Chapter 41

The night was heavy with silence. Outside, rain whispered through the forest leaves, dripping softly onto the roof of Mira’s little wooden hut. The air smelled of damp earth and wood smoke, and somewhere in the distance, an owl cried, echoing through the darkness.

Inside, the only light came from a single flickering candle that burned beside the bed where Lyra lay motionless. Her small body was covered in a thin blanket, her face pale, her lips slightly parted as she struggled to breathe.

Mira sat beside her, her hands trembling as she dabbed the sweat from Lyra’s forehead. Her heart had not stopped racing since the moment the girl collapsed earlier that evening.

One moment Lyra had been laughing, washing dishes by the creek and humming a tune she had made up herself; the next, she had dropped to her knees, clutching her chest and gasping for air — her eyes glowing faintly gold as if a hidden fire had been awakened within her.

“Please, my child…” Mira whispered now, her old eyes glistening. “Please wake up.”

For hours, she stayed by her side, praying to any spirit that would listen.

Then suddenly, Lyra’s lips parted, and a faint breath escaped her.

She stirred, blinking weakly.

Mira gasped, her heart leaping with relief. “Lyra?”

The little girl groaned softly and turned her head. Her golden curls clung to her sweaty face, her eyes fluttering open — those soft amber eyes that had always reminded Mira of the sunrise.

“Mother?” Lyra murmured, her voice barely audible.

“I’m here,” Mira said, quickly cupping her cheek. “You fainted, my child. You’ve been asleep for hours.”

Lyra blinked a few times, trying to gather her memory. “I… what happened? I was singing…”

“You suddenly collapsed,” Mira said gently. “You frightened me half to death.”

Lyra slowly pushed herself up on the bed, holding her head. “I was singing joyfully, Mother. I don’t know why, but suddenly I started feeling angry — so angry — for no reason. Then everything went dark. The next thing I remember…”

She paused, her gaze unfocused, as if she were seeing something far away.

“I was somewhere else,” she whispered. “In a place I’ve never seen before. There were strange people all around me — tall, with horns and black garments. Their eyes glowed like embers. They all looked at me, and they…” she swallowed hard, her voice trembling, “they bowed to me.”

Mira froze. Her hand stilled on the girl’s shoulder.

Lyra didn’t notice — she was too lost in the memory. “They all had the same mark I have, Mother,” she continued softly. “But theirs was bigger, darker. It glowed red like fire. They said… they said I was their leader.”

Mira’s heart dropped.

For a moment, the room went silent except for the faint crackle of the candle flame.

Then Mira forced herself to breathe. “Lyra,” she said firmly, though her voice quivered, “listen to me. Whenever you see them again — in dreams or otherwise — you must not speak to them. You must not reply. Do you understand me?”

Lyra frowned slightly. “But Mother, they didn’t hurt me. They looked… happy to see me.”

“Promise me,” Mira said, gripping her hands tightly. “You must never answer them.”

Lyra hesitated, confused by the fear in her mother’s eyes. “Okay,” she finally whispered. “I promise.”

“Good,” Mira said softly, releasing her hands. “Now rest. I’ll get you something to eat. You’ve had a long night.”

She rose to her feet, smoothing her old robe, and turned toward the kitchen corner where the small fire burned. But as she walked away, she kept glancing back at Lyra, her heart weighed down by dread.

She knew what this meant.

The prophecy was moving again — just as she feared it would.

When Mira left the room, the soft creak of the door faded, and the little house fell quiet once more.

Lyra sat there, staring at the flickering candle. Her fingers toyed with the edge of the blanket as her thoughts drifted back to the strange dream — to the endless hall of black stone and fire.

She could still hear the way those strange beings spoke to her — their voices echoing in unison:

“Our queen has awakened.”

“The golden mark of light returns.”

“All hail our mother of flame and mercy.”

And among them — in the far corner of her vision — there had been a boy.

He stood taller than the rest, his eyes glowing red, his hair dark as night, his horns sharper, curved like a crown. When she looked at him, she didn’t feel fear. She felt… something else.

Familiar. Warm. Like she had seen him before — somewhere deep inside her memories, though she could not remember when or where.

She whispered softly to herself, “And I saw him…”

The candle flame flickered as if it had heard her secret.

In the kitchen, Mira was stirring a small pot of soup, her hands trembling so badly she nearly spilled it. She kept muttering to herself, her mind racing.

“It’s happening,” she whispered. “The signs are showing too early. Ten years too soon.”

She turned toward the wall, her old eyes full of tears. “Daphne, my queen, what have we done? What have I done?”

For a moment, her memory carried her back — to that night ten years ago.

The smell of blood and rain had filled the birthing chamber. Daphne had been screaming, her hands clutching the sheets, her body trembling with exhaustion. The midwives had already left — Mira had sent them all away when she realized something was wrong.

Two heartbeats.

She had heard two tiny heartbeats inside the queen’s body.

And then — the first cry. A boy.

She had taken him, wrapped him in silk, and handed him to the nurse waiting outside. But when she turned back, Daphne was still in pain, still pushing, still bleeding.

Then she saw it — the second child.

A girl.

Mira caught her just before she fell onto the sheets, but the moment she touched the newborn’s skin, her hands burned.

The child’s body glowed faintly gold, and when Mira turned her over — she saw it.

The invisible mark.

The same ancient symbol that cursed her kingdom a thousand years ago.

She had gasped in horror, but Daphne’s faint voice called her back.

“Mira… my child… where is she?”

Mira turned to her, tears streaming down her face. “Your Majesty, you must listen. This baby — she bears the mark. The prophecy… the one we feared…”

Daphne’s eyes widened.

“If they find out,” Mira continued desperately, “they will kill her, and they will kill you too. You must choose, my queen. You must choose now.”

Daphne’s hands trembled. “Save her,” she whispered. “Please. Save my daughter.”

Mira shook her head. “If I take her, I can never return.”

“Then go,” Daphne said, gripping her wrist weakly. “Take her and run far from the city. Promise me she’ll live.”

Mira’s tears fell like rain. “I promise.”

Daphne pulled off every piece of jewelry she wore — her golden necklace, her bracelets, her earrings, even the delicate waist chain her mother had given her. “Take these,” she said, her voice faint. “For her. For her future.”

And with that last strength, Daphne kissed the newborn’s forehead. “Lyra,” she whispered. “You are my light.”

Mira held the baby close, her heart shattering as she whispered a prayer. Then she placed the tiny child in a small woven basket, wrapped her in silken cloth, and set her afloat through the open window into the river that led toward the woods.

“May the gods protect you,” she cried as the basket disappeared into the rain.

The memory broke, and Mira’s tears fell into the soup pot. She quickly wiped them away and took a deep breath, forcing herself to return to the present.

When she turned, she saw Lyra standing quietly in the doorway, barefoot, her hair tangled, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Mother?” she said softly. “Why are you crying?”

Mira forced a smile. “It’s nothing, my child. Just old memories.”

Lyra walked over and hugged her waist. “You don’t have to cry. I’m fine now.”

Mira held her close, closing her eyes as tears threatened to fall again. If only you knew, my child, she thought. If only you knew who you really are.

Later that night, when Lyra had eaten and gone back to bed, Mira sat by the window, staring into the forest. The moonlight spilled across the leaves like silver. Somewhere far away, she could hear the howls of beasts and the distant thunder that rolled above the mountains.

Her heart felt heavy with secrets.

She had known this day would come — the day the mark would burn again. But she had hoped it would be years from now, when Lyra was old enough to understand, old enough to choose her own path.

Now, she was only a child, innocent and unready for the darkness calling her name.

Mira pressed a trembling hand to her chest. “Daphne, forgive me. I don’t know if I can stop what’s coming.”

Meanwhile, in the forest outside, the wind carried faint whispers — voices that seemed to echo from nowhere.

“The blood of the queen awakens…”

“The mark of gold has returned…”

“Two hearts beat as one — and soon they shall find each other.”

Lyra stirred in her sleep, her body trembling as she dreamed once more of that endless hall of fire and shadows.

This time, the boy turned his head.

And she finally saw his face.

Dark hair. Crimson eyes.

The same boy who haunted her thoughts — the boy who called her name in the storm of her dreams.

“Lucien “