A party?

One week had passed.

One whole week. Lyra could barely believe it—each day blurred into the next, a whirl of classes, sparring, and a crystal contest that grew more intense, more personal with every hour.

She'd adapted, or so she thought. By the time the morning sun rose over the dorms, she already knew what her schedule would hold:

English lectures that sparked her mind, afternoons spent in the sharp, echoing hall of the fencing club, evenings chasing after the slippery currency of human hearts.

Yet no matter how hard she tried, Alayah remained impossibly ahead.

The archive was a constant reminder—every night before sleep, Lyra watched the point totals roll in, her best efforts never quite enough.

She collected admiration, infatuation, even a handful of lust crystals from bold classmates or fencing fans, but Alayah's numbers doubled hers, then tripled them. It was infuriating. How could one person draw so much longing?

Lyra suspected half the campus had either fallen for Alayah's sharp jaw or been seduced by her unrepentant arrogance. Even the teachers seemed a little off balance around her.

But Lyra refused to surrender. She honed her own approach she smiled more, learned to accept compliments with a sparkle in her eyes, listened closely, and let herself drift into laughter at the right moments.

It was a performance, but it also felt honest, somehow; a part of her that was learning to live outside of competition, to just be.

Zoe was a blur through all of it. After a week of frenzied club browsing, she'd settled on the video game club, instantly adopting a new tribe of caffeine-fueled, meme-quoting gamers.

She regaled Lyra with stories of late-night tournaments, dramatic victories, and the drama of losing to a twelve-year-old prodigy from Seoul. Zoe still flirted with the idea of "figuring out Alayah," but Lyra kept her warnings gentle and her sarcasm sharper.

On this particular Friday, the fencing hall buzzed with energy. It was late afternoon—the long shadows of dusk stretching through the windows, casting swordplay in golden light.

Lyra faced off against her opponent, a tall, nimble student from the engineering department who moved with catlike grace. Claire was the referee today, whistle and all, leaning in with a judge's careful patience.

The match was hard. Lyra's muscles burned; sweat ran down her back, dampening the collar of her fencing jacket.

Her opponent, Theo, was quick, relentless, and not afraid to exploit every tiny gap in her defense. Their foils clashed, rang, slid together in a blur of silver.

The crowd was smaller tonight just a few club regulars and two new students but the energy was intense. Each point was earned, never given.

Lyra ducked beneath a high thrust, twisted her wrist, and struck home—3–3. Theo countered, pressing hard, and for a moment, Lyra had to grit her teeth, pushing herself, heart pounding. She dodged, found her opening, and scored. 4–3. Final point.

Theo came in hard, sweat dripping from his hair, eyes narrowed with focus. Lyra read his footwork, waited, then surged forward in a flash—lunge, parry, riposte, and her foil tapped his chest clean.

"Touché!" Claire called, grinning wide. The other fencers cheered, clapping and laughing. Lyra grinned under her mask, pulse still wild. Winning never got old, even if it was only a club match.

Theo bowed, shaking his head. "You're a machine, Lyra. You don't even sweat."

Lyra laughed, pulling off her mask. "I'm sweating now, trust me." She shook Theo's hand, his grip warm and friendly. These were the moments she lived for—the heat of competition, the rush of victory, the camaraderie after a well-fought bout.

She was peeling off her jacket in the changing room when Claire appeared, tossing a towel onto the bench.

"Nice match," Claire said. "You're getting better every day. You should think about trying out for the regional tournament next month."

Lyra's eyes widened. "Do you think I'm ready?"

Claire nodded. "You're more than ready. Honestly, you're the only one who gives me a run for my money anymore." She hesitated, glancing at Lyra's reflection in the mirror. "Hey, are you coming to the welcome party tonight?"

Lyra blinked. "Welcome party?"

Claire chuckled. "You really haven't checked your email, have you? It's for all new students—food, music, embarrassing speeches, probably some weird games. Everyone goes, even the 'too cool for parties' types. It's in the main auditorium, doors open at eight."

Lyra toweled off, shrugging on a soft blue sweater and jeans. "I might. I didn't know there was one."

Claire grinned. "You should. It's the best way to meet people outside your department." She winked. 

Lyra laughed. "Maybe you're right. I'll think about it."

She slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped out into the cooling air. The sky was streaked with lavender and orange, campus paths crowded with students making plans for the night.

As she walked toward the main street, Zoe materialized at her side, bouncing with the nervous energy of someone who'd had one too many sodas.

"LYRA!" Zoe blurted, clutching a phone in each hand. "Did you see the group chat? There's a party tonight! A real one, with snacks and a DJ and maybe free pizza. Are you going? Tell me you're going."

Lyra smiled, letting Zoe's enthusiasm lift her. "I might. I only just heard about it."

Zoe beamed. "You HAVE to come. It'll be awesome. Plus, everyone is saying Alayah will be there, and I need moral support."

Lyra rolled her eyes. "Zoe, are you really still thinking about her? You do realize she eats people like us for breakfast, right?"

Zoe shrugged, eyes sparkling. "Hey, you never know if you don't try. Besides, it's just a crush. If she kills me with her gaze, at least I'll die happy."

Lyra burst out laughing. She envied Zoe's easy joy, her willingness to flirt with chaos. If only Lyra could be so open, so unafraid.

They reached the corner, students already streaming toward the auditorium. "Want to walk over together?" Zoe asked, adjusting her backpack and tucking one phone into her jacket.

Lyra shook her head. "I want a really long shower and maybe to make myself something to eat first. I need to get out of this fencing gear."

Zoe made a dramatic sigh. "Fine, but I'm saving you a seat! Promise you'll come?"

Lyra nodded. "I'll be there."

Zoe disappeared into the crowd, waving over her shoulder. Lyra watched her go, feeling an odd pang something like gratitude mixed with the uncertainty of new territory. Parties weren't her thing, not back home and not here.

But maybe that was the point: to try something different, to be someone else, if only for a night.

The walk home was peaceful. The shadows grew long, the air finally cooling after a hot day.

Lyra took her time, soaking in the last light, head spinning with the day's events. Fencing had become a lifeline—a place where she could excel, but also let go. Every duel was a conversation, every touch a small victory.

Still, in the back of her mind, Alayah lingered—untouchable, unassailable.

No matter how many points Lyra collected, no matter how hard she tried, she was always behind. The contest wasn't just numbers anymore; it was personal.

At home, she tossed her bag onto the couch, stripped off her clothes, and stood under the shower until the water ran cold.

The exhaustion melted from her muscles, leaving behind a nervous excitement. She was going to a party.

She was going to stand in a room full of strangers, maybe laugh, maybe dance, maybe even win a few hearts she was going to look fucking hot.