The air quivered like glass beneath a fingertip. The Eye did not blink, but the veil around it trembled, ripples bleeding into the newborn world. The realm itself seemed to flinch, as if bracing for what it already knew was coming.
The third trial did not arrive as thunder or storm, nor as shadows or mirrors.
It arrived as silence.
The rivers stilled. The stars dimmed. Even the covenant-guardians froze, their immense forms locked in statuesque stillness. Sound itself seemed outlawed, smothered, until only the beating of three hearts could be heard—Fenric's, Aria's, Laxin's.
Aria gasped, her voice cut short as if swallowed. She clutched at her throat, wings trembling. No emerald sparks answered her call. Her covenant-sigil flickered, weak and fading.
Fenric tried to inscribe flame, but his silver fire sputtered into ash, every rune collapsing before it was born. His staff hummed with impotent resonance, the words of his law stripped from him.
