Later that evening, the three of them — Leonhardt, Alden, and Althea — sat in a quiet dining chamber, away from the clamor of other contestants.
"Any info on the other strong ones?" Leonhardt asked, sipping tea.
Althea tapped her fingers on the table.
"There's one. A masked girl. No name, no backstory. They call her Cinder. Fast. Precise. Doesn't talk."
Alden looked up, his face unreadable.
"…She's alive."
Leonhardt blinked. "Who?"
Alden's eyes drifted.
"She was a commoner. No family name. A girl with eyes like flame and ears hidden behind a hood. An elf. She became the Phoenix once. And died for it."
Althea leaned in, curious. "You knew her?"
"She taught me everything. She was… better than all of us."
Leonhardt tilted his head. "What happened to her?"
Alden said nothing for a long time.
"She was betrayed."
That night, Leonhardt couldn't sleep.
He wandered the halls quietly, arms tucked in his robes. His thoughts spun with everything Alden had told him.
The elf girl. The betrayal. The rage in Alden's eyes.
In the far courtyard, he saw movement.
A shadow darted between the statues.
He didn't follow.
But something in him shifted.
"This world…" he whispered, staring up at the moon, "…really doesn't deserve heroes."
From somewhere in the darkness, a soft voice responded.
"No. But some try to be one anyway."
Leonhardt turned.
No one there.
Just the wind.