“You reject the Prize,” the Proctor said slowly, “by accepting the weight you already bear. That is… unprecedented.”
“You came.”
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. DV-s The Skaafin Prize
The galleries fell silent. The brass light in Vethis’s eyes flickered, dimmed, then flared bright gold. “You reject the Prize,” the Proctor said slowly,
On the salt flats, Venn knelt and pressed his palm to the ground. For the first time in years, he said their names aloud: the sister, the rebels, the lover. All of them. None of them. “You reject the Prize