The amphitheater was unlike anything Lyra had ever seen. It floated midair, suspended on nothing but echoes and intention, with seats carved from crystalized sound waves and a ceiling that shimmered like a sheet of water reflecting emotions rather than light. There were no walls—just an endless sky painted with every shade of dawn.
Dozens of students had already filled the circular seats, most of them in tight-knit groups, whispering or tuning their instruments. Each one was radiant with an aura that pulsed to their inner rhythms—Lyra could feel it, even without meaning to. Drums of confidence. Guitars of ego. Choirs of nervous ambition.
She was late. And alone.
Her steps faltered as she crossed the open platform at the center, where all eyes inevitably fell on anyone walking alone. A few students whispered. A few snickered. She kept her gaze straight ahead and tried to breathe steadily. VIVA pulsed lightly in her temple.
Lyra. Your heart rate is elevated. Your neural tension is increasing. Would you like me to play a calming melody?
She shook her head, lips tight. "No. Let me feel this."
A hush rolled over the crowd like a wave crashing into silence.
Then—music.
It was not played. It simply was. A breath of warmth, soft and ancient, curled through the air like silk. With it came a woman—walking, floating, it was hard to tell. Her hair shimmered with silver strands like threads of moonlight, her eyes golden and too deep to be human. She wore a robe woven from emotion itself—colors shifting with every blink. Red grief. Blue serenity. Gold joy. It was never still.
"Welcome, my stars," said the woman, her voice like a lullaby sung in a dream. "I am Professor Aria. You have entered the first class: Resonance of Emotion."
Several students straightened. One girl even gasped, clutching her notebook like a talisman. Professor Aria smiled, walking barefoot across the center of the amphitheater. With every step, petals of light bloomed in her wake.
"Music without emotion is noise. Music with too much emotion is chaos. But when balanced—when tuned to truth—it becomes a bridge between souls," she said. "And so… we begin with that truth."
Her eyes swept across the seated crowd, then landed on Lyra—still standing, still out of place.
"You," she said, gently. "New flame. Will you come forward?"
Lyra froze. Her heart dropped.
"I—I'm not ready," she said, voice barely audible.
Professor Aria smiled kindly. "Truth waits for no one."
Around her, students leaned forward, interest piqued. Some smirked, amused at the girl too new, too nervous, to belong. Others watched curiously.
VIVA's whisper was like a hand on her back. You can do this, Lyra. Sing your truth. Let them see.
She swallowed hard, then walked to the center of the stage.
The light dimmed around her until only the space she stood in was lit. Her breathing echoed. Her pulse roared like drums in her ears.
Then… silence.
She had no guitar. No background track. No harmonizer. Nothing to lean on but her voice and her soul.
She closed her eyes and began to sing.
It wasn't a song she had written. It wasn't a song she had even planned. It simply came. The words rose up from the deepest part of her—the part that shattered when her friends ghosted her, the part that bled when her parents turned their backs, the part that screamed when she stood at the edge of that ledge…
It was raw. Cracked. Painful.
But it was hers.
A single note bent beneath the weight of memory. A chorus gasped through sobs. She sang of betrayal, of being discarded, of questioning her worth. She sang of the voice that wouldn't let her fall. Of a system that stayed. Of a glowing door. Of second chances.
By the time she opened her eyes, tears streamed down her face—and not just hers.
The amphitheater was silent.
Even the air seemed afraid to move.
Professor Aria walked toward her with reverence. She extended a hand and pressed her palm to Lyra's chest. Light bloomed where they touched—soft pink and radiant gold.
"Forty points," she said softly. "For truth. For bravery. For making every soul here feel what you felt."
The crowd stirred. Then, as if awakened from a trance, some began to clap. Then more. Until the space thundered with applause—real, genuine, and impossibly warm.
Lyra stood in the middle of it all, dazed.
Rin was on her feet in the back row, whistling and whooping like a lunatic. Kai watched silently, but his jaw was tight, eyes unreadable. Yuu simply closed his eyes, head bowed, as if honoring a sacred performance.
VIVA chimed in her mind. Emotional sync detected. You sang your truth, and they resonated. Well done, Lyra. First milestone achieved.
Her legs nearly gave out as she stumbled back to her seat, the applause still echoing. People smiled at her now. A few reached out to touch her shoulder as she passed. It was overwhelming.
She sat down next to her bandmates and wiped her face.
Rin leaned in with a grin. "Okay, Soul Queen. That? That was insane."
Yuu didn't speak, but gave a small, rare smile.
Kai finally looked at her and said, simply, "You earned that."
For the first time in what felt like forever, Lyra's heart didn't ache from trying to belong.
It sang.
END OF CHAPTER 10