The duel was spectacular.
Theodore moved like lightning, his sword enhanced with magic that made it blur.
Damien countered with precision, fire magic wreathing his blade.
Steel clashed. Sparks flew. The crowd roared.
"Your brother is exceptional," Vivienne commented, her tone flat.
Marcus glanced at her. She was watching the fight the way someone might watch paint dry.
Theodore unleashed a devastating combination. The crowd gasped.
Damien barely blocked it, skidding backward across the sand.
Vivienne sipped her wine.
"That was impressive," Marcus said.
"Was it?" She didn't look away from the arena, but her eyes were unfocused. "I suppose so."
Damien recovered, launching a fire spell.
Theodore dodged, moving with inhuman speed. The magical barrier flared as the spell hit it.
The nobles around them were on their feet, cheering.
Vivienne remained seated, utterly still.
Marcus found himself watching her more than the fight.
This was wrong. This woman should be excited watching her son duel.
Instead, she looked like she was serving a prison sentence.
"Damien's doing well," Marcus tried again.
"He always does. He's talented." Vivienne's voice carried no pride.
Just statement of fact. "He'll win or he'll lose. Either way, he'll learn something."
"You don't care which?"
"I care that he's safe. The outcome of a supervised duel between children?" She shrugged. "Not particularly."
Marcus's brain catalogued every micro-expression.
The way she held her wine glass too carefully, like she was restraining herself.
The slight tension in her jaw. The absolute emptiness in her eyes.
This wasn't boredom. This was active suppression of self.
In the arena, Theodore and Damien circled each other.
Both were breathing hard, grins on their faces. They were having the time of their lives.
Vivienne looked like she was dying inside.
The duel intensified.
Damien cast a complex fire spell, multiple projectiles streaking toward Theodore.
The crowd oohed.
Theodore deflected three with his sword and dodged the fourth.
"Beautiful technique," a noble beside them commented.
"Quite," Vivienne replied automatically.
But Marcus saw her fingers drum once against her thigh.
A tiny gesture, quickly suppressed.
She was restless. Trapped. Going through motions.
Theodore countered with a sword strike that cracked Damien's guard.
The younger Blackthorn stumbled.
Theodore pressed the advantage.
The crowd was going wild. The noise was deafening.
Vivienne might as well have been watching grass grow.
"You're the Crimson Viper," Marcus said quietly.
Her drumming fingers stilled. "Was."
"Why past tense?"
"Because that person doesn't exist anymore." She took another sip of wine.
"Now I'm Countess Blackthorn. Damien's mother. The divorced scandal."
"Those are roles, not identities."
Her amber eyes flicked to him. "Philosophical for a former drunk."
"Reformed drunk. I'm very philosophical now."
"How nice for you."
But there was no venom in it. Just exhaustion.
In the arena, Damien rallied.
He unleashed a combination of sword and magic that forced Theodore back.
The crowd cheered his name.
Vivienne's expression didn't change.
"You don't enjoy watching him fight," Marcus observed.
"I enjoy that he's passionate about something.
I enjoy his safety. I enjoy that he's growing stronger."
She paused. "I do not enjoy sitting in uncomfortable seats watching children play at combat."
"Play?"
"They're using training weapons in a supervised arena with magical barriers.
There are healers on standby." Vivienne's voice hardened slightly.
"That's not combat. That's theater."
"You've seen real combat."
"I've done real combat. For fifteen years." She gestured at the arena.
"This is... cute. Like watching kittens wrestle."
Theodore landed a solid hit.
Damien's barrier spell absorbed it, but the impact still sent him sliding backward.
The crowd was on its feet.
This was the most exciting duel of the season, according to the nobles around them.
Vivienne looked like she was enduring torture.
Marcus's life coach brain was working overtime. He'd seen this before.
Successful people forced into roles that didn't fit.
Corporate executives turned stay-at-home parents.
Artists forced into business.
Warriors made into administrators.
The soul-crushing disconnect between who you were and who you had to be.
Vivienne wasn't just bored. She was grieving her own life while still living it.
"When did you last hold a real weapon?" Marcus asked.
Vivienne's hand tightened on her wine glass.
"Two years, three months. The day the divorce was finalized."
"Why then?"
"Because I went to my storage and looked at my old equipment.
My daggers. My armor. My adventurer's license." Her voice went distant.
"I held them and remembered what it felt like to be someone who mattered."
"You matter now."
"Do I? I'm a social decoration. I attend functions.
I smile at people I don't like. I play the role of respectable nobility."
"And it's killing you."
She looked at him sharply. "Dramatic."
"But accurate."
Vivienne opened her mouth to argue. Then closed it.
She turned back to the arena.
"Yes," she said quietly. "It is."
Theodore and Damien were both showing signs of exhaustion.
Their movements were slower, less precise. But their grins hadn't faded.
They were young, passionate, alive.
Vivienne was none of those things anymore.
"I used to be someone important," she continued.
"The Crimson Viper. A-rank adventurer.
I cleared dungeons that killed entire parties.
I fought monsters that haunt nightmares."
"Past tense again."
"Because that life is over. I'm thirty-eight. I have a son. I have responsibilities."
She drained her wine. "I'm supposed to be respectable now."
"Is respectable fulfilling?"
"No." The admission seemed to surprise her. "But it's appropriate."
Marcus recognized that logic.
Sacrificing personal happiness for what was "appropriate." He'd spent years coaching people out of that trap.
"You know what I miss most?" Vivienne asked suddenly.
"What?"
"The fear." Her eyes focused for the first time all afternoon.
"That moment in a dungeon when you don't know if you'll survive.
When every decision matters. When you're completely, utterly alive because death is one mistake away."
Marcus saw it then. The fire in her eyes.
Real emotion breaking through the numbness.
"That sounds terrifying," he said.
"It was beautiful." The fire faded.
"Now the most dangerous thing I do is navigate tea parties with hostile duchesses."
"Different kind of danger."
"Boring danger. Petty danger." She gestured dismissively.
"I used to face dragons. Now I face gossip."
In the arena, Theodore finally disarmed Damien.
The crowd erupted.
Theodore helped his opponent up, both boys laughing and clasping hands.
"Damien lost," Marcus observed.
"He learned," Vivienne corrected. "That's what matters."
"You don't seem disappointed."
"Why would I be? He fought well against an exceptional opponent."
She stood as the crowd began filtering down to congratulate the fighters.
"He's young. He has time to grow."
"And you?"
Vivienne looked at him. Really looked at him, for the first time.
"I'm a divorced countess attending my son's school activities. Growth is for people with futures."
She walked away before Marcus could respond, moving with the fluid grace of a predator.
Even in noble dress, she moved like someone ready for combat.
The Crimson Viper was still in there.
Caged. Suffocating. Dying by inches in a life that demanded she be someone else.
Marcus watched her disappear into the crowd and felt the weight of recognition.
He'd helped dozens of people like her in his previous life.
People who'd lost themselves in roles they were supposed to play.
But those people had come to him for help.
Vivienne wasn't asking for anything.
She'd just accepted that this was her life now.
Boring. Appropriate. Slowly crushing her spirit.
I should leave this alone. She's not Theodore's love interest anyway.
She's his rival's mother. That's weird and complicated.
But the life coach in him couldn't ignore someone drowning in front of him.
Even if helping her was another step off-script.
Even if it was the wrong heroine.
Again.
"I'm terrible at this," Marcus muttered.
The empty arena didn't disagree.