Days passed in the new world, though time flowed differently here. The sun rose softer, the moon hung larger, and the stars—those endless, whispering stars—never seemed to fade.
Lyra had made a small shelter near the edge of the crystal valley. She didn't need much anymore. Her powers had quieted, settling into something gentler, something that felt in harmony with the land itself.
Yet the silence of the nights had begun to carry something new.
A hum.
Soft. Rhythmic. Almost like a heartbeat beneath the soil.
At first, she thought it was the tree again—the Starheart, as she'd come to call it. But one evening, when she placed her hand upon the ground, she felt it was coming from elsewhere.
And it was moving.
Lyra followed the pulse eastward through the glowing fields, her boots brushing through silver grass that shimmered in the starlight. The air thickened with a strange energy, both familiar and foreign.
Then she saw it.
In a hollow surrounded by crystal stones, a small orb of light hovered above the earth. It flickered with hues of gold and violet, expanding and contracting like a breathing chest.
When Lyra approached, it reacted—its light pulsing faster, almost excited. She felt warmth spread through her chest, and a wave of emotion washed over her.
Recognition.
"Who are you?" she whispered, though she already knew the answer deep down.
The orb's glow softened, and within its center appeared the faint outline of a wolf cub. Its fur shimmered like the night sky, eyes bright and unafraid.
Lyra knelt, her heart pounding. "You're… one of his kin."
The cub tilted its head, then stepped toward her. Its paws didn't touch the ground—it floated, as though walking on the air itself. When it reached her, it pressed its forehead to her palm.
A voice brushed her thoughts—soft, childlike, yet carrying an echo she would never forget.
You found me.
Her breath caught. "Rian?"
The cub blinked slowly, its golden eyes gleaming.
Not him… but his memory lives within me. His light.
Tears blurred her vision. "Then you're his echo."
More than an echo, the voice said gently. A beginning.
Lyra looked around, and only then noticed the faint shimmer spreading through the forest. The silver trees were growing buds of gold light. The rivers sparkled with traces of energy she recognized from the ancient realms.
New life. New beasts.
A new cycle was beginning.
Lyra held the cub close. "Then this world truly is reborn."
The cub nuzzled her arm. He believed in you. That's why this world answered.
For the first time in countless moons, Lyra laughed—a sound raw and real. "Then I'll raise you well, little one. You'll carry his name with pride."
What name is that?
"Starling," she said softly. "You're the spark he left behind."
The cub wagged its tail, light rippling across its fur. Then guide me, Lyra. I want to see the world he dreamed of.
Lyra looked toward the horizon where dawn began to bloom in soft hues of blue and gold. The new era had begun—not of conquest, but of growth.
And she would walk it, not as a warrior or savior, but as the guardian of the first light.