Page 169 of The Blood Rites

“You’re dead, Visconti,” he says.

“You know, I almost feel sorry for you, Prince. You’re not even relevant anymore. Your little pet here is the real standout.”

He laughs, low and ugly. “Your father sent you here to prove yourself, didn’t he? The Mad King, so obsessed with power he sent his last heir to the Blood Rites. Even I wouldn’t send my child here.”

He looks at me, speaking over Kael’s shoulder. “Did you know I have a daughter, Luceris? She’s beautiful. Almost as pretty as you. I would set the world ablaze before I let her witness this place.”

Kael’s whole body shakes. Not with rage, but with something closer to despair. “You’re a coward,” he says. “Hiding behind your pawns.”

Atheron laughs. “Maybe so. But I will win.”

Kael’s shadows deepen, spreading from his feet and climbing his legs. His voice is just a whisper now, but it vibrates in my bones. “No. You won’t.”

He lifts his hand, and the shadows congeal into a blade, black as the void. There is no flourish, no showmanship—just a single, clean motion.

I reach out and grab his arm.

His shadows stutter. For a fraction of a second, the edge loses its shape.

But I can’t stop him. I can’t reach him where he is.

He slices.

And the blade doesn’t cut.

It erases.

Atheron smiles. Not wide, but knowing.

His head hits the floor before his body realises it’s gone. His eyes are still open, mouth still smiling. His body staggers, then collapses, spilling blood that sizzles as it hits the stone.

I expect the Overseers to appear, or the Mother Shard to intervene. But nothing happens.

Kael stands over the body, breathing hard, shadows writhing around his hands and feet. When he turns to me, darkness swirls in his eyes, but beneath it, I can see the horror.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I try to say something, but the words won’t come. My mouth is dry, my heart beating too fast.

Atheron’s headless body twitches.

The wound at his neck closes over, skin knitting itself together with impossible speed. His head rolls back towards the body and attaches itself, face still twisted in that same ugly grin. He gets to his knees, shakes himself off, and stands.

But something is off. He staggers, clutching at his throat. There’s a scar—a silver ring around his neck, like the chain of a necklace. It fades quickly, but the image lingers in my mind.

Kael sees it too. He backs away from Atheron and pulls me up from the floor.

Atheron’s voice is guttural. “You think you can kill me, Prince? You think you’re above the rules?”

He advances, but the movement is sluggish and uncertain.

Kael’s hand closes around my shoulder. “Next time,” he says quietly, “you won’t come back.”

Atheron scowls, then grins. “You’ll never get this close again.”

He turns and leaves without looking back.

The shadows recede, and the Dome is empty again, save for the pool of blood on the floor.