Page 20 of The Blood Rites

One of the Overseers glides forward into the centre of the room.

Its fractured face catches the light strangely, reflecting all of us at once in warped, broken pieces. The humming sound beneath its voice rises and falls like it’s trying to imitate speech.

“Champions,” it says.

No one speaks as the Overseer’s voice echoes through the chamber.

“The Rites will soon begin.”

The room stills further; even the Fireborn stop shifting.

“You stand within the Embrace,” the Overseer continues. “Here, life and death are suspended by the will of the Mother Shard. Pain may be suffered. Injury may be endured. But death shall not claim you in this place.”

A ripple of unease passes through the room. I feel it too.

The Overseer’s voice crackles strangely as it speaks, several tones overlapping slightly out of rhythm with one another.

“The Mother Shard restores what is broken. Flesh will mend, bones will repair, and time itself will bend beneath her authority.”

Marissa stiffens beside me. Callen swears quietly under his breath.

I barely hear either of them.

This is real magic. Not the scraps the Blessed play with back home, but something far older and far greater: regeneration, suspended death, the manipulation of time itself. The scale of it leaves me feeling suddenly small.

“Only one of you will survive the Rites,” the Overseer says. “Seventeen will return, in death, to our Great Mother.”

A low sound escapes someone across the room. A choked breath or swallowed sob.

The Overseer continues as though it never happened.

“You will remain within the Embrace for three human days before the first trial begins. During this time, you may prepare yourselves within the Dome. Use this time to train your bodies and strengthen your Mana.”

At the mention of Mana, something beneath my ribs tightens sharply.

“You will be given rest, sustenance and shelter. Our Great Mother provides for all her Champions.”

One of the younger Fireborn lets out a low laugh under his breath, though the older man beside him silences it with a single glance.

The dynamic catches my attention immediately. They aren’t brothers, not exactly, but something close to it. Authority sits naturally on the older Fireborn’s shoulders. Dangerous authority. The kind earned through violence.

The Overseer slowly raises its hands.

At first, they look human beneath the sleeves of its robes. Then the illusion shifts. Pale skin becomes something stranger, smooth and luminous like carved marble threaded with silver-blue cracks beneath the surface.

“There will be six trials,” it says. “A cycle of the elements, chosen at the behest of our Great Mother. Each trial shall continue until the count is true.”

Nobody asks what that means, but I think we already know.

“Death within the Heartlands feeds the Mother Shard. Your lifeblood, your Mana. Your strength and sacrifice will be transformed to feed the Dominions.” The fractured face tilts slightly towards us. “But understand this well: death must come at another’s hand or by the Heartlands themselves. The island lives and breathes; it knows the Great Mother’s will, and it will not allow any of her Champions to violate its laws.”

Cold settles heavily in my stomach as several people around the room exchange uneasy looks.

Marissa’s grip tightens painfully around my fingers.

“You will be granted one day within the Embrace between each trial. Time to restore yourselves. Time to prepare for what follows.”

The Overseer suddenly jerks mid-sentence, its entire body shuddering once—violently.