LYRA

They helped me dress in white, the traditional color for contestants entering the Chamber of Truth. The gown was simple but beautiful, flowing fabric that felt too fine against my skin, like I was wearing something meant for someone better than me. They arranged my hair in a single braid down my back, no elaborate styling or attempts to hide the silver streaks that marked my bloodline.

"There," Elda said, stepping back to examine their work. "Perfect."

I looked at myself in the mirror ...