Chapter One Hundred Thirty: A Kingdom for a Lie, Part Two

  Jace blinked, trying to piece it together. Everything he’d learned at Olympus University painted the kingdoms as united—joined in common cause against the encroaching darkness. “I thought… weren’t they all allied? Against the darkness, I mean. Why would he go to war? Is that… normal?”

  Her laugh was bitter, dry as scorched earth. “Common enough. Though they don’t ever call it ‘war.’ Not technically. But it is. Land grabs, power plays, station... petty skirmishes dressed up as noble causes. Long ago, when the Dark One struck relentlessly, there was peace between us. Uneasy, but real. Every kingdom sacrificed their dead to hold the line. But centuries pass. The attacks dwindled. The treaties stayed, but the peace?” She shrugged, the motion tight and cold. “A fragile balance. Some kingdoms honor it. Others… well, less so.”

  “And your father?” Jace pressed. “Why did he fight?”

  She turned her head, her gaze distant, as if searching the shadows for an answer that would never come. “Take your pick—land, pride, revenge. Depends on who’s telling the story. But one thing’s certain: he lost. That’s all that matters, in the end. And my people have been paying for it ever since.” Her laugh was sharp, hollow, a sound that cut rather than comforted. “I was part of the price.”

  Jace froze, his thoughts stumbling over her words. “What do you mean?”

  Her chin dipped, and for a fleeting moment, the unyielding armor she wore cracked, just enough for him to see a flash of what was underneath. Then, her wrists lifted, revealing the golden cuffs encircling them like chains disguised as jewelry. The glow of runes etched into the metal pulsed with a quiet, mocking rhythm.

  “I know what it’s like to be owned, in my own way,” she said bitterly.

  Jace’s stomach turned. “You’re a slave?”

  Her laughter came again, bitter and jagged. “I like you, so I won’t have you beaten for asking me that.” She took a deep breath and when she continued, she was colder. “No, I am not a slave. Nobles don’t call it that. They dress it up, polish it, make it sound less... offensive. I’m a ‘Treasure.’“ She spat the word like it burned. “A living guarantee that my peoples won’t rise again.”

  She nodded, her lips pressing into a tight line. “One child for each offended kingdom, given away as a token of surrender. A symbol of good faith, they called it. My sisters and I were scattered like ashes on the wind. I ended up with the Pharaohs, living under their rule. Their ways. Their systems.” Her voice dropped, laced with venom.

  Jace struggled for words, but she pressed on. “It’s not like the Wordrots here, of course, or the way slaves are treated from lower stations. I can’t complain, not really. I might even be lucky, depending on how you look at it.” She exhaled, her gaze distant. “But none of that changes the truth. I’m property. And alliances? They’re nothing but illusions. People cling to peace as long as it serves them. The moment it doesn’t…” She snapped her fingers, her expression hardening like iron. “Gone. Just like that.”

  “Then why stay?” Jace asked, keeping his tone soft.

  Her head whipped toward him, her eyes blazing. “And do what, exactly? Run? Disappear into the gutters? Abandon what’s left of my people’s honor?” She laughed again, sharp and bitter. “No. Staying means I can at least pretend to matter. I can protect a little. I can… push back.”

  “Like with Caspen,” Jace said, testing the waters.

  Lyra’s lips twitched into a wry smile. “Caspen’s a distraction. Fun, for now. Even being a Treasured, I outrank him considerably. His family’s on the rise, and they’ll outstrip mine soon enough. Maybe I’ll regret how I’ve handled him. Maybe not. Either way, he doesn’t matter. “

  Jace tilted his head, studying her. “I keep hearing that word—Wordrot. What does it mean?”

  Her smile vanished, replaced by a grim expression. “It’s what they call the marked. Liars, dangerous heretics, deniers, and anyone the Nobles want erased. They’re stripped of credibility, cut off from society. Unowned slaves—unprotected. And worse, it technically makes them fair game for every cruelty imaginable. At least a proper slave as the protection of the house they serve.”

  Jace’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white against his skin. He turned away from Lyra, his gaze locking onto the hum of the forcefield. “Fair game,“ he repeated, low with restrained anger. “Is that what you call it? Stripping people of their lives, their dignity, and tossing them to wolves because they don’t fit the mold?”

  Lyra tilted her head, watching him carefully. “It’s not ideal,” she said softly, almost apologetic. “But it’s how this world works.”

  “No,” Jace snapped, spinning to face her. “It’s not just ‘how it works.’ This system isn’t some inevitable force of nature—it’s a deliberate design. A machine built to keep people crushed under its weight, letting the powerful stomp on anyone with the audacity to step out of line. Calling it ‘the way things are’ doesn’t excuse it.”

  Lyra bristled with anger. “Hey, I defended them—and saved you. Twice! I don’t like it any more than you do. I’m a victim of it, just like them.”

  “Victim?” Jace let out a dry laugh, something raw and brittle cracking within him. “Victim? We’re all victims until we aren’t! You said it yourself—your position, your status, they give you power. You put Caspen in his place without breaking a sweat. You’re strong enough to take down a few men—hell, maybe even stronger than me.”

  She rolled her eyes then, a sharp, dismissive gesture, as if his words weren’t just true but laughably obvious.

  “Then do something about it,” Jace pressed, his voice rising, almost pleading. “For the gods’ sake, Lyra. ‘the way things are’? What kind of excuse is that? You have the power to change it. Use it!”

  Each word was sharpened with conviction. “Terra Mythica was supposed to be different. A place where we could escape the chains of our world—the lies, the deceit, the endless cycle of subjugation. A place of freedom, where people could rise on their own merits, where dreams were within reach for anyone willing to fight for them. Not this.”

  He gestured sharply, his expression hardening. “Not a hierarchy of nobles and crowns, of silencing anyone who dares to speak out. Not a mockery of liberty where kings rule and slaves are ground into the dirt. To hell with their so-called order, their precious sensibilities. This place was meant to be a sanctuary—a chance to break free from oppression, not to recreate it.”

  His grey eyes burned with intensity. “We fled Earth for freedom. Not to build a new prison.”

  Her expression darkened, but she held her ground. “And what would you do, Jace? Tear it all down? Burn this world to the ground?”

  “If that’s what it takes,” Jace said. “I’m sick of standing by and watching people suffer because someone decided they weren’t worthy. People like Caspen—like you—use words like ‘fun’ and ‘distraction’ to justify cruelty. But it’s not a game. It’s not entertainment. It’s people’s lives.”

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  Silence fell between them, this time heavier. The faint hum of the forcefield seemed louder now, filling the void left by their argument.

  Lyra’s gaze softened, though her lips pressed into a thin line. “You talk like you’ve never been part of a system like this,” she said quietly. “But I see it in your eyes—you understand it more than you’re willing to admit.”

  “Understanding it doesn’t mean accepting it. Someone has to stand against this, even if it feels impossible.”

  For a moment, Lyra said nothing, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she nodded. “You’re not like the others,” she murmured. “Travelers, I mean. You care. I don’t know if that makes you brave or foolish.”

  Jace leaned back against the railing, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Probably both,” he said with a dry laugh, though the fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed. “But someone has to be.”

  Lyra’s smile held a vulnerability Jace hadn’t seen before, as if she were finally lowering a shield too heavy to bear any longer. She moved closer, the faint moonlight catching her features and painting her face in shades of silver and shadow, like a masterpiece rendered in light and dark. Her gaze held his, steady and searching, an unspoken question burning beneath the silence.

  The abrupt shift from battle-ready tension to this left Jace unmoored, caught off guard in a way he hadn’t expected. But clarity came just as quickly.

  “Jace.” She reached out, her hand grazing his—barely a touch, yet heavy with meaning. The space between them shrank, the world outside fading into nothing.

  Jace felt his breath hitch, not from temptation, but from the pain of what he had to do. His heart belonged elsewhere. To Alice. That truth anchored him, solid and unshakable.

  He didn’t waver. He didn’t hesitate.

  With quiet certainty, he pulled back, creating space between them. His gaze dropped briefly—not out of doubt, but respect—before returning to hers.

  “Lyra, I can’t,” he said. “You deserve honesty. And my heart is already spoken for.” He could hardly believe the words leaving his mouth—a truth he had barely dared to admit, even to himself.

  For a beat, her expression didn’t change. Then a flicker of realization passed through her features, followed by a quiet acceptance. She drew in a slow breath, her shoulders lifting slightly before relaxing.

  “The woman you were with… the one masked as a siren,” she asked. She didn’t demand an answer, but he nodded anyway.

  Jace’s stomach twisted. Had it been that obvious? His pulse quickened. How had she noticed?

  “She… she’s everything.” The words both an explanation and a confession.

  Lyra’s gaze drifted toward the horizon, her smile faint but still present. “It’s strange,” she murmured, her tone thoughtful. “I’ve lived a long life, longer than most. And yet, I’ve never been good at waiting. For us, a thousand years can pass like the turning of a page, but it still feels too short when you’re searching for something real. Someone real.”

  For the first time, Jace truly saw her. At a glance, she appeared no older than her mid-twenties, her youthful features framed by an ageless grace. But there was something in her bearing, a quiet strength behind her gaze, that spoke of centuries gone by. His eyes caught on the subtle tilt to her ears—not quite elven, but close enough to hint other worlds. The question rose to his lips, but he swallowed it, deciding better of it.

  Lyra turned to face him, her luminous eyes shimmering with a complex mix of admiration and quiet despair. “That’s why you’re different, Jace. I’ve met other Travelers—plenty of them. They see this world as a game, like we’re just background noise in their story.” Her voice caught, a delicate crack threading through her words. “But you… You stood up for us. For our people. Not because it served you, but because it mattered. That’s rare.” She hesitated, the vulnerability in her expression deepening, raw and unguarded. “It’s why I…”

  Her words faltered, leaving an unspoken truth hanging between them. Jace felt the weight of her sincerity press against him, stirring something that threatened to unravel his resolve. But then the thought of Alice surfaced—a tether holding him steady. He exhaled slowly.

  “Lyra, I meant every word. You have the strength to change things. Even if you don’t believe it yet, I do. And if you choose to fight, I’ll stand beside you. As an ally. Maybe even as a friend.”

  Lyra’s lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile. “A friend,” she murmured, almost tasting the unfamiliar word. She eased back with a quiet grace, her tone tinged with wistful amusement. “Not a word I’m used to. But…” She glanced up at him, her smile brightening just enough to reach her eyes. “I think I like it.”

  Jace extended his hand, tentative but steady. “Friends?” he offered, caught between hope and caution.

  Lyra studied him for a moment, her expression thoughtful, then nodded. “Friends,” she said, her voice carrying a quiet resolve.

  For a time, they stood in companionable silence, the tension ebbing away like a receding tide. Lyra turned back to the Wall, her focus drifting across the endless darkness that stretched below, as if searching for meaning in the void. The faint stirrings of creatures moved within the void, but her focus was elsewhere.

  They sat side by side, staring into the darkness that stretched endlessly beyond the Wall. The void seemed alive, barely perceptible shapes moving faintly at its edges, flickering like the half-formed memories of nightmares.

  “Some pretty bad monsters out there,” he said,

  “And worse things in the Tower,” she answered. It wasn’t loud, but it carried a quiet authority, a weight that made Jace turn his head. Her silhouette was sharp against the void, her golden wrist cuffs glinting faintly in the pale moonlight.

  Jace’s gaze remained fixed on the darkness below, though his eyes narrowed at her words. “What do you mean?”

  Lyra didn’t answer immediately. Her expression turned inward, as though she were searching for the right way to phrase something too heavy for simple words. When she spoke again, her expression had softened, but the unyielding steel beneath it remained. “Just… be careful in there, Jace. Find your friends, if you can.”

  “You’re not going?” He looked at her then, and the faint curve of her lips told him he was right before she spoke.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “My time with the Tower ended many moons ago. Now, I’m here to support our kingdoms’ contestants.” She turned toward him fully, her piercing gaze meeting his. “They don’t tell you about the real danger.”

  “What is it?” Jace asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

  “The other participants.” Her eyes flickered with the shadow of old memories. “Find a faction. Build a team. Or learn to survive alone. Because most of the realms, they send their worst—the ones no one wants. The ones willing to do anything. And they… they turn the trials into something they were never meant to be.”

  “But why? I thought…” Jace trailed off, searching her face for answers. Then, like a puzzle piece snapping into place, the realization struck him, sharp and sudden. He felt a flush of embarrassment for not seeing it sooner. “Kingdoms can’t openly war,“ he said, the words laced with dawning clarity.

  She nodded slowly, lifting one wrist to display the jeweled golden bands that caught the faint light. “No. Not without consequences. But there are no recordings in the Tower. And… well, accidents happen.”

  Jace felt the chill that crept into his bones wasn’t entirely from the night. Lyra’s jaw tightened, and for a breath, she looked as though she might stop there. Then, with a breath, she continued.

  “Honestly, if it weren’t for that, more people might make it higher. But the truth is… fewer of us survive. And even those who do…” Lyra’s words faltered, emotion catching in her throat. Her gaze was distant as though wrestling with memories too painful to relive. When she spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. “Find your allies. Stay away from the factions. And if you can’t… port out. It’s not worth it.”

  Her eyes found his then, sharp and unyielding, carrying an urgency that spoke louder than her words. There was something else, something she couldn’t say outright. Jace’s gaze flickered to the golden bands on her wrists, the way her fingers twitched against them. Were they stopping her? Binding her somehow?

  “Death isn’t as bad for us as it is for your kind,” he murmured, his tone grim but matter-of-fact.

  “True enough,” she admitted. “But this year is different, isn’t it? There’s always been an unspoken rule—go after the Travelers first. Pick them off before they get too far. But this year…” She paused, her breath hitching as her hands instinctively clutched her wrists. Pain flickered across her face, raw and unguarded. “There have been shifts. The kingdoms are moving differently. There’s more at play than you realize. More than any of the Traveler Universities and sympathizers know.”

  She drew a shaky breath, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, Jace. The Tower will test you in ways you can’t imagine. But the real danger isn’t the trials.” Her voice dropped, heavy with warning. “It’s the people. They’ll do whatever it takes to survive. To serve their realm. Anything.”

  Jace felt the weight of her words settle like a stone in his chest. His throat tightened, but he nodded slowly, quiet but resolute. “I will.”

  Lyra straightened and stood, the rigid tension in her frame easing slightly. Her expression softened, but her resolve didn’t waver. “Good luck, Jace,” she said. And then she turned, her figure outlined in silver and shadow as she walked away, leaving Jace alone with the horizon and the memory of her words.