The valley was dying.
Once lush and silver with the moonlit leaves of whispering trees, the place now festered with rot.
Fog clung to the roots like a shroud. Every branch drooped as though mourning. The air was thick with something unseen something furious. It pressed down on the skin like grief and curdled the wind with the sour stench of fear.
Lyra walked in silence.
Her boots left no trace upon the moss, and the long cloak of indigo fire-resistant silk trailed behind her without a sound.
Her expression was unreadable, as if carved from the very marble of the Celestian spires.
Moonlight rippled across her silver hair, braided and bound with small crystals that pulsed faintly with protective wards. Her violet eyes, sharp as cold steel, swept the treeline.
There was something wrong here and she would find it.
She moved through the withered brush with the quiet grace of a seasoned predator, but this was no hunting ground. It was a graveyard in waiting.
Her gloved hand reached up to brush a tree trunk: blackened.
Emotion crystal corruption.
That explained the assignment. A broken emotional essence likely hate or betrayal had cracked before containment and leaked into the world. When that happened, the raw feeling took on shape. Form. Hunger.
Lyra's head snapped up just in time to dodge the sweep of a massive claw. Bark exploded where she'd just stood, slashing gouges through a centuries-old tree.
The creature landed in the clearing like thunder incarnate twisted, massive, pulsing with sickly red veins.
It had no face, only a gaping vertical mouth that screamed with every breath. Its body was a spidering mess of limbs, some human, some scaled, others ending in broken talons or fingers stitched from shadow.
The crystal that birthed it shattered, jagged, and still glowing pulsed inside its chest like a second heart.
"Fused crystal," she murmured, stepping back.
A combination of rage and despair.
Unstable.
The monster lunged, and Lyra's fire came to life.
Purple fire roared from her palms in spiraling rings, cutting the air with a hum that resonated in the bones. Unlike red or orange flame, it did not burn wildly.
It danced with intent. With purpose. It curved as she directed it like an extension of her own body and slammed into the creature's shoulder.
It screamed. A real scream this time not empty mimicry, but pain.
She twisted her wrist and the flame narrowed into a whip. One sharp crack, and she sliced a limb clean off.
It hit the ground with a sickening squelch and immediately began to regenerate too fast.
The rage was feeding it.
Lyra's eyes narrowed. Fine. No room for restraint.
She leapt.
The ground exploded beneath her as she used a burst of purple flame for momentum, launching into the air above the beast.
From that height, she twisted midair and spun into a dive, twin streams of fire spiraling around her arms like ribbons.
The beast looked up, mouth gaping.
Too late.
Her body hit the ground with a thundering shockwave of heat. Purple fire erupted in every direction not wild, not chaotic, but precise.
The flame dug under the creature's limbs, slicing nerves and fusing muscle in a dance of incineration and manipulation. It screamed and thrashed, but every time it moved, she was already there.
Behind it. Above it. Beneath it.
Her magic flowed in quiet arcs, like a violinist's bow not rage, but art. She was not like the demons, all violent eruption and wild destruction. She didn't burn. She refined.
The monster collapsed on its knees, shuddering.
Its chest crystal still pulsed desperate, final.
She landed lightly in front of it, one arm raised.
The fire gathered in her palm like a growing sun.
"Be still," she whispered. "I see you."
For just a second, the creature stopped. Its mouth closed. The wind died.
Then she released it.
A single thread of flame razor-thin and glowing lanced through the air and pierced the crystal in the center of the beast's chest. It froze. Its body cracked first slowly, then all at once as the corrupted essence burned from within.
The monster shattered into a thousand violet embers.
Then silence.
Only her breathing filled the glade. Steady. Even.
She stood still for a moment, letting her magic settle. The fire curled back into her palms, flickering, obedient.
The corruption was gone.
She reached into her belt and pulled a smooth glass orb. Holding it to the air, she whispered an incantation. The sphere vibrated faintly, glowed once, and turned clear.
Mission complete.
---
The Celestian University awaited her return like a sculpture of starlight. All smooth towers and floating bridges, spires connected by threads of luminescent energy.
It shimmered high above the clouds, detached from the mortal world both literally and ideologically.
Lyra stood before the Grand Amphitheater an hour later, cloak cleaned, body unmarked. She looked the same, but her mind still echoed with the beast's scream.
It was the third corrupted essence she'd purified this month. They were happening more often. Someone would need to investigate.
"Lyra."
The voice came from behind the crystalline archway. A woman stood there, tall, silver-robed, her forehead marked with the sigil of the Council.
"Headmistress Vaela," Lyra said with a polite nod.
"Come. You're expected."
Lyra followed her through the silent marble corridors, lined with soft glowing glyphs and statues of past champions. As they neared the Heart Hall, Lyra's pace slowed.
Why here?
The doors opened on their own.
Inside, seated in a circle, were seven figures two Councilors, three professors, one High Flamekeeper, and the Celestian Chancellor herself.
They rose when Lyra entered.
"Student Lyra Elaris," the Chancellor said. Her voice echoed as though it were wind woven into song.
"Today we recognize your precision in combat, your clarity of emotion, and your unshakable restraint."
A beat of silence. Then:
"You have been chosen."
Lyra's back straightened.
"For what?"
"The Concordance Duel," Vaela said softly, stepping forward. "You are the Celestian representative. You leave in twelve days."
For the first time in many years, Lyra felt something stir in her chest. Not excitement. Not pride.
Disgust.
"Who's the demon?" she asked.
The Chancellor smiled faintly. "Unknown, for now. But rest assured… she will not be easy."
Lyra's lips pressed into a line.
"Good," she said. "I'd hate for this to be boring."