"I, Aren Kaelis," Aren’s voice was hoarse, raw, barely a whisper in the echoing hall, "do solemnly swear..." He pressed his trembling palm onto the cold, white altar stone.
A thousand eyes bore into his back, their collective anticipation a suffocating weight.
He closed his eyes, taking a shuddering breath that burned in his lungs. The air thrummed with a nervous energy, a mix of fear and excitement from the assembled leaders.
He could feel Elara's worried gaze, even without looking. Jaxon's heavy presence felt like a brand.
The robed figure standing beside him offered the ceremonial dagger. Its silver blade glinted under the hall's ambient glow, perfectly sharp, reflecting the distorted image of Aren’s face. He took the dagger. The handle was carved bone, rough and ancient against
