The wind shifted.
Not a breeze.
A pulse.
Lucian's eyelids twitched, barely.
He didn't look up—not yet. But he felt it. The weight. The intent. It wasn't loud. No announcement. No cheer.
Just a single pair of footsteps clicking against the stone.
She came from the north gate. Alone. No escort. No fanfare. The moment she stepped onto the field, the pressure changed.
Not wild like a beast.
Not erratic like a novice.
It was precise. Sharpened. Balanced.
Like a knife held at your neck by someone who'd done it before.
Lucian opened his eyes.
She was already halfway across the field. Black combat boots. Sleeveless top. Tight bindings wrapped around both arms—each marked with silver circuit lines pulsing faint blue. Hair shaved on one side. Her eyes burned gold, not from magic, but will. Trained. Forged.
She stopped five meters from him.
Lucian stood slowly.
"…Name?" he asked.
The woman cracked her neck, loose. "Lira Voss. A-Rank. From Helios Gate."
