Chapter 65: The Bitter Letter
Draven slammed his fist against the marble wall of his family’s estate.
Crack!
Blood smeared across the wall. He didn’t care. His face was twisted with rage and disbelief.
"What do you mean he quit?!" he screamed at the battered messenger kneeling on the floor. "I paid him! I paid him everything!"
The Iron Fang thug kept his head down. His voice shook. "Varga’s in a healing ward, my lord. Some masked fighter called Asura destroyed him in the Colosseum. One hit. The boss is terrified. The whole gang is terrified. They’re canceling all contracts and won’t refund..."
"NO REFUND?!" Draven kicked the messenger in the ribs. "I spent my entire inheritance on those useless thugs!"
The thug curled into a ball, saying nothing.
Draven paced the room, breathing hard. His hands trembled. He was broke. Humiliated. Expelled from the academy. And now the one thing he’d pinned his hopes on had fallen apart because of some underground fighter nobody had ever heard of.
His eyes burned with hatred.
"Holden Voss," he whispered. "This isn’t over."
Morning light filled the Prime Zone kitchen.
Holden dropped a heavy leather bag on the table.
Maeve’s eyes went wide behind her glasses. "Holden... that’s..."
"Colosseum winnings." He pulled out a chair and sat down, stretching his arms above his head. "Fifty thousand in official prize money. Another ten in side bets I placed on myself."
"You bet on yourself?"
"Seemed like a safe investment."
She stared at the small mountain of gold, then at him. "This is enough to buy every advanced alchemy tool I’ve ever wanted. Rare Bestiary volumes. Research materials that would take years to acquire normally."
"So buy them."
"Are you sure? This could fund your training for months."
Holden waved his hand. "I’ll make more. Consider this your research budget. You’ve been running calculations on pocket change for too long."
Maeve’s expression softened. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
"Thank you, Holden."
He squeezed back. "That’s what big brothers are for."
The academy cafeteria buzzed with its usual lunchtime chaos.
Team Soup had claimed their regular table near the windows. Renna was talking a mile a minute about something that had happened in her archery class. Emric nodded along while eating salad. Lyra sat quietly, pushing food around her plate without really eating.
Holden leaned back in his chair, half-listening to Renna’s story.
"...and then the target just blew up into a million pieces. It was crazy. Instructor Kael didn’t even look surprised, like he sees stuff blow up every day. He probably does, but it was still really exciting. I think some of the target’s guts landed on my boots, but it’s hard to tell since they were already messy from the swamp training we did last week."
"Excuse me."
A voice cut through Renna’s torrent of words.
A young man stood at their table, wearing an outfit so flashy it was basically begging for attention. It was covered in gold trim and had a useless cape. The Sterling family crest on his chest looked like a badge he wore just to show everyone he was superior to them.
He looked down his nose at them with practiced disdain.
"Which one of you is Lyra Sterling?"
Lyra’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. "I am."
The courier pulled a heavy envelope from his satchel. It was sealed with dark blue wax stamped with an ornate symbol. He held it out between two fingers like it might contaminate him.
"Official correspondence from Lord Sterling. You are to read it immediately and respond through proper channels."
Holden studied the courier’s outfit. The cape. The gold trim.
"Nice outfit," Holden said. "Is the cape for aerodynamics, or just to make sure nobody misses you in a crowd?"
The courier’s expression flickered. "Excuse me?"
"I’m genuinely curious. Does it help with your courier duties? Seems like it would get caught on doors. Maybe slow you down a bit." He moved his head. "Though I guess speed isn’t really the point, is it? It’s more about the look. The aesthetic. The ’I’m better than you’ vibes."
Renna snorted into her drink.
The courier’s face turned red. "I don’t have to stand here and be insulted by some..."
"Some what?" Holden raised an eyebrow. "Finish the sentence. I’m dying to know where you were going with that."
The courier’s mouth opened and closed. He looked at Lyra, then back at Holden, clearly uncertain how to handle someone who didn’t cower before the Sterling name.
"Just... take the letter." He dropped it on the table and walked away quickly, his ridiculous cape fluttering behind him.
Renna burst out laughing. "Oh my gods, Holden, did you see his face? I thought he was going to cry!"
Emric gave a small grin. "There was no real point in doing that, but to be honest, it was funny."
Holden shrugged, still grinning. "What? I appreciate dedication to fashion. I just wanted to understand the vision."
Nobody was laughing at Lyra’s end of the table.
She stared at the envelope like it was a venomous snake. The blue wax seal seemed to glow under the cafeteria lights. Her hands hadn’t moved toward it.
"Lyra?" Renna’s laughter faded. "What’s wrong?"
Lyra didn’t answer. She picked up the envelope with fingers that trembled slightly, then stood from the table.
"Excuse me for a moment."
She walked toward the cafeteria exit without looking back.
Holden watched her go. The grin slipped from his face.
He waited ten seconds, then pushed his chair back. "I’ll be right back."
He followed Lyra out into the corridor. She’d stopped near a window overlooking the training grounds, the envelope still in her hands.
"Hey," he said, approaching carefully. "What’s in the letter?"
Lyra didn’t turn around. When she spoke, her voice was flat.
"My uncle has arranged a marriage."
The words hung in the air.
Holden stopped a few feet away. "What?"
"A political alliance. I’m to marry the eldest son of House Thorne this weekend. He’s a third-year. Rank 2 prodigy. The match has been in negotiations for months." She paused. "I just didn’t think my uncle would actually go through with it."
The corridor felt quiet.
Lyra finally turned to face him. Her eyes searched his face, looking for something. Her noble mask was starting to crack at the edges, revealing the girl underneath.
"I don’t want to do this, Holden."
The words came out barely above a whisper.
Holden’s expression didn’t change. His posture stayed relaxed. His eyes gave nothing away.
Inside, something cold and heavy settled in his chest.
Somehow, he had expected this. The second he realized she was a noble, he knew they were too different. Her life was so far above his that standing next to her felt like a mistake. It felt like he was stealing moments that didn’t belong to him, and he was just waiting for the dream to end.
"It’s your noble family business," he said.
Lyra flinched like he’d slapped her.
"You have to do what you think is best."
What he said made sense. He sounded like someone who had learned a long time ago that hoping for things you can’t have only leads to pain.
Lyra stared at him. Hoping he’d say something else.
He didn’t.
Her eyes became cold. She hid her real feelings behind her "noble face" once more.
"You’re right," she said. "Of course you’re right."
She folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket.
"I’ll be leaving the academy after the ceremony. My uncle’s carriage will collect me Friday evening." Her voice was formal now. "I should... I need to pack my things."
She walked past him without saying another word.
Holden stood by the window and watched her disappear around the corner.
He didn’t follow.
Back in the cafeteria, Renna and Emric sat in awkward silence. They’d seen Lyra leave. They’d seen Holden follow. Now they watched him return to the table alone, his face completely unreadable.
Renna opened her mouth to say something.
Emric caught her eye and gave a tiny shake of his head.
She closed it again.
The four seats at Team Soup’s table felt very far apart.