Chapter 52: Whispers of Mist and Wind
When Samael's voice declared Lyra's victory, the crowd stood in reverent silence for a few seconds, unable to fully process what they had just witnessed. The mist still hovered in the arena, swirling slowly around the contenders, as if the duel itself refused to dissipate and become just a memory.
I. Among the Protagonists
Lyra, her arm marked by wind and blood, felt her legs tremble under the weight of the battle. The ancestral ring pulsed, and her inner guide—normally severe—now murmured with respect:
—You have crossed the threshold, girl. Today your mist is no longer exile, but promise.
At the edge of the arena, Jian was lifted up by two of his companions. The young man, still pale, tried to smile:
—I lost, but I swear I've never felt the wind so free.
One of his friends patted his shoulder:
—The clan is proud of you.
Jian nodded, his gaze fixed on Lyra, determination renewed in his chest.
Cedric and Xylia exchanged a look of admiration. Cedric mentally noted the way the mist had neutralized the wind seals.
—I should ask Lyra if she can teach me that, he muttered.
Xylia, lightning dancing on her fingers, added:
—The next time I face her, I won't hesitate for a second. Doubt is the gap in the middle of the storm.
II. In the Stands and Corridors
The disciples ranked 11 to 20 debated heatedly:
—It can't be that a mist stopped Jian's hurricane!
—It wasn't just mist, it was bloodline, it was will—another replied, with respect and a bit of fear.
A young man from the humblest branch, with the insignia of rank 17, murmured to himself:
—Today I learned that the greatest strength is that which doesn't fear being invisible before shining.
Aylin, still bandaged and recovering from her own draw, approached Lyra in the healers' area.
—Not only was it beautiful, she said sincerely, it was brave.
Lyra allowed herself a small gesture of affection, squeezing Aylin's hand:
—Thank you. Without worthy rivals, one can't find oneself.
III. Among the Outsiders
In the guest box, the representatives of the Starry Ice Empire watched Lyra with renewed attention.
—Mist can cloud the eyes of the gods—one whispered, intrigued.
Saira, the ice prodigy, pressed her lips together:
—Next time, I want to be the one who steps into that field with you—she said, her voice a promise, not a threat.
A western envoy, seeing the crowd's reaction, jotted in his travel journal:
—Here, even the fallen can be reborn. The danger of this clan isn't just its power... it's the faith they sow.
IV. Reactions from the Pillars and Mentors
In the private hall of the pillars, Violeta and Eris analyzed the battle.
Eris, with her usual vehemence, declared:
—If Lyra keeps growing like this, she'll remind me of the greats of the Ancestral Era.
Violeta, more reflective, observed:
—She has the gaze of someone who already lost everything once. That kind of resolve is impossible to fake.
Elowen healed Lyra's wounds, applying a spiritual ointment to the lance mark.
—The scar will be slight, but you'll always remember it.
Lyra nodded, unafraid:
—I don't want to forget it. It will remind me that the wind can part the mist... but only if the mist allows it.
Kael, from the shadow of a column, locked eyes with Jian—a silent gesture of respect between those who know the pressure of expectations.
V. Echoes in the Citadel
That night, the entire citadel vibrated. The apprentices practiced mist and wind techniques, imitating the moves they saw in the arena.
The elders recounted the battle to the children, describing how will can make the inflexible flexible, how a worthy defeat is a seed for victory.
In the hallways, some of Lyra's and Jian's rivals formed alliances, planning strategies for future duels, knowing the tournament had raised the bar.
In taverns and pavilions, bets for the next duel doubled; the names Lyra and Jian were repeated with respect and fear.
VI. The Patriarch and the Future
From the top of the tower, Samael gazed at the city. The system showed him the flow of threads of destiny:
—Today, two mists met and both came out with lightning in their chests.
He smiled, satisfied.
—Let all the prodigies of this world learn: the Morningstar clan no longer fears the darkness. Now it embraces it and turns it into legend.
The Star Tree, that night, let fall a soft mist over the plaza. The ancestors, in some dreams, whispered words of pride and warning:
—Rebirth has a price, but also a promise.
VII. Epilogue: Night of Rebirth
As Lyra slept, the ancestral ring glowed with faint light.
She dreamed of mist and wind, with Jian's voice telling her:
—The rematch will be soon. Be ready.
Jian, in his own bed, felt the night breeze at the window.
—I won't fail. My next roar will be stronger.
And so, under the moon and the mist, the Morningstar citadel sealed the legend of two youths who, by facing each other, taught everyone that the greatest strength is a heart willing to break and be reborn.