The sands had barely settled from Caelen's fight when the gates groaned again.
Loud and announcing.
This time, the crowd didn't laugh.
They remembered the name.
The brother who killed the Bonebreaker.
Now came the sister.
"Next challenger!" the announcer bellowed from atop his gilded perch, voice thick with bloodlust and drama. "Swift as silver, sharp as shadow—Lyra of House Elarin!"
The iron doors creaked open, their hinges protesting like dying men. Dust stirred. Heat shimmered.
And out walked fire.
Small, yes. Slighter than most.
No grand armor, no etched blade of noble make.
Just her hood down, hair pale as ash—no, paler. White-silver, tangled like threadbare silk, clinging to her shoulders in ghostlight strands. A short crescent blade crossed her back, matte-black, unpolished, brutal.
She moved like wind through a half-open window—graceful, effortless, fast.
