The morning mist hung low as Lyra stepped beneath the outer trees of Velmora once more. The path behind her faded into silence, and ahead, the forest welcomed her—not with menace, but with breathless stillness, like a long-lost home awaiting her return.
The air felt different here. Fresher. Thicker with something unseen. Each step seemed to echo deeper than the last, as though the forest itself remembered her presence.
She paused beneath the wide boughs of a sprawling oak, her fingers brushing the rough bark.
"It feels… different now," she murmured.
"Because this time, you're not just passing through," Noxy replied gently. "You're returning. And the forest knows."
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They walked for hours beneath the shade of shifting branches. As they moved through the peripheral edges, the trees grew denser, but the beasts they encountered remained natural—boars, large foxes, and silent deer.
"These are still normal animals," Noxy explained. "The magic hasn't seeped deep into them here. Not yet."
Lyra glanced ahead. "And deeper in?"
"You'll meet things that don't remember being animals. Some gained awareness. Some… worse."
"And we're going there?"
"Eventually," Noxy said. "But first, you need to learn how to fight. Not just react—fight."
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Their first true test came that afternoon.
A pair of territorial horned boars barreled out from the underbrush, tusks low and snorting in fury.
"Keep your feet moving," Noxy instructed sharply. "Don't face them head-on!"
Lyra darted to the side, heart pounding. One of the boars turned sharply to follow. She grabbed a long stick from the ground and shifted into a defensive stance.
The boar lunged.
She dodged, clumsily but just enough, and smacked the creature's snout. It reeled with a furious squeal but didn't retreat.
"Again! Use the side of the stick—focus on the eyes if you have the chance!"
"Easy for you to say!" Lyra shouted, breathless.
She pivoted, barely ducking a charge from the second boar.
"You're doing better than most would on their first day. But don't stop moving."
They fought for what felt like an eternity. Lyra's arms ached, her legs burned, but slowly—inch by inch—the boars grew more wary. Finally, after one last crack across the side of a tusk, the pair gave up and stormed back into the woods.
Lyra collapsed to her knees, panting.
"Was that… necessary?"
"You'll face far worse in the future," Noxy said simply. "And they won't all run."
"Noted," Lyra muttered, trying to catch her breath.
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The second encounter came near dusk.
A predator this time—a sleek shadow among the trees. A forest cat, larger than any she'd seen before, its eyes glowing faintly amber.
"This one won't bluff," Noxy warned. "It's fast. Focus."
"I only have a stick and a knife!"
"Then use both. Don't think. Move."
Lyra exhaled and crouched low. The cat stalked her in a wide circle. She mirrored it, step for step, watching the twitch of its shoulders, the flick of its tail.
When it sprang, she dove to the side, slashing with her blade. The tip grazed its flank, earning a furious hiss.
They clashed again. And again.
By the time the cat finally limped away into the shadows, Lyra's sleeve was torn, and her breath came in harsh gasps.
"I thought you said we were starting with something simple."
"This was simple," Noxy replied, dryly.
"Then I dread what's ahead."
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They moved deeper still.
The forest changed around them.
The trees thickened, their trunks twisted and old. The light dimmed, filtered through a canopy that felt almost too dense. Strange glowing insects hovered in slow spirals. Moss grew in runes Lyra didn't recognize.
But along with the physical changes came something else—memories.
Not hers.
Or perhaps… versions of hers.
At first, it was soft.
A giggle behind the trees.
A blur of white hair vanishing behind a bush.
A child's voice singing a lullaby she didn't know, but somehow recognized.
Then, more vivid:
A little girl running barefoot through the woods, laughing, hands stained with berries. Another vision of the same girl crying beneath a tree, clutching a worn doll. And again, the girl—older now—practicing with a wooden staff under the watchful eye of a figure hidden in sunlight.
"Are these echoes?" Lyra asked softly.
"Fragments," Noxy said. "Not only of memory, but of moments lived. Sometimes laughter. Sometimes fear. Sometimes even knowledge."
"They're me, aren't they?"
"Pieces of you. Lives lived. Threads cut short. Or woven into something greater."
"They feel… real."
"Because they were."
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They continued through a shallow ravine and crossed a clear stream. Lyra spotted a flat stone and crouched to refill her canteen. As she leaned down, a new echo shimmered across her vision—a fleeting memory of a young girl drawing maps beside that very stone.
"Why does it feel like the forest is trying to show me… all the versions of me?"
"Because It remembers. And through it, you will also remember."
Eventually, they found a small glade tucked between two mossy cliffs. Lyra dropped her satchel beside a crooked tree and stretched her sore limbs.
"Let's rest here," she said. "I don't think I could lift another stick."
"Good," Noxy answered. "You've earned the rest. And you need to conserve energy. The deeper you go, the more taxing it'll be."
Lyra leaned back against the trunk and watched the sky turn indigo. For a time, she simply listened—to crickets, to distant bird calls, to the creak of branches overhead.
When her arms stopped trembling and her breathing evened, she opened her satchel and pulled out a small cloth bundle.
Inside were bandages, salve, and a vial of medicinal tincture she had bought from the village apothecary.
Sitting cross-legged, she peeled back the torn sleeve of her tunic. A shallow cut on her arm, left by the forest cat's claws, had begun to dry, but it stung sharply. She cleaned it with water using the water she had brought with her in a small waterskin, gritting her teeth against the sting.
"I still hate this part," she muttered.
"Yet you do it without hesitation," Noxy replied.
Lyra dabbed salve onto the wound, then wrapped it neatly with the bandage. Her fingers moved with practiced care—perhaps from memory, or perhaps instinct.
"There. That should hold."
"Good. Infection is more dangerous than any beast if left unchecked."
She repacked the bundle and leaned back again, letting her head rest against the bark. Her muscles still ached, but the tightness in her chest had begun to ease.
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Later, she followed the slope of a hill and found a small lake nestled in the basin below. The water was clear, shimmering in moonlight, untouched and quiet.
She knelt at the edge and cupped her hands, drinking slowly. The coolness refreshed her aching body. Ripples spread across the surface as she rinsed her face and arms, washing away the dried sweat and dust.
"It's beautiful," she whispered.
"Velmora isn't just all danger," Noxy replied. "Some parts remember peace."
Lyra stayed there a while, silent.
Then, returning to the glade, she laid out her cloak near the fire and sat down slowly.
Her body throbbed with fatigue, but her spirit felt lighter. Her eyes drifted to the stars peeking through the canopy.
"I'll find out who I was," she whispered. "Even if I have to chase every echo."
"Then I'll always be with you for each one," Noxy answered.
With that, Lyra pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Her eyes fluttered closed.
The fire crackled.
And sleep, gentle and dreamless, finally took her beneath the sheltering arms of Velmora.