Page 107 of On Brutal Thrones

Silver light spreads across the water, winding outward from the shore in a narrow path. It shimmers like moonlight made solid, stretching farther and farther until it disappears into the horizon.

A path. Of course. The message is obvious even without words.

Follow.

Just like it has from the moment I entered this place, the Trial is herding us toward whatever comes next. There’s never enough time to truly recover, only brief pauses that keep us from collapsing completely before we're shoved forward again.

“Alright.” Thorian draws a long breath and steps toward the water. “Obviously, we need to go across this.”

His tone says exactly what he thinks of that idea.

I can’t blame him.

We’ve learned not to trust the gods on a good day. A mysterious path appearing across an enormous lake and disappearing into the horizon isn't exactly inspiring confidence. But we have to keep moving forward. That’s the only constant in the Trials.

Fenric keeps hold of my hand as Thorian steps carefully onto the silver path. He shifts his weight, testing it before looking back and gesturing for us to follow.

Talon motions for Fenric and me to go ahead.

So we do.

We move together, Thorian in front, Fenric and me behind him, Talon guarding our backs. The silver surface feels strange beneath my boots, firm but almost humming with energy, and water stretches endlessly on either side of us.

Behind us, the Vultures are still fighting.

Magic flashes inside their mist, green, purple, and blue streaking through the white. Even from this distance, I can tell the fight is wearing on them. Their movements are slowing. There are longer gaps between bursts of magic. But they’re there, still fighting, while we’re done with this trial.

We’re the first group to cross.

The thought sends a small flare of pride through me. We figured it out before the Vultures did. We survived when so many other teams never even made it this far.

I have no idea where they find the energy to cast as much as they do. Well, that isn’t entirely true. Valtor chose them. He wants them to win, and he’s done everything in his power to make sure they have an advantage.

I should look ahead. I know I should. But I keep glancing back.

Maybe it’s because I want to see the Vultures fail. Maybe some ugly little part of me wants proof that they aren't invincible despite everything Valtor has handed them.

Then I spot Vale.

She’s in her wolf form now, snapping and clawing at an identical animal. They’re both covered in blood, their fur dark and matted with it.

My stomach twists.

The wolves collide. One gets the advantage. She drives the other down and tears into her throat. I gasp as flesh rips free. The surviving wolf staggers backward and drops the bloody chunk from her jaws.

For one heartbeat, relief moves through me. Vale did it. She beat her copy before the Vultures beat theirs. Then I wait for the other wolf to dissolve.

It doesn’t. Blood continues pouring from its ruined throat, darkening the sand beneath its body.

My stomach drops. “No.”

The surviving wolf stands over the corpse, and I understand. That isn’t Vale. Vale fought herself for so long that eventually one of them won.

It was the wrong one.

My hand rises to cover my mouth, and grief catches me completely by surprise. Vale wasn’t my friend. She was my opponent, at least until she lost the last of her teammates. After that, she couldn’t win the Trials. All she could do was keep going and hope to reach the end, where she could finally leave this place alive.

But she was still a person. She’d fought her way this far with nothing left to win except her own freedom, and now her body is lying on the shore while a thing wearing her face stands over it.