The evening air was thick with tension as the tournament continued into its second day. Liara's victory over Vera had sent ripples through the academy, but now, as the crowds settled into their seats for the next match, her thoughts were far from the arena.
Her eyes kept drifting toward the shadows behind the judges' platform—the place where she had caught a glimpse of the figure in silver robes.
The person hadn't left the arena since her match, blending seamlessly into the crowd. They were too still, too silent, and yet Liara felt their gaze on her—always on her.
Liara made her way out of the arena after her victory, intent on finding some peace, but the whispers followed her. The sigil on her chest burned softly, as if responding to the pull of something hidden.
As she passed the rear courtyard, she heard the faintest rustle—like a footfall on gravel. Instinctively, she turned, her heart racing.
A shadow moved swiftly between the trees.
The figure.
Before she could react, the figure stepped out into the moonlight.
The silver-robed stranger stood just beyond the gate. A hooded cloak shimmered in the pale light, but it was the eyes that held Liara's attention—burnished gold, too bright and piercing for any human.
It was the same figure from the illusion.
Her voice faltered as she called out. "Who are you?"
The figure didn't speak, but instead raised a hand. A whirlwind of silver light swirled between them, a shimmering barrier that caught the faintest moonbeams, turning them into dazzling threads.
"You know who I am," the figure said, their voice soft, but full of power. "You've already met me… in your dreams."
Liara took a cautious step forward. "What do you want from me?"
The figure tilted their head. "Not what you think. The Vault calls, but it will not open without the third key."
"The third key." The words felt like an echo in her mind.
"The sigils," the figure continued. "They were never meant to be found by accident. Your mark, Liara Winters, is the first… but not the last. The Vault's doors open to three, not one."
She frowned. "Then why did it call to me?"
"Because you carry Seralyn's legacy," the figure replied, voice softening. "And she—she made mistakes. We all have."
Liara felt a pang in her chest. "What mistakes?"
The figure's gaze softened with an ancient sorrow. "The first key led to the second. The second will lead to the third. But the third is not just a sigil. It's a soul. You will need it to unlock the Vault… or it will consume you."
Liara's breath hitched. "A soul?"
The figure nodded slowly. "Seralyn's sacrifice. She gave up more than just her life. She gave a part of herself to lock away the Vault's magic forever. The third sigil—the soul—was meant to be the last step of the ritual."
The wind shifted, and the light around them flickered.
"Why are you telling me this now?" Liara asked, voice tense.
The figure stepped back into the shadows. "Because, Liara, the trials are not just physical. The real challenge begins when you step into the Vault. And when you do, you'll face not just the magic—but the choices Seralyn made."
Before she could ask another question, the figure vanished, the night swallowing them whole.
Liara stood frozen in the courtyard, her mind reeling. The words repeated in her head: "The third key is a soul."
She turned back toward the academy, her legs shaking.
Whatever this meant, she knew one thing for certain: the tournament was nothing compared to what awaited her. And the silver-robed figure was only the beginning.