Serra Alarys swept into the hall, wrapped in shimmering Lyseni silk that whispered with each step. Her silver hair was braided with sapphires, her pink eyes cool and calculating. Beauty clung to her like perfume—undeniable, carefully curated.

Daughter of Magister Alarys, she moved with the confidence of someone untouchable. Every look she gave was measured, every smile edged. In Lys, power often wore a pretty face. Serra’s wore a sharper one.