Tournament 4

Sara stumbled into her private training room, her hands still trembling. The shards of her broken blade lay scattered across her desk, each piece a reminder of her humiliation. Three days had passed since her defeat, but the memory remained raw.

"My lady," her attendant spoke softly from the doorway, "Guild Master Lyon requests your presence."

She laughed bitterly. "To mock me, no doubt."

"He... he mentioned having information about Vell."

Her head snapped up. "When?"

"Now, if possible."

The walk to Lyon's office felt endless. Whispers followed her through the corridors—the mighty Lightning Blade, brought low by a nobody. She kept her head high, but each murmur was like a knife in her back.

Guild Master Lyon's office occupied the highest floor of the Lightning Guild tower. The old man sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, watching her with sharp eyes.

"You look terrible," he said bluntly.