The Sovereign Horn sounded once again.
The Rite began.
And as it did, the Destroyer watched.
And listened.
The Sokâr stepped into the shadow of the Witness and looked upon the jagged hands outstretched, waiting to see if she would prove herself His.
Auryn lifted the bow. Not a tremor. Not a blink. As though she’d been born for this moment. Or perhaps forged for it among the skies. Her black kasara fluttered as the blazing winds shifted. Magic crackled in the air, warped by heatwaves and mana surges. Light bent and twisted about her form. The bow hummed. A low, ancient sound.
The kasara caught the light and shattered it. Her bare feet dug into sacred stone. And when she raised her arm, drawing back the string…
The worldstopped.
Even the Witness seemed to lean forward in anticipation.
The string hummed a crystalline note.
It reverberated through the Daesa Major, piercing the Shields, warning the gods above.
She loosed the arrow.
It sang as it flew.
Of rebellion. Of love. Of loss and rage and destiny. It cut through the space between the Destroyer’s ruined palms—and shattered something unseen.
Not the stone.
Not the air.
But theliethat this Sokâr was ever anything short of divine.
The crowd burst into screams and tears and prayers.
They begged for her.
They cried for her.
They worshipped her.
And still, she didn’t look at them.
She didn’t bow to the Sovereign Flame, not even when he stood from his Vesper Seat on the dais of the Prismatum. Not even when he smiled. She stood straight and proud, hand outstretched, and let the world feel what it meant to burn.
High above the crowd, on the other side of his twin brother, the Resh’Agar watched. His face betrayed no surprise, no disapproval, not even interest.
He said nothing.
He only breathed, and the Daesa Major trembled to match him.
Auryn stumbled through the crystal corridors, her knees trembling, her lungs catching against the thrum of her own heartbeat. Veilpiercer—newly named—was clutched to her chest, itssilver length pressing into her ribs as if to anchor her body to the moment she had just lived. Each step left her breathless. Each stride, though small, was hers alone.
For once, the stares of the People had not left her shrinking. For once, their voices hadn’t pressed her down into the shape of something lesser. She had walked among them with her head unbowed, with their reaching hands grazing her shadow instead of her worth. For the first time in sixty years, she walked among them withagency. Her blood surged with it. Her skin prickled, fevered. The memory of their screams, their prayers, their worship still rang in her ears.
A year of trial. A year of fire. Traps and bruises. Broken bones. The sting of iron discipline. Fear so sharp it had left her breathless.
But now?
