Lyra woke to the sound of knocking.
It pulled her out of sleep too fast, her body already tense as her eyes snapped open. She didn't move at first. The memory clung stubbornly.
Cold stone. Chains. A blade cutting into her arm.
Her gaze dropped.
Her skin was intact, but the phantom pain lingered, faint and wrong.
Another knock hit the door.
"Open it!"
Reality rushed in. Debt. Deadlines. Problems that didn't disappear just because she woke up.
Lyra pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the heaviness in her body. It felt like she hadn't rested at all.
She opened the door.
The landlord stood there, impatient. "You took your time."
"I was asleep."
"Not anymore."
He stepped inside without waiting, scanning the room.
"I told you yesterday," he said. "Today's the last day."
"I remember."
"Then pay me."
Her fingers curled. "I just need a few more days. I can work. I'll repay everything."
"With what?"
He glanced at her, unimpressed. "You don't have magic worth selling. No connections. Nothing of value."
The words stung, but she kept her voice steady. "I'm not asking you to forget the debt. Just give me time."
"You already had time."
His gaze shifted past her.
Lyra followed it—and her stomach dropped.
The pendant.
She stepped in front of the table. "It's not worth anything."
"Move."
"No."
The refusal came too quickly.
For a moment, the air stilled.
Then he shoved her aside.
Lyra stumbled as he picked up the pendant, turning it under the light. The engraved symbol held his attention longer than she liked.
"…Where did you get this?"
"It was my mother's."
"Nothing is ever just that."
He tightened his grip slightly before looking back at her.
"You said you'd pay."
"I will."
"You already are."
Confusion flickered—then vanished when he grabbed her arm.
"Wait—"
She tried to pull free, but his grip only tightened.
"I'll work," she said quickly. "I'll do anything. Just don't take that—"
"I'm not taking it."
She froze.
Then understanding hit.
Her stomach dropped. "No—wait, you can't—"
He dragged her toward the door.
"You don't get to choose anymore."
Outside, a carriage waited, too clean and expensive for this place.
Two men stood beside it.
Lyra recognized the uniforms instantly.
Royal Magic Academy.
Her body went still. "No…"
"Payment," the landlord said, pushing her forward.
"I'm not a servant," Lyra said, turning to the men, her voice tightening. "I can study. I can learn. I just never had the chance—"
One of them stepped forward and took her arm.
Firm. Unmoving.
"Half-blood?" he asked.
"Obviously."
The man nodded once. "Servant division."
The words landed hard.
Something inside Lyra went quiet—not breaking, just closing off.
"I can learn magic," she said again, softer this time.
The man looked at her.
It changed nothing.
"Get in."
There was nowhere else to go.
Lyra stepped toward the carriage. The door opened into darkness.
She hesitated only a moment before climbing in.
The door shut behind her, cutting off everything outside.
As the carriage moved, she glanced through the small window. The street faded into the distance.
Her hand lifted to her neck.
Empty.
The pendant was gone.
Her chest tightened, but no tears came. She lowered her hand slowly.
Outside, one of the men turned the pendant in his hand, studying it.
"…We should report this."
"It's just a trinket."
"No. It isn't."
Inside, Lyra leaned back, closing her eyes briefly.
Exhaustion pressed down harder now. Her body still felt wrong—too heavy, too drained.
The memory of the dream surfaced again.
Chains. Blade. Blood that wouldn't stop.
Her fingers curled.
It hadn't felt like a dream.
The carriage slowed, then stopped.
"Out."
Lyra stepped down—
and froze.
The academy rose before her, vast and silent, its towers cutting into the night. Light spilled from tall windows, voices echoing faintly inside.
A world built for power.
For people who had everything she didn't.
"Move."
She forced herself forward.
Step by step, she crossed the gate.
Something shifted in her chest.
Not fear.
Not hope.
Something quieter.
Waiting.
As the gates closed behind her, the thought settled clearly in her mind.
She hadn't just been sold.
She had been brought somewhere she might never leave.