Vethis tilted his head, genuinely curious. “Then what do you claim?”
“The Prize,” Vethis purred, stepping through the memory like a ghost, “is the return of one thing you have lost. A person. A moment. A piece of your soul. But to claim it, you must choose which loss you value most. And then you must relive the others.” DV-s The Skaafin Prize
“I don’t want to bring anyone back,” Venn said, rising. His voice cracked, but it held. “The Prize is not resurrection. It’s a choice of which loss defines me.” Vethis tilted his head, genuinely curious
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. A moment
“You reject the Prize,” the Proctor said slowly, “by accepting the weight you already bear. That is… unprecedented.”
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.
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.”