As we waited, the muffled roar of the crowd seeped through the walls, a stant reminder of the spectacle unfolding oher side. My grip tightened on the rapier’s hilt, the etal grounding me as I tried not to think too much about the chaos waiting for me.

  That’s when a man approached us, his attire instantly reizable as one of Riker’s—professional, plete with the same emblem Lo had on her jacket. His expression was ral, almost bored, as he handed me twe traptions.

  “Sword Queen, this is your frost,” he said curtly, no further expnation before walking off like this was the most normal thing in the world.

  I turhe device over in my hands, iing it. It was small, and clearly ade. A metallic meism with a small ister attached, the craftsmanship that screamed money. A thin striended from the base, meant to fasten to a finger, while the rest of it slid ly into a sleeve to stay hidden.

  “My… frost?” I muttered, eyebrows knitting together in fusion.

  Curiosity got the better of me, and I slipped one traption onto my arm, fastening the string to my index finger. With a cautious tug, a small stream shot out, arg gracefully toward the wall. When it made tact, the surface shimmered with an icy sheen, frost creeping outward in jagged, crystalliterns.

  For a sed, I was impressed. “Woah…” I murmured, stepping closer to the wall. Tentatively, I reached out to touch the frost.

  It wasn’t cold.

  Not even close. It was fake—just some kind of visual effect. The texture was smooth and dry, more like frosted gss than real ice. “What?” I blinked, baffled.

  Lo, ever vigint with her tablet, sed the s with a resigned sigh. “Mister Riker… also ordered it,” she said, her voice betraying annoyance. “But of course, he fot to mention it. I had to dig through the mao find it.”

  She mumbled under her breath, clearly direg her frustration at no one in particur. “Why is he making it so hard…”

  I smirked, suppressing a ugh as I fiddled with the meism, the string tugging slightly as I adjusted it. “Riker does love his surprises,” I said, dryly. “I don’t have mic though. How does it work?”

  Lo shot me a look that was equal parts sympathy and exhaustion. “They have a direal microphone, dy. And… I think he just loves chaos.”

  “Same thing,” I replied with a shrug, testing the frost effect again. The shimmering faux ice glinted uhe backstage lights, and I couldn’t help but admire it. Even if it was fake, it looked damn cool.

  “Well,” I said, grinning as I flexed my fio get a feel for the meism. “If I’m going to cause a se, might as well look good doing it.”

  Lo’s lips twitched, but she stayed focused oablet.

  I gnced up, my gaze log onto the solid steel beams that arched gracefully over the stage like the ribs of some giaallic beast.

  “Say, Lo?” I asked, tapping one beam with my knuckles. A resonant g echoed, promising both strength and the iability of a terrible idea.

  Lo blinked, her focus breaking from her ever-present tablet. “Yes, dy?”

  I gave the beam aesting nudge, a sly grin f. “Do you think it’ll hold my weight?”

  Lo followed my gaze upward, her face going pale as her brain caught up to mine. “I… Please, I don’t, Lady…”

  Her plead was half-formed and far too te. My fingers were already gripping the etal edge, my heels finding purchase against the vertical support as I tested the sturdiness.

  “Sturdy enough,” I decred with a ugh, adjusting my hold and hauling myself up. “Wish me luck!”

  The beam was cold and slick beh my hands, but years of game parkour instincts kicked in, guiding my movements. I braced my foot against a crossbar, pushing myself higher with surprising ease. Eae instinctual, my body adjusting to the rhythm of the climb.

  Beh me, Lo’s panicked voice echoed faintly. “Lady Charlie, please! You’ll fall, and—oh, God—what are you doing?”

  The backstage noise below blurred into a distant hum, a mix of frantic voices and cttering equipment.

  I was too focused to respond, my mind calg every grip and foothold like it uzzle. The height didn’t faze me; the excitement c through my veins drowned out the slight tremor of nerves.

  By the time I reached the top, I was a good five meters above the stage. The beams were wider up here, their interseg patterns creating a ttice that felt both solid and precarious.

  The holo-lights, massive fixtures mounted on swiveling rigs, hummed softly as they cast their glow down onto the stage.

  I crouched carefully, my hands gripping the cool steel as I took in the view. The vantage point was exhirating—a sprawling sea of seats stretg into the distaens of thousands of people watg a light show that Riker was.

  “Okay,” I muttered to myself, steadying my breath. “Not bad, Charlie. Not bad at all.”

  Below, I spotted Lo ing her neck, her expression a mix of awe and abject terror. She mouthed something I couldn’t hear over the din, but I could guess it was a creative string of pleads to get down.

  I ignored her, my grin widening as I reached out, bang myself against the beam. Up here, ihick of the lights and structure, I felt oddly invincible—like a rogue in their element, poised for something bold and ridiculous.

  Perfect.

  It was at that moment that the traption behind Riker whirred to life, and I couldn’t help but stare as it jured the most amazing holo-image I’d ever seen.

  Even iure.

  A shimmering portal sprang ies edges glowing with faint, pulsing ruhat seemed to ripple like water. Beyond the portal was an idyllic tryside, painted in vibrant greens and golds, with rolling hills and a cobblestoh winding toward a distant, quaint vilge.

  Even from up here, it looked real. The real that made you question if you’d slipped into the game yourself.

  My mouth hung open in sheer awe as I took it in, and judging by the faint gasps and murmurs from the crowd below, I wasn’t the only one floored by the spectacle.

  As the portal stabilized, the fake bandits darted toward it. At first, I wondered what they were doing—then I noticed the clever trick. A nearly invisible fabric curtain hung behind the holo-portal, seamlessly rendering them into the se as they crossed through.

  Their figures transformed into holographic projes within the tryside.

  Even up close, it was hard to tell it wasn’t real. They leaped through the portal, their movements fluid and ving, the polish you’d expect from a triple-A title but elevated to a level I’d never seen before.

  “‘Tis a robbery!” the bandit leader bellowed, his voice carrying over the stunned silence. He pnted himself squarely in the ter of the stage, gng around like he owhe pce, his eyes finally resting on Riker. “You! Have some money?”

  Riker, pying his part, backed away dramatically, his coat fring like a hero in a poorly written novel. “I… What? What in the world is this? A portal—from Rimelion?”

  The leader sneered, his bandits fanning out behind him in a ragged lihey struck exaggerated poses, ons drawn, adding just the right amount of theatrical fir.

  “You look riough,” the leader growled, stepping forward with a menag swagger. He raised an arm, signaling his crew. “Get ‘im, boys!”

  My heart quied. That was the signal.

  “Here we go,” I whispered to myself, adrenaline surging as I tightened my grip on the beam for o moment. Then, with a grin, I sprang into a.

  The world seemed to slow as I leapt from the beam, the cool rush of air whipping past me as the stage hurtled closer. The lights cast long, dramatic shadows, and I could hear the faint, collective gasp from the audience as they spotted me midair.

  The nding erfect—or as perfect as a drop from five meters could be.

  I hit the ground with a trolled roll, my dress fring slightly as I straightened in one fluid motion. My rapier glinted uhe stage lights as I uhed it, the dagger in my other hand catg a sharper gleam.

  “This is your end, light mage!” I bellowed, my voice dripping with mock fury as I leveled my rapier toward Riker. His face twisted into the perfect mask of bewilderment, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

  I could practically hear the gears in his head grinding to keep up with whatever absurd narrative I’d just thrown him into.

  “Uh, this is a mistake!” he stammered, stepping back dramatically and holding up his hands as if to plead for mercy. “I… I’m the victim here! Look! Behind you!” He pointed with exaggerated urgency.

  I barked out a ugh, loud and theatrical. “You think I’ll fall for such a transparent trick?!” The sarcasm was thi my voice, my grin sharp. But just as I was about to press forward, a noise—a subtle scrape of metal against leather—prickled the hairs on the bay neck.

  Oh.

  My instincts fred. I spun on my heel in a sharp 180, rapier and dagger ready, just in time to meet a bandit rushing toward me, his mace already swinging in a brutal arc. His stance was overitted—sloppy, almost ical.

  The best for this.

  “Ah, I see!” I chirped, stepping into the attack. My dagger shot up, catg the mace’s hah a metallig, redireg its weight harmlessly to the side. The force of the swihe bandit stumbling forward, his eyes wide with surprise beh his hood.

  “Alright, boys,” I said and turo face the rest of the bandits, my posture loose and fident. The lights above caught the polished steel of my rapier, sending a sharp glint toward the crowd. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  The bandit leader pivoted toward me, his face splitting into a dramatiarl. He straightened, puffing out his chest as though trying to recim his stolen authority. “Ah, the Sword Queen herself,” he said, drawing out each word with mock reverence. He tipped an imaginary hat, his grin equal parts admiration and menace. “You’re in for it now, ss!”

  The audieed, their roars eg through the spad sending a thrill down my spine. From this vantage point, I could see the sea of faces, their expressiing from delight to awe. The energy was electric, pulsing with the raw excitement of a crowd that wanted—no, demanded—a show.

  Showtime.

  The first bandit lu me, his sword arg toward my side in a reckless swing.

  Too predictable.

  With a fluid sidestep, I let the bde slice harmlessly through the air where I’d just been. My rapier flicked out in respohe ft of the bde smag his wrist with a satisfying th. He yelped, his grip faltering, and stumbled back.

  “,” I said, twirling my rapier with a flourish.

  Another charged from my left, his axe raised high, aiming to cleave me in two. I pivoted sharply, my heels clig against the stage in a rhythmic terpoint to his aggression. His downward swing came crashing down, but I slid to the side with practiced ease, his bde g against the stage floor. My dagger fshed, striking the haft of the axe and twisting it from his hands. He scrambled backward, hands raised in surrender.

  A third bandit tried his luck from behind, his spear thrusting toward my back. Without even turning, I parried it over my shoulder with my rapier, the bde humming as it deflected the spearhead.

  I would never do that in a prht… But here? Perfect.

  The move left him off bance, his stance faltering. I spun gracefully, the edge of my dress fring out, and jabbed the point of my rapier toward his chest—not a strike, but a warning.

  He froze, eyes wide.

  The crowd roared in approval, their cheers like a tidal wave crashing against the stage.

  The remaining bandits exged wary gheir fidence visibly waning. “She’s too fast!” otered, his grip tightening on his sword.

  “She’s pying with us!” another hissed, his gaze darting to their leader for reassurance.

  The leader snarled, frustration clear on his face. “Enough! Take her together!”

  Three bandits stepped forward in unison, their ons gleaming uhe stage lights. One came at me with a sword, another with a mace, and the third with dual daggers, their movements coordio overwhelm me.

  Finally, a challenge.

  The swordsman struck first, his bde arg in a calcuted swing aimed at my midse. I stepped back, the motion light and effortless, and his bde sliced through nothing but air. Before he could recover, the mace-wielder came in from the side, his on crashing down with brutal force. My dagger shot up to meet it, defleg the strike just enough to throw him off bance.

  The third bandit darted in low, his twin daggers aiming for my legs.

  I leapt back with a graceful twist. My footwork precise, and his bdes sshed at the space where I’d been. As I nded, my rapier struck out, nig the edge of his sleeve—not a blow, but a remihat I could’ve nded one if I wao.

  They regrouped, panting, their movements now more cautious. The audience, sensing their growing desperation, ughed and cheered even louder.

  “Aw, e on!” I called, my grin sharp. “Is that all you’ve got?”

  The three bandits hesitated, pying as if their fidence was visibly shaken. One gnervously at the leader, atg with his arms crossed and a grimace of irritation. The crowd’s excitement grew, their ts of “Sword Queen! Sword Queen!” eg like a battle hymn.

  The leader finally barked, “Finish her, or I’ll finish you!”