The echoes of the duel had barely faded from her ears when the visual reality of it hit her. Asteria stood rooted to the floor of the main hall, her chest still heaving, a smear of blood drying on her cheek.
Above, the massive holographic displays – the same ones that usually showcased the "Golden Generation" of Legacy heroes – were broadcasting her own struggle.
The footage was brutal. It didn't skip the parts where she looked like a helpless amateur. It showed Caster's blade snapping against her skin, the way her knees buckled, and the desperation in her eyes. Then, the screen flickered to a close-up as she found that strange, internal stillness. Her eyes didn't just glow; they seemed to contain a prism of fractured, shifting colors that defied the camera's lens.
"Look at that..." a girl in the crowd whispered, her voice tinged with awe. She wore the standard, non-descript gear of a non-Legacy. "She wasn't even looking at him. How did she know?"
"It's a fluke," a boy in expensive, tailored training silks spat, though his eyes were glued to the screen. "An outskirts rat who got lucky. Caster was probably just humoring her until he slipped."
"Humoring her?" a third voice cut in, louder and defiant. "He hit the floor like a sack of stones! Did you see his face? He was terrified when she pointed her sword at him!"
Asteria tried to shrink into her collar, the sudden weight of hundreds of eyes making her skin crawl. In the Outskirts, being noticed usually meant you were about to be arrested or robbed. This was different. This was worship, and it felt just as dangerous.
A group of students blocked her path, their faces flushed with excitement. They weren't the polished scions of the Great Clans; they were the ones with calloused hands and nervous stammers.
"Asteria! That was... that was incredible," one boy stuttered, reaching out as if to touch her arm before pulling back. "We didn't think anyone could actually touch a Legacy!"
Asteria shifted her weight, her grip tightening on her gear bag. "I just... I didn't want to get hit anymore," she muttered, her voice sounding small even to herself.
"You did more than that!" a girl added, her eyes burning with a sudden, fierce hope.
"I'm not a symbol," Asteria hissed. "I'm just trying to survive the Solstice. Move, please."
The crowd parted, but the whispers followed her like a physical trail. She could feel the resentment of the Legacies like a cold wind at her back and the expectations of the "commoners" like a heavy cloak.
***
"Sit, Asteria. You look like you've been chased by the paparazzi."
Awakened Rock didn't look up from his desk. The room was silent, save for the low hum of his monitors replaying the final moments of her duel in a slow-motion loop.
"I'm fine," she lied, sinking into the chair.
"The Government are calling it a 'meritocratic showcase,'" Rock said, finally turning to face her. His stone face was unreadable. "They broadcast that footage to every screen in the NQSC. They want the public to see that the Spell picks the best, regardless of birth. You've become their favorite propaganda piece overnight."
'Great. I'm not even through the Solstice yet, and I'm already a poster girl for their lies,' Asteria thought, her inner lip curling into a snarl.
"Think you can elaborate on that, sir?" Asteria asked, her voice still small.
He hummed, taking a moment to weigh his words. "They're using the video as an example of a 'proper duel,'" he grimaced. "It's cruel, really. Welcome to politics, Asteria. I hope you enjoy the view."
"It's exactly what I've always wanted," she muttered, her face twisting.
"I've seen a lot of 'natural talents' pass through these halls," Rock's deep voice rumbled, vibrating in the small office. "Most of them are Legacies who have been fed soul shards and training since they could walk."
He leaned forward, his dark eyes narrowing. "You, however, were an embarrassment two weeks ago. You could hardly hold a sword without looking like you were trying to club a fish to death. And yet..."
He tapped the screen where Asteria had delivered the final blow.
"You knew about that?" Asteria shifted, trying to swallow the sudden lump of embarrassment in her throat. "Don't tell me you watched me training with Nephis, too..."
Rock actually smiled – a rare, jagged expression that looked like a crack in a cliffside. "The Academy has many eyes, Asteria. But let's focus on the present. You pushed yourself to the absolute limit in a duel that was, by all legal definitions, attempted murder by Lord Caster. And you won."
His smile faded, replaced by his usual stony gravity. "And in doing so, you've painted a target on your back. The Legacies can't ignore a threat like you. You've humiliated one of their own, and you've given the 'commoners' a reason to look up. In their world, that's a crime worse than murder."
He stood up, walking to the window that looked out over the buzzing courtyard. "Enjoy the praise while it lasts, kid. But remember: once you step through to the other side? The cameras are off. There is no audience in the Dream Realm. And the only thing that cares about your 'True Name' is the thing trying to eat you."
He paused, his gaze softening just a fraction as he looked at the distant horizon. "But for what it's worth... the Outskirts finally has someone worth cheering for. Don't let them snuff you out."