Lyria's POV
The rotten tomato hits my face before I even finish my turn.
I stumble backward, juice dripping down my cheek. Laughter explodes through the Grand Arena. Thousands of people—nobles, commoners, even the servants—are all laughing at me.
"Pathetic!" someone shouts.
"Weakest magic I've ever seen!"
My hands shake as I wipe the tomato off. I knew this would be bad. I just didn't think it would be this bad.
The Grand Magical Trial happens once every five years. Every noble child must show their power in front of the entire kingdom. It decides everything—your rank, your future, who you can marry.
My sister Seraphine went before me. She created a tower of flames so hot the front row had to move back. Everyone cheered. Father smiled at her like she hung the moon.
Then came my turn.
I walked to the center of the arena, my heart pounding so hard I thought everyone could hear it. The stars were out tonight. That's good, I told myself. The stars always help me. They whisper to me when I'm sad. They sing to me when I'm alone.
But whispers and songs aren't real magic. Not the kind that matters.
I closed my eyes and reached up, calling to the stars like I always do. "Please," I whispered. "Please let this work. Just this once."
The stars answered. I felt their warmth, heard their gentle voices. Power tickled my fingertips.
Then... nothing.
Just a tiny shimmer of light. Like a firefly. It floated up about three feet and disappeared.
That's when the tomatoes started flying.
Now I stand here, covered in rotten vegetables, while the entire kingdom laughs. My eyes burn with tears but I refuse to cry. Not here. Not in front of them.
"SILENCE!"
Father's voice cuts through the noise like a knife. Lord Viktor Everen stands in the royal box, his face twisted with rage. Not at the crowd. At me.
The laughter dies. Everyone knows my father's temper.
He walks down the steps slowly. Each footstep echoes in the suddenly quiet arena. My stomach twists into knots. I've seen this look before—when he's about to punish a servant, when he's about to destroy someone's life.
But he's never looked at me like this.
"Twenty-two years," he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Twenty-two years I've fed you. Clothed you. Given you the Everen name. And this is how you repay me? With this... this embarrassment?"
"Father, I tried—"
"You are no daughter of mine."
The words slam into me like a physical blow. Around us, people gasp. Even in the noble houses, a father never disowns a child publicly. It's the worst shame possible.
"Father, please—"
"The Everen family has produced powerful mages for three hundred years," he continues, circling me like a predator. "We have standards. We have a reputation. And you..." He stops in front of me, disgust clear in his eyes. "You are defective."
Defective. The word everyone's always whispered behind my back. Now my own father says it to my face.
"I hereby strip you of your title," Father announces. "You are no longer Lady Lyria Everen. You will receive no inheritance. No dowry. No protection of our name."
The crowd murmurs. This is brutal even for Father.
But he's not done.
"Furthermore," he says, a cruel smile forming, "I cancel the engagement between you and Lord Adrian of House Thornwell. You are unworthy of such a match."
My heart stops. Adrian? Our engagement has been set since we were children. He's supposed to be my future. The one good thing I had left.
"I understand completely, Lord Viktor."
No. No, no, no.
Adrian walks into the arena. My Adrian, with his kind smile and warm brown eyes. Except he's not smiling kindly now. He looks... relieved?
"The engagement was made when we were children," Adrian says loudly. "Before we knew Lady Lyria's magic was so... limited. I cannot tie my house to such weakness."
Each word is a stab to my chest.
"In fact," Adrian continues, and my blood turns to ice, "I wish to propose a new engagement. One that would strengthen both our houses."
He turns and extends his hand toward the royal box.
Seraphine stands up.
No. Not her. Anyone but her.
My sister glides down the steps in her beautiful red dress, her perfect smile on her perfect face. She takes Adrian's hand like she's been waiting for this moment her whole life.
"Lady Seraphine Everen," Adrian says, loud and clear, "would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
"Yes," Seraphine says, not even looking at me. "I accept."
The crowd erupts in cheers. Father actually smiles. Adrian kisses Seraphine's hand.
And I stand there, alone in the center of the arena, covered in tomato and shame, watching my sister steal my fiancé.
Watching my whole life fall apart.
"You should thank me," Seraphine whispers as she passes me. Her voice is so low only I can hear. "I've wanted Adrian since we were twelve. And now that you're nothing, he's finally mine. Oh, and Lyria?" She leans closer, her smile sharp as glass. "I told Father about your little star magic. I told him it was useless. I'm the one who suggested he test you publicly."
She planned this. All of it.
Before I can respond, before I can even process what she said, Father speaks again.
"Remove her from my sight."
Guards grab my arms. They drag me away while the crowd cheers for Seraphine and Adrian. I don't fight. What's the point?
They throw me into a small room beneath the arena and lock the door.
I'm alone in the darkness.
Everything is gone. My name. My home. My future. My family just destroyed me in front of the entire kingdom for entertainment.
I sink to the floor and finally let myself cry.
That's when I hear it.
A voice. Not the gentle whispers of the stars I'm used to. This is different—urgent, almost frightened.
"Find the Fallen Star. Three days. The pilgrimage. You must survive."
I look up. Through the tiny window, I see the stars burning brighter than normal. Too bright. Like they're trying to warn me.
"What pilgrimage?" I whisper.
The stars pulse once, twice.
Then one of them—a huge, bright one I've watched my whole life—suddenly falls from the sky.
It streaks across the darkness, leaving a trail of silver fire.
And it's heading straight for the castle.
The door bursts open.
"Lyria Everen," the Grand Magister says, his old face grave. "By order of the King, you are summoned. Immediately."
His eyes flick to the window, to the falling star.
"Your trial isn't over, girl. It's only just begun."