Lyra spent her final days in the village preparing for what lay ahead. Her steps grew more purposeful, her thoughts more focused. While Kael continued to recover and help the villagers, Lyra wandered between cottages and market stalls, seeking out those who dared to venture beyond the village's quiet borders.
It was the hunters who told her the most. Though many were wary of strangers, a few warmed to her after she helped mend nets or carried bundles of firewood.
"The forest's called Velmora, an ancient magical forest,"
said one grizzled man, squinting against the fading light.
"Older than anything we've built here. Full of magic… and full of things with unknown mysteries."
Another, younger but with scars across his knuckles, added,
"We don't go too deep. The outer ring's safe enough for game, but past the black-rooted trees? That's beast territory."
"Magical beasts," Lyra echoed.
The man nodded grimly. "Animals changed by the ambient magic in the land. They grow smarter. Stronger. Some learn spells—some even awaken Gifts."
A third hunter, silent until now, said,
"It's not just the beasts. The forest shifts. Paths vanish. Sounds echo the wrong way. Sometimes, even time slips. As if the forest it self was alive."
The more Lyra heard, the more a strange clarity settled over her. Fear lingered in every hunter's words, but it didn't dissuade her. If anything, it pulled her further in.
Despite all their warnings, none of the villagers truly knew what lay deep within Velmora. Their knowledge reached only as far as they dared to step.
Later, with the coins she'd earned from helping villagers—hauling crates, tending goats, cleaning tools—she visited a quiet merchant who kept maps and trinkets tucked away behind his stall. Hidden among the cracked compasses and rusted tools was what she was looking for.
"It's not contain much,"
the merchant warned, holding up a brittle parchment.
"Only shows the edge of Velmora and the towns around it. The center? That's blank. No one charts deeper. No one dare to map it. Far too dangerous. And the forest always changing"
Lyra inspected the faded ink, noting the sketched tree lines and faded town names.
"I'll take it."
He wrapped the map in oiled cloth.
"Hope you're not planning to go far in, girl. That forest often swallows people."
She tucked the map into her satchel.
"I think it's already calling for me."
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That night, with the village asleep and the wind barely stirring, Lyra climbed the hill one last time. The shrine stood as it always had—quiet, ancient, forgotten by most. She stood before the stone pillar at its center and laid her hand gently against its surface.
The chill of the stone sank into her skin.
Then the world shifted.
Her breath caught.
The shrine changed around her.
It was no longer crumbling and overgrown but whole and resplendent. Lanterns burned with golden firelight, casting warmth across intricately carved stone. The air shimmered with reverence. Lyra stood still, unseen, watching a scene from another age.
A young maiden knelt on the shrine's steps. Her ceremonial robes glimmered with threads of starlight. Crystals laced through her dark hair, and tears glistened on her cheeks. Her hands were clasped tightly in prayer.
Incense smoke curled around her in soft spirals, catching the light as it rose. Candles flickered along the steps. The maiden's voice filled the air, low and melodic, though the words were muffled and distant—as if spoken in a dream.
Lyra strained to hear.
The prayer's language was unknown. Each syllable blurred as though the wind twisted it away. But the feeling it carried—that sank deep.
The Reverence. The Hope. The Grief.
Lyra's heart clenched. She could feel the weight of the prayer. It wasn't a cry to a distant god. It was a plea to someone known. To someone who had once worshipped in this shrine.
She stepped closer, and the air around the maiden shimmered. A soft hum vibrated through the stone, the trees, the stars themselves.
A presence emerged behind the kneeling girl.
A towering silhouette cloaked in soft light. Its form was vast yet comforting, veiled in celestial shimmer, as if stars themselves had woven its robe. Lyra's breath hitched. The figure turned its head slightly, as though gazing directly at her.
And in that moment, Lyra understood.
This was her. Or rather, who she once had been.
She reached out instinctively, trying to touch the memory. The wind in the vision picked up, lifting the maiden's voice in an echo. Still unintelligible, but now layered with power.
Fragments reached her:
"…the weaver of fate…"
"…she who watches beyond the stars…"
"…guide us through what even gods fear…"
Then came the titles—not clearly spoken, but ringing through the air with undeniable gravity.
Weaver of Fate… She Who Threads the Stars… Keeper of the Final Thread…
Lyra's knees gave out.
The vision began to unravel. The stars above cracked like glass. The warmth of the shrine faded. The scent of incense twisted into cold air.
She gasped, stumbling back from the stone.
"Noxy…" she whispered. "Did you see it?"
"I saw enough," Noxy said softly, her voice unusually quiet.
"That girl… she was praying to me. Or to who I was before. I felt it. I felt her hope."
"She wasn't praying to a god," Noxy said. "She was praying to the one who once walked this world—the one who bore those titles. The one who now walks in your shadow."
Lyra stared at the stone. "It hurt. I didn't even understand the words, but… I knew what they meant."
"Because part of you still remembers," Noxy said gently. "You haven't lost everything, Lyra. Some truths stay rooted, even in silence."
Lyra knelt beside the pillar, fingers digging into the grass. She said nothing for a long time.
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When she rose, dawn was touching the horizon, soft and pale. The wind had returned, rustling the treetops as if to warn—or welcome—her.
At the edge of the village, she found Kael waiting by the gatepost. The mist clung low to the earth, and the forest beyond was quiet.
"You're really going through with it?" he asked.
Lyra nodded. "There's something waiting for me in Velmora. I don't know what that is, but I need to find it."
He glanced toward the woods. "And you're sure you want to go alone?"
"We both have paths to follow," she said. "Yours leads to your brother. Mine leads… deeper."
Kael let out a long breath. "You've changed. You seem stronger somehow."
"I don't feel stronger," she admitted. "Just… like I'm waking up."
He offered a hand. She took it.
"Come back," he said. "Even if you don't think you can. Even if it takes a long time."
"I will," she promised.
They stood for a moment, hands still clasped.
Then Lyra turned.
She stepped beyond the village gates, boots pressing into the soft path.
The forest waited.
And this time, Lyra did not hesitate.