CLANK.
The sound of steel meeting steel echoed sharp and clean through the atrium—like a bell ringing at the edge of a battlefield long past.
Jesse's blade slid against Lucavion's, her weight low, precise. The clash didn't push him back, but it didn't need to.
It started the conversation.
Her body moved on instinct—familiar steps refined over years, memories turned muscle, rage shaped into rhythm. And for a moment, even with the crowd watching, with Thalor's gaze coiled like a snake at the edge of the marble ring—
It felt like theirs.
Their spar.
Their world.
And somewhere beneath that strike, beneath the steel and stance, the memory of her family stirred.
The Burns family.
Earls. Once proud. Once significant. A lesser banner under a greater sun.
Until they backed the wrong prince.
The wrong heir.
