The distant sound of trumpets announced the next secondary trial of the festival. Amid the bustling streets and the murmur of merchant stalls, Lukas walked alone down a side corridor that connected the Sun Plaza to the inner courtyard reserved for competitors.

  “Failure…” — a mocking voice echoed behind him.

  Lukas didn’t need to turn to know. Darian, leaning against a pillar, crossed his arms with a poisonous half-smile.

  “Enjoying the family’s glow, are you?” he provoked. “It’s good to see that even dead weight can turn into a spectacle when luck smiles.”

  Lukas simply walked past him, not bothering to reply. That’s when a female voice cut the air like a blade.

  “LUKAS!” — the call carried warmth and strength. Selene emerged from the shadow of the archway, and her tone made Darian fall silent immediately.

  She wore the signature garb of the Eye of Shadows: a black tunic fitted tightly to her body, reinforced with light, flexible plates; a white scarf rising to cover her nose and mouth, leaving only her sharp green eyes visible. Her black curly hair fell to her shoulders, swaying as she moved. At her waist, two curved-blade daggers gleamed with promises of death.

  “You’re different,” she said, ignoring Darian completely and stepping forward to embrace Lukas. Her touch was surprisingly warm, a sharp contrast to the lethal aura she carried.

  Lukas felt his face flush.

  She leaned closer, her lips almost brushing his ear.

  “You’re going to be trouble, little brother… but I think you’ll become the new legend of the South. The dream of every woman… and the envy of every fragile man.”

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  Inside his mind, Morgana sighed, laughing softly:

  “I agree, chocolatinho… You’ll be just like Kyros, the Sun of the South, only more dangerous. Hmmm… imagine everyone fighting just to get a whiff of you…”

  César answered at once, his tone grave:

  “You are surrounded by traps. This is the kind of flattery that leads you into the abyss. Come to the light, Lukas. These things end in stabbings — and by the time you realize it, it’s already too late.”

  Morgana laughed, venomous:

  “Stabbings, moans… everything is experience. You know, César, I could even moan a few phrases in Latin just to annoy you.”

  César nearly roared:

  “Depraved! Do not dare profane our sacred language! Roman seal of celibacy, of chastity — activate! 50 inner barriers!”

  “What’s all this for?” Morgana sneered. “It’s not like they’re going to strip you, shield. And if they did… I’d be ready.”

  “I am a shield!” César snapped, indignant. “I already told you, shameless fox!”

  Lukas took a deep breath, trying to ignore the chaos inside his head, while Selene released him and scanned him from head to toe.

  Then she frowned. She couldn’t explain it… but there was a different weight about him. A kind of invisible pressure, like the one she felt when walking through the deepest halls of the Tower of the Shadow Eye — where the House’s scholars and assassins studied forbidden magic, curses, and ancient phenomena.

  “Hm…” she murmured, almost to herself. “It’s as if… you have something inside you. Something ancient… dangerous. But… it’s asleep.”

  Lukas kept his expression neutral. She couldn’t know. She couldn’t sense César and Morgana, nor discover that the Seal of Silent Inheritance pulsed within his heart — a living receptacle capable of uniting light and darkness, and the only reason he hadn’t gone mad with the two presences inside his mind.

  Selene didn’t press further. She only smiled behind the scarf, as if mentally noting that strangeness.

  “When you have time, I want to see you fight. I bet you’re still hiding secrets…”

  And then, without looking at Darian, she walked past him and vanished into the crowd.

  Lukas stood still for a few seconds, feeling the seal pulse once — as if it had acknowledged his sister’s watchful gaze.

  End of Chapter 10