The wind in the clearing died as suddenly as it had risen, and the silence that followed was thicker than shadow. Lyra stood frozen, her hand still raised in the air where the final ember of her spell had vanished. Her heart pounded like the beat of ancient war drums, and something cold pressed against her chest—from within.
She didn't feel powerful. She felt... watched
"What did you do?" Marian's voice cracked the stillness like lightning. She stepped into the clearing, her dark robes flaring with the movement, eyes wide with restrained panic. "I felt it all the way from the Hollow. That wasn't a simple calling spell, Lyra."
Lyra flinched and turned. "It—wasn't supposed to be like that. I didn't mean for it to... to open something."
Marian's boots crunched over the frost-laced grass. "You opened a door," she said, her voice low now, cautious. "And something looked back through it."
The words sank like ice into Lyra's spine.
"I was trying to connect to the realm again. I've felt something pulling me," Lyra said, her voice trembling, "like a thread that I'm meant to follow. I thought if I called to him—"
"Him?" Marian's brow furrowed. "Who is 'him'? Lyra, what haven't you told me?"
Lyra hesitated. She remembered the voice—the one she first heard in her dreams, long before the veil shimmered. It was low, rough like stone against silk, yet oddly gentle. She had thought it imaginary... but it had grown clearer. Closer.
"I don't know his name," she admitted, "but I feel him. He's real. He's not from here."
Marian stared at her for a long, quiet moment. Then she looked past her, at the space where the spell had burst, lips tightening into a grim line.
"You need to leave the forest. Now."
Lyra's eyes widened. "What? Why?"
"I'll handle the magic that's lingering here. But if the Council senses that something crossed into this realm—" Marian paused. "They will come for you."
"But I didn't bring anything through—"
"No," Marian said, touching Lyra's arm. "But it tried."
---
Far across the veil, Raven stood before a broken mural in the ruins of the old Temple of Aeras. Moonlight filtered through collapsed stone arches, illuminating the faded carvings etched into the ancient wall.
He traced a finger over the image of two figures—one cloaked in silver, the other wreathed in fire—reaching for each other, never touching. Between them, a tear split the sky like a wound.
"You shouldn't be here," said an old voice behind him.
Raven turned. It was Elric, one of the last living elders who remembered the War of Separation. His long coat dragged against the floor as he approached, carrying both a walking staff and a heavy sense of memory.
"I had to see it," Raven replied. "The dreams won't stop. Her voice keeps pulling me back."
Elric narrowed his eyes. "The prophecy is not a path—it is a warning."
"I know. But what if the warning is incomplete?" Raven faced the mural again. "What if she's not the end of our realm... but the key to healing both?"
The elder shook his head. "You're chasing a myth, Raven. And you're risking balance. The last time the veil was disturbed, the sky bled fire."
Raven's jaw clenched. "I didn't open it. She did."
At that, Elric stilled. "Then the prophecy has already begun."
---
That night, Lyra stood at the edge of the village, her packed satchel slung over her shoulder. She hadn't cried. Not when Marian sent her away. Not when she realized she'd be alone. But now, standing in the cold night, she almost did.
She turned for one last look—at the place that raised her, at the only real home she'd ever known.
A whisper curled in her ear like smoke.
"Lyra."
Her breath caught. Not a hallucination. Not a dream. It was him.
"You're real," she whispered.
The wind rustled the trees like a sigh in answer. She didn't know where she was going. But she knew she wasn't alone anymore.