Page 42 of The Shattered Rite (The Sightless Prophecy Trilogy #1)

“Loss does not take your breath. It waits for you to inhale—and then it steals it.” —Unknown

The doors to the Hall of Judgment groaned shut, sealing the firelit chamber and the king’s voice in memory alone. The echo of his words still rang in Eliryn’s chest like the residual hum of struck metal.

She walked in silence behind the guards, head high, pulse ticking loud in her throat.

Her hands remained steady at her sides—but only barely.

There’d been no chance to speak to Garic, no glance shared across the golden floor.

Only the king’s voice, the too-smooth commentary, and the weight of invisible knives.

As soon as they passed beyond the throne wing’s marble columns and into the quieter passageways that led back toward the lesser halls, Eliryn glanced sideways.

Silas was beside her again.

He didn’t speak right away. He didn’t have to. His presence was an anchor. Familiar. Solid.

She stepped closer to him and said, low and fast, “That wasn’t just a formality, was it?”

Silas’s jaw worked for a second before he answered. “No. It didn’t feel like one either.”

They turned down a narrower hall where sunlight failed to reach. The torches here burned weaker, casting jagged shadows against soot-stained stone. Her eyes strained—but the hallway blurred at the edges. The dimness pressed against her vision like fog made physical.

She blinked hard. Again. No improvement.

“Eliryn?” Silas noticed her falter. His hand hovered near her arm, uncertain.

“I can’t—” Her voice cracked. “I’ve lost it. My sight. I—I think it’s gone.”

They stopped walking. Her breathing spiked, shallow and fast.

Silas turned toward her, steadying her gently by the arms. “It’s okay. Hey—it’s all right. I’m right here.”

She shook her head, panic clawing its way up her throat. “I can’t see, Silas. I can’t—”

Something is wrong.

Vaeronth’s voice surged through her mind like thunder cracking stone.

“I know,” she gasped aloud. “I know something’s wrong—I can’t see, I—”

No. Not your eyes. Not just that. Something near.

His presence burned hot in her mind. Alert. Agitated. DANGER.

She gripped Silas’s forearms tighter. “Vaeronth says something’s wrong.”

Silas leaned closer, confused but trying to steady her. “We’re all right. We’re alone.”

“No—” Her voice broke. “He says that danger is near.”

Something brushed the edge of Vaeronth’s senses—a wrongness too slick to grasp. A ripple of malice in the dark.

Too close. MOVE. NOW.

And then—

Silas’ hands tore from her grip.

Not just withdrawn—ripped away.

“Silas?” Eliryn’s voice cracked. The emptiness hit her like a blow. “Silas?!”

The air shifted. A grunt. The rasp of metal. Flesh. The unmistakable, brutal percussion of a body being struck.

“No—wait—Silas—!”

Stay calm. Eliryn. I can’t see through magic and panic—everything’s distorted.

Vaeronth’s voice roared in her mind, trying to reach her through chaos.

Get to the wall. MOVE. MOVE!

“I don’t know what’s happening!” she screamed, her hands lashing through air, reaching, finding nothing.

Behind her were the sounds of combat. Desperate. Wet.

And then—

A sound that didn’t belong in daylight. A wet tearing noise, thick and final.

“Silas!” she screamed again, the word breaking apart in her throat.

Her knees buckled. The air stank of blood now—heavy iron and something else, something colder. Final.

MOVE! Vaeronth thundered.

Eliryn shoved herself to the right, her shoulder slamming into stone. Her palms scraped raw as she clawed her way along the wall, her mind spinning, her body trembling violently.

She could hear it. The shift of fabric soaked through. The rasp of metal through something soft.

Then: silence.

A stillness so complete it rang louder than screams.

She fumbled along the wall, tears streaking her cheeks, breathing ragged.

Please… Silas… please…

Then—

To your left. Five paces. He’s breathing. A heavy pause. …But not for long.

Eliryn dropped to her knees. The stone tore at her skin, but she barely felt it. She crawled blindly, shaking.

“Silas?” Her voice was a raw, broken thing.

A breath. Ragged. Wet.

She followed the sound.

Her hands found him by touch alone. Cloth, drenched and heavy. Flesh, trembling violently beneath her palms.

Then—the wound.

She choked on a sob as her hands slid over it. Too deep. Too much blood. She pressed down instinctively. Her hands slipped, unable to find purchase.

“No, no, no, no—” she whispered, words spilling uncontrolled.

His body seized under her touch. She could hear it—the wet rattle of blood in his throat. His lungs were drowning in it.

She bent over him, tears falling freely now. “I’m here, Silas. Please. Stay with me.”

And then—his hand moved.

A brush along her side. So faint she thought she imagined it.

But it was real.

A goodbye.

Her breath broke apart. “Please, don’t—”

One more breath. Shallow. Fragile.

Then none.

Silence.

“Silas?” She whispered his name again, unable to comprehend it. “Silas?”

There was no answer. Only the steady drip of blood pooling beneath them.

“Vaeronth…” Her voice was hollow. Fractured.

I’m here. The dragon’s voice trembled, coiled tight with helpless rage.

He’s gone, Eliryn.

She broke.

Her body folded over Silas’s, forehead pressed to his, tears soaking into his hair as she whispered his name again and again. Her sleeves were soaked. Her knees ached where she knelt in his blood.

And she stayed there.

Long after the breath had left him.

Long after his skin began to cool beneath her hands.

She stayed.

Because it was all she had left to give.

Because she couldn’t make herself let go.