Lyra walked away from her friends, weaving through the growing crowd of students and participants. The atmosphere in the colosseum buzzed with excitement, as competitors made last-minute checks to their gear, whispering strategies, or simply taking in the sheer magnitude of the event. But she wasn't heading toward the waiting area with the others.
Instead, she moved toward the spectator stands, where the audience would soon gather. She didn't intend to join the common audience—she just wanted a better vantage point. Somewhere she could sit, observe, and analyze.
However, she didn't get far.
A group of armed guards, clad in polished armor, moved purposefully through the crowd, making their way directly toward her. They parted just as a tall, broad-shouldered man with a distinguished presence emerged from their formation.
Lord Mathias Evernwood.
Lyra's father.
The moment she saw him, her expression hardened.
The man was dressed in a finely embroidered coat, his deep-green cloak fastened with an ornate silver brooch. His hair, streaked with the faintest touch of gray at the temples, was neatly combed back, and his sharp eyes scanned her with a mixture of amusement and scrutiny.
"I am surprised you agreed," he said, his tone smooth, almost teasing. "I thought you would be more stubborn about it."
Lyra crossed her arms. "Did I have a choice?"
Lord Mathias let out a small chuckle. "You always have a choice, my dear. You simply chose the path of least resistance. A rare decision for you."
She exhaled sharply, glancing around. People were watching. Whispering. It was one thing to be recognized as an academy student, another to be seen as the daughter of a noble house—especially one as influential as the Evernwood family.
"Let's just get this over with," she muttered.
Lord Mathias smiled as he gestured toward the nobility section, and his guards fell into step around them as they walked.
The noble stands were built higher than the regular spectator seats, offering a clear, unobstructed view of the arena. Unlike the more crowded sections below, this area was spacious, adorned with luxurious seats and lined with banners of different noble houses.
Lyra could feel the weight of the stares as she stepped inside.
Some were curious, others judgmental.
Among the attendees were merchant lords, high-ranking military officials, archmages, and warlords, each carrying an air of importance. These were the people who dictated the course of nations, who shaped economies, who decided wars.
Her father led her to a reserved seat at the front, positioned beside him.
As she settled into her chair, she took a deep breath, her fingers curling slightly against the armrest.
"Do not look so tense," her father said casually, adjusting his gloves. "You belong here."
Lyra scoffed. "Do I?"
Mathias turned his gaze toward her, his expression unreadable. "Of course."
She stayed silent, her eyes scanning the arena instead. The contestants' entrance was visible from this position. Soon, her friends—Kalem, Jhaeros, and Nara—would walk out onto that battlefield.
And she would be watching from above.
It felt… wrong.
She barely had time to settle in before a voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Well, well, I was wondering if you would show up."
Lyra turned to see a young man, no older than twenty, dressed in deep crimson robes with golden embroidery. His long dark hair was tied back neatly, and his eyes, sharp and intelligent, flickered with undisguised amusement.
Lord Mathias greeted him with a nod. "Lord Castien Velthorne."
Velthorne. A powerful noble house—one heavily involved in arcane research and military funding.
Castien's smile widened as he addressed Lyra. "It's been quite some time, hasn't it, Lady Evernwood?"
Lyra barely managed to hide her grimace. "I wouldn't say that long."
"Oh, but long enough," he replied smoothly. "I must say, I find it fascinating that you chose to attend the academy as a mere student, rather than embracing your true station."
Lyra's fingers twitched. "My 'station' has nothing to do with my research."
"Ah, yes. Always the scientific mind, aren't you?" Castien mused. "I do wonder, though—how do your friends feel about your little… secret?"
Lyra's jaw clenched.
"They don't care about things like that," she replied.
"Don't they?" Castien leaned forward slightly. "You'd be surprised how much status matters, even among the so-called 'ordinary' folk."
Lord Mathias, who had been watching the exchange, finally spoke. "That's enough, Castien."
The young noble simply laughed. "Of course, Lord Evernwood. I wouldn't dare upset your daughter before such an important event." He turned back to Lyra, his tone light but laced with something deeper. "Still, I wonder—will you remain an observer? Or will you take your place among us, where you truly belong?"
Lyra met his gaze, refusing to look away.
"I'll decide that for myself," she said coolly.
Castien chuckled. "We'll see."
With that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the sea of nobles.
Lyra exhaled slowly, forcing her emotions back under control.
Her father watched her carefully. "You handled that well."
Lyra didn't respond immediately. She just turned her gaze back to the arena, where the tournament was about to begin.
Her mind, however, was elsewhere.
How much longer could she keep this up?
How much longer before her past and present collided?