He stepped aside. Behind him, a door of white light opened onto Venn’s own world—the salt flats, the dawn, the air clean and free.
He stood at the edge of the Obsidian Galleries, a cavern of polished volcanic glass that reflected his own scarred face back at him a thousand times. Somewhere in these echoing halls waited the Prize—and the one creature who could grant it.
The wind tasted of rust and burnt sugar. That was the first sign Venn had crossed into Skaafin territory. DV-s The Skaafin Prize
“Go,” Vethis said. “The contract is fulfilled. No forfeit. No Prize. Just you, and your ghosts, and tomorrow.”
He thought of his sister’s final whisper. Don’t forget me. He stepped aside
“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.”
“Then let it be precedent.”
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.”