Kain expected resistance when he plunged the dagger into the heart, but it was surprisingly soft—or perhaps the dagger was just too sharp.
What he did not expect was the scream.
Not from the heart—but from the walls.
The murals convulsed, their half-dragon inhabitants writhing as the blade drank deep. The obsidian darkened further, its surface now streaked with veins of gold that pulsed in time with the sigil beneath their feet.
Thick, viscous blood began to ooze from the heart's wound, far more than should have been possible for an organ its size. Kain dropped the dagger at his feet with a clatter as Soreia thrust the sheath toward him.
"Hold it steady," she commanded, her voice sharper than Kain had ever heard it. But Kain assumed she was probably tense upon realizing how important the memories contained in this trial were.
Kain barely had time to grip the sheath before the flood came.
And of course, some of that blood spilled over.
