The banners of Emberhall Tournament whipped in the wind, their golden threads catching the sunlight like flame.
Every year, the Academy held a public competition—part tradition, part test. Students battled in duels, illusions, and elemental mastery to earn points for their houses and recognition from the Circle.
But this year, something felt different.
The arena had been reinforced with sigil-stones. The professors looked wary. And for the first time, only third-years and chosen second-years were allowed in the combat round.
Liara's name was on the list.
She stared at the parchment nailed to the main hall pillar, her heart pounding.
Why would they select me? I've never even taken Battle Theory.
Tamsin leaned in beside her. "You got picked."
Liara blinked. "You didn't?"
Tamsin grinned. "Nope. I failed spell-casting drills last week and nearly set a desk on fire. But you—Miss Mysterious Sigil Girl—are apparently very interesting to the Circle now."
From behind them, a low voice added, "They're not just testing strength. They're testing control."
Aeron.
He stepped forward, jaw tight, eyes flicking toward the board.
"You're the unknown in this equation. They want to see if you'll break under pressure—or break someone else."
Cassian joined them, arms folded. "Then let her compete."
"She's not ready," Aeron snapped.
Cassian raised a brow. "She's more ready than you were when your shadow magic first flared. Or did you forget that little incident with the greenhouse explosion?"
Aeron glared. "You don't understand what she's carrying."
"Maybe not. But I trust her to handle it."
Liara stepped between them. "I'm standing right here."
They both looked at her, silent.
She stared them down. "Let's get something straight. I'm not your war prize. I'm not your responsibility. I'm a contender."
That evening, the tournament began.
The arena was carved from obsidian stone, a ring of enchanted runes glowing around the edges. Spectators filled the terraces, shouting and cheering.
Liara stood at the edge of the ring, opposite her first opponent—a fourth-year conjurer named Brek. Thick-armed and confident, he sneered at her. "Little light-flinger. You'll burn out fast."
The bell tolled.
Brek launched fire like coiled serpents. Liara spun, ducked, and raised her hand.
Light burst from her palm—clean, radiant. Not a weapon, but a shield.
The fire hit it—and vanished.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Brek scowled. "Tricks."
He charged. She closed her eyes.
And this time, the magic came not from panic—but purpose.
A wave of silver light rippled from her feet, sending Brek flying backward. He hit the wall with a grunt, stunned.
The match ended.
She won.
Aeron watched from the upper platform, arms crossed. His jaw tightened—but his eyes softened.
Cassian leaned on the railing beside him. "She's learning fast."
"She won't survive if she doesn't," Aeron murmured.
Below, Liara stood alone in the ring, breathless, her sigil glowing faintly under her collar.
And across the arena, hidden in the shadows behind the judges' box, a figure in silver robes watched silently, fingertips marked with the phoenix sigil.