Dv-s The Skaafin Prize -

Venn’s hands were shaking. The DV-s sigils along his forearms glowed faintly—the contract’s mark, binding him to finish or forfeit his remaining years.

“I can’t,” he said, but his voice was small. DV-s The Skaafin Prize

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. Venn’s hands were shaking

And then he understood.

The scene shifted. Now Venn stood in a burning library, a failed rebellion, his comrades’ screams echoing. Then a lover’s face, dissolving into indifference. Then his own reflection, younger and whole, before the DV-s surgery had carved the sigils into his bones. On the salt flats, Venn knelt and pressed

Then he stood, and walked home, carrying everything.