The Grand Cyprus Troupe was alive with movement. Performers polished their routines, stagehands adjusted elaborate set pieces, and musicians fine-tuned their instruments. The warm glow of lanterns bathed the grand hall in hues of amber and gold, casting flickering shadows against the crimson drapes.

Hyrus von Veerd stood above it all, watching from his usual spot on the balcony.

He was waiting for her.

Razalea stepped into the theater, shaking off the lingering thoughts of Dyker's words.

"You were seen."

His voice cut through the hum of activity below.

She looked up at him. "I was careful."

"Not careful enough," Hyrus murmured, his fingers tapping against the rail. He didn't sound angry, merely... intrigued. "Tell me, what did you find?"

Razalea hesitated.

Because she had found something.

After that spectacle, her instincts had kicked in. She had followed the flow of the gossiping crowd, slipping between shadows, until she stumbled upon something she shouldn't have.

It wasn't some petty attempt at cheating. The letter spoke of eliminations.

Accidents would be arranged. People would die.

And whoever had written it had the power to make it happen.

Razalea wasn't a hero. She wasn't someone who involved herself in things that weren't her problem.

But something about this scheme triggered her, she had the feeling it was a danger to more than just the students at El' Grazhia.

She had thought about burning the letter, about simply walking away. But then she had an idea—a way to put it off balance, to interfere without drawing attention to herself.

Except she had underestimated who was watching her.

"It wasn't the crowd I should have been worried about," Razalea admitted finally.

"No," Hyrus agreed. "It wasn't."

He turned toward her seeing the internal struggle in her eyes, he knew she would not involve him no matter what she faced, her ability to handle herself and her interests had always been her pride, but seeing her so worried, his sharp gaze began considering. "What is that you need to do?"

Razalea exhaled, fingers gripping the edge of her cloak. "I don't know yet."

Hyrus studied her for a long moment before stepping away from the railing, descending the narrow stairway to join her below. When he reached her, he lifted a hand—gently tugging the hood from her head. His expression showed fatherly concern as he searched her face.

"You're hesitating," he observed. "That's unlike you."

She glanced away, swallowing. "I just... don't know if it's my place."

"If you didn't care, you wouldn't be struggling with this choice." His voice was steady, grounding. "But you do. So the real question isn't whether it's your place, but whether you're willing to do something about it."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Razalea clenched her jaw. "And what if it costs me everything?"

Hyrus gave a quiet chuckle. "You never do anything without a way out, Lea. You'll figure it out."

Something in his unwavering confidence made her chest tighten.

She let out a slow breath. "Yeah... I suppose I will."

He smiled faintly, stepping past her. "Just don't take too long to decide. Whatever's in that letter, you're not the only one aware of it. And if you wait too long—"

"—someone else will make the choice for me," she finished, nodding in understanding.

Hyrus said nothing more, only squeezing her shoulder lightly before walking away, leaving her alone in the dim glow of the lanterns. If the worst did indeed happen, he knew she'd be safe he'd taken plenty of measures to ensure that all under his care remained unscathed. Others were not his concern, unless of course his darling pupil requested his interference. Not that she would ever have to, with her wits and skill. Razalea was his one and only apprentice and he wasn't keen on accepting any others. Not even Ridian could come close to her worth and he was Hyrus's nephew!

The night air was thick with the scent of burning tallow and damp stone as Razalea moved through the twisting alleys behind the Applicant Station. Shadows stretched long across the cobbled streets, flickering with the occasional torchlight. The city never truly slept, not with the Academy's entrance trials on the horizon.

She had spent the past hour threading together the puzzle—coded instructions, missing names, a pattern hidden within the streets. Whoever had orchestrated this plot wasn't just aiming to tip the balance in the trials.

They were ensuring certain students would never leave them alive. The plan was methodical—intercept key entrants, eliminate those considered 'risks,' and ensure only their chosen candidates passed.

But why? Why were they only targeting first years, what was so special about this year's entrants?

She traced the marked locations with her eyes:

The Southern Gate – Entry point for out-of-region competitors. The Bloodless Chamber – A misnomer; duels held there weren't always bloodless. The Trial Arena – Where hopefuls would prove their worth. Each a choke point. Each a place where an 'accident' could happen.

And then she saw it again—her own theater's name. Not as a target. As a meeting point. Razalea's pulse had quickened when she first glimpsed this detail. They had been using her stage as their cover. The very act she had crafted to enthrall the kingdom's elite had been nothing but a distraction for something much darker. Her first instinct was to tell Hyrus. He would know what to do, but that was also one of the key reasons she could not involve him or Ridian.

She knew they would have her back but what if what she wanted to do wasn't the best idea, she always over thought like this beneath her mask, and while she knew she could pull it off she always had doubts and when she doubted herself, she became clumsy. This was a chance for her to test out what she learned from Hyrus.

If her plan to 'help' did indeed fail, she would not want to burden the old man or worse cause him trouble, she knew he would be able to handle it but that was never the point, being under his care was a privilege to her. His lessons on careful scheming always rang in her head, it was woven in her very nature.

The name signed at the bottom of the letter was unknown to her. No noble crest, no affiliation—just a singular, calculated phrase. "The Wheel Will Turn." And that meant this was bigger than a mere conspiracy. It was a game. And she refused to let The Grand Cyprus be used in such an undignified way. Razalea did not intend to play the hero. She wasn't a soldier, a noble, or a knight. She was an actress, a ghost, a girl who had survived by not being noticed. So she did what she did best. She dabbled. It started with small interferences—letters misplaced, signals disrupted, meeting points exposed. She was careful, deliberate, making it seem like the conspirators had been careless. By the time the night stretched into its final hours, she had successfully dismantled two of their planned attacks. And then—she heard it. The soft click of a crossbow.

Razalea didn't hesitate. She twisted, slipping behind a pillar just as the bolt buried itself into the wooden beam beside her. Not a warning shot. A kill shot.

Her heartbeat remained steady.

If they had found her this quickly, it meant...She had been careless. She exhaled softly, preparing to move. But the moment she stepped forward, a hand caught her wrist. Her entire body tensed.

That was a mistake. A shift of weight, a sharp motion—she twisted, aiming to break free.

Instead, she was yanked off balance. And then she saw who had caught her. The gourd tilted lazily in his other hand, green eyes flickering under the moonlight. Dyker.

"Well," he mused, taking another sip of whatever strange concoction he always carried. "Didn't expect to find you tangled up in something this messy, Phantom." Razalea's blood ran cold. Of all the people to get in her way—He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a low murmur. "Not that I mind, of course. But you might wanna explain why the hell you're standing in the middle of a confirmed assassination plot."

This was bad. He wasn't a noble. He wasn't a mere first year applicant. She knew he was one of those few special students who were allowed to do official business.

He was also someone who could sense her. He was part of the Academy's internal enforcement.

The one group meant to stop this kind of sabotage, not that they were any good at it seeing as she had to thwart the previous attempts on her own. Which meant—Razalea wasn't about to be ignored. She was about to be arrested.

And she had just made her biggest mistake yet. Getting noticed.