Page 160 of The Blood Rites

“Did I... do well?” she asks. “I practised.” It’s the tiniest sound in the world.

“You did,” I say, because it’s true. “You did better than any of us.”

She relaxes in my grip. Her chest moves, ragged, once, twice.

Then it stops.

Her face goes slack, the last breath seeping out of her with a sound like the end of a story.

She is gone.

Her body unspools as she rises. Threads of golden-red light peel from her skin, leaving behind a perfect, barren copy, and then even that vanishes into dust. The light spirals up, a beacon of warmth that dances towards the Mother Shard’s crown before dissolving into it.

The number flickers and morphs.

Eleven becomes twelve.

And the trial ends.

I hit the floor in my room, knees first, then hands, then forehead. I stay there for a long time.

The Mother Shard’s healing begins, painting over bruises and scrapes, but it can’t fix the emptiness in my chest.

I vomit on the stone. The taste is acid and blood.

Above me, the golden cracks glow in time with my pulse. The light is too bright, and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to suffocate in the dark.

But the world doesn't go away.

Marissa’s face is burned into the back of my skull. The question—did I do well?—keeps replaying, over and over, until the words lose all meaning.

Kael is not here.

Nobody is.

The silence is devastating.

I turn my face to the wall and weep until I have nothing left.

Part Three

Twenty One

Light seeps up from the floor, tracing the golden cracks and painting shapes across the stone. Sometimes I think I sleep, but mostly I just lie there, curled around the nothing that Marissa left behind. Every time I inhale, it feels like breathing through a mouthful of blood.

The Embrace is so silent I almost think the world has stopped outside my walls.

The hum of Mana feels muted. There’s no pull. No pressure. Nothing.

Like the Mother Shard is allowing it.

My face is buried in the crook of my arm. My body is a useless heap—only the muscle memory of crying keeps my lungs working. Every time I think I have nothing left to give, a fresh wave burns through me, and I start all over again. I wish I could just rot here. It would be easy. I could sink into the cracks, grow with them, and become dust. No one would notice.

There is a shift in the air. I know the sound of Kael’s footsteps, but this time I don’t hear them coming. No knock, no pretence. The door swings open, and he stands in the frame, backlit by the corridor light. He is so tall it makes my chest hurt. He doesn’t say anything. Just shuts the door, latches it, and sits on the floor beside me.

He waits.

It takes me a while to realise he isn’t going to speak first. I wipe the snot from my nose on my sleeve, my arm shaking from the effort.