Every elder stared. No one spoke. Yet the weight of their scrutiny pressed on Sylara's chest until she fought to keep her shoulders from bowing.
She wanted to reach back, press fingers to the comfort of the bow lashed against her quiver. Instead she slid her hand to the rune at her collarbone—the one still warm from yesterday's trial. The throb there steadied her, and with it came the faintest tug in her mind: the Guardian, waiting outside, aware.
The sensation lifted her chin. It said, You are not alone.
Velthiri lifted her hand—slender, unadorned, but the gesture cut through the hush like a drawn blade.
"Sylvanna. Dravis Granger. Step into the center."
