding knots even as her skin stung from the grit and blood.

As she sank lower, the surface around her bloomed red. The water stirred gently of its own accord, a soft whirlpool spinning outward from her body. Blood and dirt dissolved, drawn toward a silver drain at the base. The petals and heat remained, untouched. Magic. Precise. Unintrusive.

Eliryn leaned back, throat tight, watching the last dark swirl disappear.

Better? Vaeronth asked softly.

She closed her eyes. "Better."

She stayed there until the ache dulled enough to breathe without flinching.

Then, at last, she sat up. "Let’s see what we can do about finding you some proper space."

About time. But the teasing was gentle. Grateful.

Her feet still ached, the skin tight where it had torn, but her vision had stabilized—blurred, but functional.

She dressed slowly: a thick overshirt and fresh riding trousers.

No shoes for now, she couldn't even entertain the thought of it. Pinning her still-damp hair away from her face with simple copper clips, she left it loose down her back. Her necklace pulsed gently against her collarbone, Vaeronth’s tether both literal and symbolic.

She caught herself touching it absently as she stepped out.

I’m with you, he murmured.

"I know."

She headed towards the kitchen instinctively.

The warmth and scent of the lower halls met her instantly: roasting roots, warm bread, citrus steeping in water. Safe. Familiar. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the smell of somewhere that felt like… a home.

Marta stood alone, her hands working the dough on the table with patient strength, forearms dusted in flour, humming low beneath her breath. The sound curled through the stone like something meant to ward off shadows.

For a moment, Eliryn hesitated in the doorway, just… watching.

She used to watch her mother knead bread like that. Not often. But the likeness of it stole her breath for a moment.

Marta’s rhythm was different. Slower. Stronger. But the quiet focus was the same.

“You standing there because you’re lost,” Marta said gently, without turning, “or just too tired to ask where you need to go?”

Eliryn startled slightly. “I… maybe both.”

Marta huffed softly—just like her mother used to—and wiped her hands on her apron, finally facing her. “Sit.”

Eliryn obeyed without thinking, perching at the edge of the table like she was twelve again.

“You’re too pale,” Marta muttered, sizing her up with the same clinical sharpness of a battlefield healer. “And you haven't been eating properly.”

Eliryn let herself smile, faint but real.

“You remind me of someone,” she said softly.

“Oh?”

“Someone I miss.”

That, more than anything, seemed to catch Marta. Her gaze softened, lines of her face easing just slightly.

“What do you need, child?”

The word struck something deep in Eliryn’s chest. She hadn’t been called child in years. And never like this. Not with such warmth.

“I… Vaeronth needs air. Open skies.”

Marta nodded slowly, as if she’d expected that answer all along. “There’s a ground entrance you can use, near the east stair. It’s not locked—kitchen staff and guards take it when they need air, though most forget it’s even there.”

Eliryn tilted her head. “Convenient.”

“Left, out of the kitchens,” Marta continued, patient as if instructing an apprentice.

“Follow the hall until it ends. You’ll see a split willow—can’t miss it.

Past that, keep to the path that leads up through the old orchard.

When you reach the top of the rise, you’ll find cliffs on the far side. Good stone, plenty of space.”

“For a sunbath and a wingspan?” Eliryn quipped.

Marta’s smile creased her weathered face. “Exactly that.”

“Will I get in trouble for leaving the inner wards?”

Marta’s grin was brief, but real. “Only if you get caught.”

Eliryn smiled, genuine this time. “Perfect.”

Marta stepped closer then, unwrapping a cloth bundle and pressing it into her hands. “Take this. Bread’s still warm.”

“I didn’t ask for—”

“I know.”

Eliryn’s throat tightened. “Thank you.”

Marta only nodded. Then, after a moment’s pause, her voice gentled further: “You remind me of someone too.”

Eliryn dared to ask: “Someone you miss?”

“Someone I prayed would survive.”

Silence lingered between them, heavy but not sharp. Marta’s gaze, steady and maternal, held hers a moment longer.

“Go now. Before he goes mad from being caged.”

Vaeronth rumbled, smug.

Eliryn snorted softly. “Stars help me… there's no need to preen.”

Marta glanced at her, brows raised, but said nothing. Some things, it seemed, didn’t need explanation.

Eliryn smiled, more fully this time, and stood. “I’ll be back.”

Marta’s voice followed her as she stepped into the corridor.

“I know.”

The walk to the cliffs took longer than Eliryn expected. Her muscles burned with each step, her breathing uneven. Vaeronth stayed quiet, letting her pace herself.

When they crested the rise, the clearing opened like a promise: pale blue sky, lazy wheeling birds, stone warmed by sunlight.

Vaeronth stirred within her like a rising tide.

Now. His voice was tight. Urgent. It is time.

She placed her hand over the pendant. Her skin prickled.

"Ready?"

Always.

The moment her fingers touched the cool metal, she felt the shift—not just inside, but in the air itself. A pulse. A soundless thunderclap. And then—

He emerged.

Like light pouring into a shape, Vaeronth stepped from the pendant in a shimmer of gold and flame.

He rose and rose, impossibly tall, unfurling from that impossibly small space.

His wings caught the morning sun like living mirrors, each scale edged in iridescent steel.

He was massive—larger than she remembered—his neck arching with the grace of a river in motion.

Eliryn took a half-step back, breath caught in her throat.

This was only the second time she had seen him fully manifested. And still, it left her speechless.

His scales shimmered even through the haze of her imperfect vision.

Glinting like starlight caught in obsidian, his body glistened with the weight of ancient bone and coiled power.

His wings spanned farther than she could have run in a single breath.

His eyes, deep as forgefire, turned to her and softened.

"You’re..." she exhaled, barely a whisper, "...beautiful."

Vaeronth gave a low, rumbling exhale that shook the stone beneath her feet.

And if you could see me clearly, he teased, you’d be weeping from my sheer magnificence.

He lowered his massive head, smug warmth threading his tone. Fortunately, your eyesight spares you the emotional devastation.

Eliryn snorted, one brow arching despite herself. "Right. So I should be thanking my half-blindness for shielding me from your overwhelming beauty?"

It’s a kindness, really. My radiance has felled kingdoms.

She crossed her arms, tilting her head, a faint smile ghosting her mouth. "And yet, not five minutes ago, you were sulking about cramped quarters like a glorified housecat."

Vaeronth blinked slowly, then released a smoky huff. Careful, little flame. I might forget I like you.

Her smile softened, warmth flickering unbidden in her chest. "No, you won’t."

A pause. Reverent. Then:

No, Vaeronth quietly agreed. I won’t.

He stepped forward, talons settling into the moss with careful grace, and looked skyward. With a powerful beat of his wings, he launched himself into the air, a cathedral of shadow and light rising above her. His body spiraled upward, eclipsing the sun, a constellation wrought of obsidian and fire.