Her voice as she calls out for me echoes in my ears. She’s against the barrier, pushing at the invisible wall, clawing at it to get to me.
When she realizes she cannot do it, she turns to Lis, dropping to her knees and begging her.
Save him. Please save him.
Don’t let him die.
Lis might be strong, but she’s just another contestant. She has no control over the barrier or the arena. She shakes her head at Moe and tries to comfort her.
No. Please, you don’t understand. He cannot die. He’s my mate. He cannot die.
Lis tells her it will be fine, that she needs to calm down.
“M-oe,” I open my mouth, straining to say her name.
She hears it, turning toward me, her face tear-streaked, her eyes red.
“Nyk!”
Then, just as I stare death in the face, I realize what I need to do.
I move my gaze slightly until it lands on Lis. I hope she can understand my intention. If only I can relinquish my ownership over Moe and give it to her… Then if I die, she will not.
Our eyes meet, and she nods in understanding.
52
Relief fills me at her acknowledgement. At least then I will be theonlyone to die.
But then, staring right into my eyes, she smiles and mouths.
“No.”
That one word changes everything. The inevitability of my death becomes somethingunacceptable.
Because despite everything… Moe can’t die.
And in that instant, something inside me breaks.
The world distorts. Sound dulls. The cathedral blurs. Then sharpens…?
Something is wrong—utterly, impossibly wrong.
Because suddenly I do not merely see Eragon’s power.
Iperceiveit.
Every thread of shadow pouring through his hand appears before me not as darkness but as structure—as layers of woven force, interlocked currents, fragile seams and unstable joins stitched together into a construct of overwhelming complexity.
And within that complexity, I see it.
The weaknesses, the fractures, they’re running through the architecture of his power.
My breath catches.
W-what? What is this?
The answer comes not in words, but instinct.
