NOVEL NEXT Chapter 106: The Songbird's Shadow
Chapter: 104 The Songbird's Shadow
Ethan's eyes followed Lirael as she returned, her golden bow still in hand. She bowed her head slightly when she stopped before him, awaiting his words.
Inside, Ethan's thoughts stirred with quiet satisfaction.
The time she spent honing her technique while her powers were sealed… it's all showing now. Precision, patience, discipline… She's far sharper than most at her stage. Good. If she's already like this, then once her bloodline awakens…
A faint smile threatened his lips, but he pressed it down, playing the part expected of him. His voice came out steady, serious, carrying a master's authority rather than a companion's warmth.
"Good work. You've done what was required. Now, rest until I return."
"Yes, Master," Lirael answered softly, bowing her head again. She stepped back with quiet grace, cradling her bow as though guarding something precious.
Ethan turned then, his cloak swaying lightly as he strode toward the center of the arena. The murmurs of the crowd rose again at his movement — envy, curiosity, speculation — but he ignored them all, his expression unreadable.
The examiners' eyes tracked him with interest. The swordsman leaned forward slightly, arms crossed. "Now it's the boy's turn."
The middle-aged archer gave a small grunt, still replaying the sharpness of Lirael's arrows in his mind. "Let's see if the master can live up to the reputation of his maid."
Dust crunched beneath Ethan's boots as he stepped into the ring. He loosened the strap on his blade and rested a hand casually on the hilt, his gaze calm but unyielding. The air seemed to still for a heartbeat, the atmosphere sharpening with expectation.
Ethan's boots carried him steadily into the arena's center, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade. The murmurs of the crowd dulled to a low hum as the examiner — the broad-shouldered swordsman from before — rose from his seat.
With deliberate steps, the man entered the ring, his presence commanding and firm. His eyes scanned Ethan once before he spoke, his voice carrying across the field like the rumble of iron against stone.
"For a sword-user to advance to B-rank, the standards are not to be taken lightly. The first trial is precision and power combined. You must cut clean through the guild's test material — a block two feet thick — in a single strike. Fail, and the trial ends here."
His tone hardened, every word striking like a hammer.
"Only those who pass this may proceed to the true measure — combat. You will face a peak B-ranked adventurer, and until you prove yourself worthy, the match will not end. Today…" The examiner's hand rested on his own blade, a scarred but well-maintained longsword. His lips curved into a faint smirk. "…that opponent is me."
The crowd stirred in anticipation. Dust swirled as guild staff began dragging the massive block of condensed alloy-wood into place. Its surface bore deep gashes from countless past trials — scars of blades that had succeeded and those that had failed.
Ethan watched silently, eyes steady, his expression betraying nothing. His fingers brushed against his weapon's hilt as though testing its weight in thought.
Just as the block thudded into position, the scene shifted.
—
Lirael stood at the edge of the arena, her gaze fixed intently on Ethan. Her hands gripped her bow loosely at her side, her lips pressed together in quiet tension.
Then—
"We finally meet again, my songbird…"
The voice slithered into her ears from behind, smooth, mocking, and laced with venom. "…or should I say… my soon-to-be songbird."
The words struck like icewater down her spine. Her breath caught, her body stiffened. Even after twenty-two years, she could not mistake it. That voice — one she despised almost as much as the one who had shattered her life — belonged to the man she had fled across half a continent to escape.
Slowly, with dread coiling in her chest, she turned.
There he stood.
Veyron Thalmyr.
The third heir of House Thalmyr.
Her fingers trembled around her bowstring as her blue eyes met his. Memories she had buried clawed their way up, raw and vicious.
Why… he?
For a fleeting moment, she forgot Ethan's test entirely.
Her heart hammered in her chest as the ghost from her past smiled down at her, his gaze dripping with possession.
Lirael's breath hitched as her eyes met his. The same sharp features, the cold eyes that glimmered with cruel delight — unchanged even after two decades.
Veyron's smile widened as if savoring her reaction. He leaned slightly closer, his voice low, mocking, dripping with familiarity.
"Twenty-two years… and you still flinch at the sound of my voice. I must say, my songbird, you've aged well in fear."
Lirael's lips parted, but no words came. Her throat felt dry, her heart thundering against her chest. Finally, she forced out a whisper.
"Don't… call me that."
He chuckled, deep and derisive, his gaze sliding over her as if inspecting property.
"Ah, but that's what you are. You can dress yourself as an adventurer's maid, clutch a gilded bow, and pretend to be free… but you'll always be my songbird. You were born for a cage, Lirael — and I've come to reclaim you."
Her hands trembled as she tightened her grip on the bow. Anger welled up, but it cracked beneath the weight of old fear.
"You… you have no right. I escaped you. I left Thorneveil behind."
Veyron's eyes narrowed slightly, though the smirk never left his lips.
"Escaped?" His tone sharpened with mock amusement. "No. You've been running. And what's more pitiful than a bird that flees its cage, only to flutter weakly for scraps under another man's hand?"
Her breath caught at the venom in his words. Shame and fury warred inside her, but her voice emerged strained, fragile.
"I… I am not yours and never will be"
He stepped closer, so near she could smell the faint spice of his cologne, sickeningly familiar. His words pressed against her like chains tightening.
"Not mine?" He let out a cold laugh. "I chose this moment carefully, Lirael. While your so-called 'master' plays at proving himself in the ring, I come to remind you of reality. He is busy fighting for recognition… while you…" His gaze flicked briefly toward Ethan before returning to her. "…you stand here, helpless before me. As you always were."
Her chest heaved as she forced herself to hold his gaze, though every instinct screamed at her to look away.
"You won't win this time. Ethan—"
"Ethan? Nice way to call your master isn't it...looks like all the defiance hasn't weared off.." Veyron cut in smoothly, his voice silken with disdain. "That boy doesn't even know what you are. Do you think he can protect you? When I decide to close my hand, no one in this field will dare oppose me."
Lirael's weak protest died on her tongue. The crowd's cheers for Ethan's trial rang distantly in her ears, muffled by the rush of blood in her head.
Veyron tilted his head, his smile stretching wider, crueler.
"So watch him swing his sword, songbird. Cheer for him if you must. But remember… once his little trial ends, I'll be waiting. And when I confront him, I'll show him just how fragile the cage he's built for you really is."
Her hands shook violently now, but no words came. For the first time in years, she felt like the frightened girl who had fled Thorneveil — stripped bare, cornered.
And Veyron knew it.