Clack!
The sound of the leather-bound book snapping shut was sharp. Lyra didn't jump. She didn't gasp. She didn't even look at my face at first.
Her eyes, a piercing and frigid blue, tracked downward. She looked at my boots, then at the dust caking my trousers.
Her gaze lingered for a silent, agonizing second on my torn sleeve and the fresh, smeared blood that stained my pale skin.
To anyone else, I was a dying man. To Lyra Y Astrea, I was a messy interruption.
Finally, her gaze drifted up to meet mine.
Her expression wasn't shocked; it was entirely neutral. To her, seeing "Cian the Trash" covered in bruises and blood wasn't a "plot twist"—it was just a Tuesday.
Getting beaten within an inch of my life was practically my character description in this academy before dying.
"Cian von Heist," she spoke. Her voice was as smooth and cold as a frozen lake.
She didn't ask if I was okay. She didn't ask who did this to me.
"What are you doing here?"
The question wasn't about my injuries. It was about my presence. This was her sanctuary, her private time to study the flow of mana without being bothered by the "insects" of the lower classes.
The fact that I was bleeding on her lawn was clearly a secondary concern to the fact that I was breathing in her personal space.
I coughed, making sure a bit of blood hit the grass. I needed to play this perfectly. She wasn't a hero who moved because of a "dying wish."
"If you leave right now," she continued, her voice dropping a fraction in temperature, "I will not freeze your remaining limbs for disturbing my reading. Consider it a mercy."
She meant it. Lyra was the type of person who wouldn't step over a dying dog if it meant getting her shoes dirty.
She didn't care about the weak. In her world, if you weren't strong enough to stand, you didn't deserve to take up space.
I knew her personality better than she knew herself. Helping a "useless" half-noble like 'Cian' wasn't even on her radar.
She only cared about one thing: Power. And the preservation of the environment that allowed her to 'cultivate' it.
"The... monsters..," I rasped, clutching my chest as if my heart were about to stop. "It's not Kaelen... it's not the bullies. Look at the sky, Lyra. Look at the things in the air."
She didn't move. She didn't even tilt her head up to look at the violet cracks forming above.
She didn't believe a word. To Lyra, the weak weren't just physically inferior—they were parasites.
In her mind, people like 'Cian' were born plotters and liars, pathetic creatures who relied on fabrication to bait the strong into helping them.
She saw my blood and my warnings as nothing more than a cheap script to earn a moment of her protection from bullies.
I knew exactly what she was thinking. Her disdain was so thick I could practically taste it. If I wanted her to move, I couldn't appeal to her humanity. I had to appeal to her possession.
"Forget me," I rasped, leaning my head against the cold trunk of the tree. "But Clara... she's... she's being chased by one of those things. The monsters..."
The mention of the name caused the first crack. It wasn't worry—it was a sharp, dangerous irritation. Clara was one of the few people Lyra actually tolerated; a quiet girl who was likely the only person this "Ice Empress" could call a friend.
Of course, the Ice Empress didn't believe my words, but she couldn't ignore the possibility of a threat to her only genuine connection.
I reached into my pocket, my fingers slick with my own blood, and retrieved a small silver chain with a sapphire teardrop.
I held it up. The blue gem caught the dying light, reflecting a cold, brilliant spark.
Lyra's entire posture stiffened. Her eyes widened, and for a split second, a look of genuine threat crossed her face.
She didn't just look at the necklace; she looked through me, her killing intent suddenly spiking so high it made my lungs seize.
I have her.
In the original novel, this necklace was retrieved by Clara from Cian's cooling corpse.
It had simply fallen out of his pocket after the monster crushed him, a piece of jewelry he'd likely stolen or found earlier in the chapter.
The fans always theorized it held a deeper meaning for her, but the author never finished that subplot.
I didn't care about the sentimental value. I cared about the leverage.
The sight of that necklace was the ultimate confirmation of my "lie." In her head, the only way I could have this was if I had been near Clara when the chaos started.
"Where," Lyra hissed, the air around us dropping twenty degrees in an instant. She didn't ask if Clara was safe. She demanded the location.
"The Sunken Garden," I choked out, the cold mana making it hard to swallow. "She ran toward the garden to lose the monster. But there are too many."
Clara had been a silent witness to the "Hero's" bullying. She was the one who watched from the shadows, pitying Cian but never stepping in—too afraid or too indifferent to interfere with the Academy's social hierarchy.
She had likely been watching me get beaten up just moments ago, hidden behind a pillar or a balcony, waiting for the "Hero" to finish his fun.
Now, I was going to use that cowardice against her friend. I was going to use the only person Lyra cared about to force the most powerful student in the Academy to act as my personal escort.
"If she isn't there," Lyra whispered into my ear, her breath like winter wind, "I will freeze you where you stand... and shatter you."
Hearing that, a thin, bloody smile pulled at the corner of my mouth.