(POV: Caspian)
The silence was suffocating.
The five of them—eliminated.
They had all just walked out of the battlefield, but no one spoke.
Lyrius —
Lyrius was shaking.
Not with exhaustion. With pure frustration.
"You Bastard."
The shift happened instantly.
One moment, Lyrius was standing still.
The next—he had Caspian by the collar.
"You," Lyrius seethed, voice low. "You told me to join your team."
His grip tightened.
"You told me you'd make me win this damn tournament."
Caspian didn't react.
He didn't struggle, didn't shove Lyrius away.
He simply stared back.
And analyzed.
Why?
Why was Lyrius like this?
Why was his personality shifting in ways Caspian hadn't predicted?
In the novel, Lyrius had never lashed out at others after losing.
He blamed himself. He loathed his own weakness, his own inability.
But now—
Now he was directing all that rage toward Caspian.
But why?
Caspian's mind raced.
Lyrius wasn't just upset—he was furious.
