Venn walked through the door without looking back. Behind him, the Obsidian Galleries collapsed into silence, and Vethis sat alone in the dark, wondering if he had just lost or won something himself.
Each memory carved him open again.
He thought of the lover who had left. You don’t let anyone in. DV-s The Skaafin Prize
“You came.”
Venn’s hands were shaking. The DV-s sigils along his forearms glowed faintly—the contract’s mark, binding him to finish or forfeit his remaining years. Venn walked through the door without looking back
He thought of the rebels who had trusted him. Make it mean something.
“The right to carry all of them. Not one. Every loss. Every scar. I don’t want to undo the past. I want to stop running from it.” He thought of the lover who had left
“You reject the Prize,” the Proctor said slowly, “by accepting the weight you already bear. That is… unprecedented.”
Vethis laughed—a dry, ancient sound, like stones grinding together. “Very well, DV-s bearer. You have completed the fourth Trial. You have shown the Skaafin something we forgot: that the greatest prize is not what you regain, but what you refuse to abandon.”
And then he understood.