The Forsaken Heir's Ascension
Chapter 121: Riven’s Reflection, Lyra’s Resolve, and the Semifinal Strategy

Chapter 121: Riven’s Reflection, Lyra’s Resolve, and the Semifinal Strategy

Their weapons clashed once more, then both fighters sprang back.

Riven smiled, eyes glinting.

"You’ve gotten strong, Aslan."

Aslan grinned, raising one of his short swords to his face like a salute.

"No, Vice Captain—you’ve gotten stronger. You’re holding back on me."

Riven chuckled but said nothing.

He sheathed his daggers into his System inventory, standing upright with calm ease.

His gaze swept across the training hall.

All around, Veylor members were deep in their drills—focused, sharp.

Tomorrow was their semifinal.

Then his eyes stopped—drawn toward a familiar figure.

A girl with black hair and striking blue eyes moved across the floor in sleek, liquid motions.

Her black armor hugged her form, amplifying her graceful, dangerous beauty.

She danced across the polished floor like an ice-skater, twin daggers flashing in her hands.

Water flowed beneath her with every step, letting her glide and pivot with unnatural smoothness.

A thin, almost invisible veil of water shimmered across her body, cycling from her feet to her head—like an elemental suit made of living current.

Riven smiled faintly as he watched her—

but after a beat, he turned his head away and quietly exited the hall.

Lyra stopped, gasping for breath.

She bent forward, hands on her knees, sweat glistening on her brow.

Her blue eyes scanned the vast training hall of the Veylor Club.

Weapons hung neatly along the dark gray walls.

The floor—an unusual blend of deep purple tiles and white columns—gave the hall a stark, surreal beauty.

She looked around, almost searching for someone.

A flicker of disappointment crossed her face—

but it vanished quickly.

Straightening up, she walked back toward another training session, eyes sharp with focus.

Elsewhere in the Academy...

Riven moved through the corridor, his footsteps echoing softly against the dim, polished floor.

He turned a corner—

and stopped.

In front of him stood a tall, bald man, his back turned, seemingly admiring the long, shadowed halls of the Academy.

As Riven approached, the man turned with a wide smile.

Vice Principal Jasper.

The flickering lights cast eerie shadows across his face, making his grin look more goofy... and unnervingly off.

"Ahh! Riven Veylor! How are you on this fine evening?"

Jasper’s voice echoed loudly, as if forcing cheer into the silence.

Riven narrowed his eyes slightly, but his voice remained calm.

"Hello, Vice Principal."

Jasper’s smile widened even more, his scruffy beard giving him a wilder appearance.

"Ah, a man of few words! I like that."

He paused.

His eyes gleamed strangely as he added:

"What a coincidence, meeting you here... a real coincidence."

Riven didn’t respond.

He simply walked past, his expression unreadable.

As he passed—

Jasper leaned in slightly and whispered:

"You should be careful in the final match."

And then—

he vanished.

No sound.

No flash.

Just gone—like he was never there.

Riven stopped in his tracks.

He turned, eyes glowing faintly—

but the corridor was empty.

The shadows stretched quietly down the hall.

He exhaled and muttered under his breath:

"Why do you people always speak in riddles? Just once, give me the full truth."

And with that, he continued walking, the silence returning like a curtain.

Riven entered his dorm room and let himself collapse onto the bed.

He stared blankly at the grey ceiling.

A face flickered in his mind—

dark hair, blue eyes, smiling.

Lyra.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the image.

But the memory only sharpened—brighter, warmer, more real.

He sighed and opened his eyes again, the ceiling suddenly feeling more distant.

He whispered to the stillness:

"I know I love you...

But I don’t know how to change my nature.

If I could, I would.

But if I did—

I’d lose myself.

And I’m sure...

you’d lose the person you fell in love with."

In a room painted in soft hues of white and pale blue, the morning sunlight streamed through a tall, door-sized window that opened onto a balcony.

Golden light spilled across the bed, illuminating the velvet-blue sheets.

A pair of blue eyes fluttered open.

Lyra slowly rose, yawning and stretching her arms.

She stood up, the soft fabric of her blue pajamas clinging gently to her form—somehow both cute and quietly seductive.

She padded toward the window.

Click.

She unlatched it.

A cold, salty breeze washed over her face, carrying the distant sound of waves crashing against rock—the eternal battle between sea and stone.

She stepped out onto the circular balcony, wrapped in green plants that danced in the wind.

Leaning against the white stone railing, she gazed down at the crashing waves below.

The sea seemed distant, yet its voice was strong—

whispering tales of conflict and resilience, told through roaring water and weathered cliffs.

She smiled.

It was a smile tinged with both sadness and comfort.

After a quiet moment, she exhaled, straightened her posture, and turned away.

She stepped back into her room and closed the window, sealing the morning behind glass.

A little while later, she emerged—transformed.

Now wearing a fitted black T-shirt, over which a sleek black leather armor clung to her chest and abdomen like a second skin.

Below, tight black jeans hugged her hips, giving her a dangerously alluring presence—like a devil cloaked in elegance.

Twin daggers were strapped to her thighs, gleaming slightly as she moved.

She stepped out, her black boots tapping sharply against the floor.

Click. Clack. Click.

With one last glance at the room behind her—

she pulled the door shut, and walked into the world once more.

A little while later...

Lyra stood with her teammates, her gaze sweeping over the sea of spectators filling the stadium.

The crowd’s chattering echoed like crashing waves, a restless tide of voices and excitement.

She turned her eyes toward the battle arena.

Its golden protective layer shimmered, gleaming against the white stone floor and stark black columns arranged across it like a sacred battleground.

Her blue eyes drifted slowly from one teammate to the next.

Then—

they stopped.

Riven.

She watched him silently for several long seconds.

Then, as if catching herself, she quickly lowered her gaze to the daggers at her side—

suddenly far more interesting.

On the opposite side of the field, the Fire Phoenix Team stood tall, equally prepared.

Both teams entered the arena at the same time, stepping through opposite gates.

Aslan led the Veylor team, his lanky figure striding confidently into the center.

Beside him, his teammates fanned out into formation.

From the other side, Kaelan Ignis stepped forward—composed, calm, his piercing blue eyes neutral and unreadable.

They came face to face at the center of the arena.

Aslan grinned.

"You’ve really grown into a man... after that confession."

Kaelan’s jaw tightened.

He said nothing, his eyes shifting to the approaching Umpire.

Before the official could speak, Kaelan declared:

"Phoenix."

Aslan shrugged, smiling.

"Then I’ll take Dragon."

The Umpire tossed the coin high into the air.

Clank.

It hit the ground and spun for a moment—then stilled.

The Umpire stepped forward, glanced at the result, and raised his voice:

"Dragon. Winner: Veylor Club!"

Cheers erupted from the Veylor side.

Aslan smiled and asked, "And the zone?"

The Umpire replied,

"It’ll be a Frost Zone for the first half of the columns, and a Lava Zone for the second half."

Aslan exhaled deeply and nodded.

He turned and headed back toward his team.

Kaelan also walked away silently, his face unreadable.

Back at the Veylor side, Aslan clapped his hands together and called out:

"Huddle time! Let’s talk strategy."

The entire Veylor Club grouped up.

Lyra stood beside Riven, her hands fidgeting, her legs shifting nervously.

Her blue eyes darted across the team—restless.

Aslan grinned.

"Frost Zone in the first half, Lava Zone in the second."

Several teammates gasped softly, eyes widening at the difficulty of the mixed terrain.

Riven’s tone stayed calm.

"Are we attackers?"

Aslan nodded.

"Yeah. We are."

Riven immediately took charge, his voice measured.

"I’ll go in as a Dasher.

Aslan, you’ll be our Blaster—just like always.

Lyra, you’ll be a Dasher too."

He pointed at a few members of the circle.

"You, you, and you—Shield Breakers.

Everyone else—Dashers. We’ll press hard and move fast."

Aslan nodded.

"Vice Captain, we’re with you."

He raised a fist.

"Let’s win this."

The huddle broke with a thunderous cry:

"YES!"