CHAPTER 8: ASHES OF THE PAST
1056 Words
Lyra's POV
The smell reached me first.
Smoke.
Thick, choking smoke that clawed at the back of my throat until breathing became almost impossible.
I coughed violently, doubling over as tears stung my eyes.
This wasn't the forest anymore.
The rain was gone.
The cool mountain breeze had been replaced by scorching heat that pressed against my skin like invisible hands. My cheeks burned, and sweat trickled down my temples as I slowly lifted my head.
Fire.
Everywhere.
Towering pillars of flame devoured buildings that looked as though they had been carved from pale white stone. Beautiful stained-glass windows shattered one after another, raining glittering fragments onto the marble streets below.
The sound was deafening.
Children cried.
Women screamed.
Steel crashed against steel.
The air trembled with the haunting cries of wolves, some filled with rage, others with unbearable grief.
My heart lurched.
"What... where am I?"
No one answered.
People rushed past me as though I didn't exist.
A young woman stumbled through the smoke, clutching a little boy against her chest. Blood stained the sleeve of her white dress, but she never slowed, even as tears streamed down her soot-covered face.
"Open the gates!" someone shouted.
"They're inside the palace!"
"The western wall has fallen!"
I instinctively reached for the woman.
"My son!" I cried. "Please, what's happening?"
My hand passed straight through her.
I froze.
She didn't even flinch.
It was as though I were made of air.
A strange ache settled in my chest.
"This isn't real."
The realization came slowly.
"I'm... watching."
A memory.
Not mine.
Someone else's.
The palace courtyard stretched before me, once elegant and grand, now littered with broken spears, overturned carts, and the bodies of fallen warriors. The scent of burning wood mixed with the metallic tang of blood until it coated every breath I took.
I wanted to look away.
I couldn't.
A horn echoed across the city.
Deep.
Mournful.
Every warrior within earshot paused for the briefest moment.
Then the palace doors burst open.
A man strode out, his silver armor blackened by soot and blood.
He was impossibly tall, his dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck. Even from a distance, I could feel the authority that radiated from him.
He held a sword unlike any I had ever seen.
Its blade glowed with soft silver light, pushing back the smoke around him.
The warriors nearest him bowed their heads.
"Protect the Queen!" he commanded.
His voice rolled across the courtyard like thunder.
"Protect the heir!"
My pulse quickened.
The heir.
A baby cried somewhere inside the palace.
The sound cut through the chaos like a blade.
Without thinking, I followed it.
My feet carried me through the broken doors, across polished floors stained with ash and footprints.
The palace was magnificent.
Moonlight poured through the cracked ceiling, illuminating towering pillars etched with wolves, stars, and crescents.
Even as flames consumed the tapestries, the place still felt... sacred.
A crash echoed from above.
Dust drifted down from the ceiling.
I hurried deeper inside.
The baby's cries grew louder.
Then—
I found her.
The woman from the lake.
She stood in a nursery bathed in flickering firelight, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders as she gently rocked a crying little girl.
The same little girl from the painting.
My chest tightened painfully.
She was beautiful.
Not because of her appearance alone.
There was something about the way she held the child—firmly, protectively, as though the whole world could fall apart as long as the little girl remained safe in her arms.
A man rushed into the room.
The warrior from the courtyard.
His face was streaked with blood, but the moment he looked at the woman, something softened in his eyes.
"They're through the eastern gate," he said, breathing hard.
"We're out of time."
The woman nodded.
She didn't cry.
She didn't panic.
Instead, she kissed the child's forehead.
"My little moon," she whispered.
The words struck something deep inside me.
My little moon.
My adoptive father used to call me that.
Coincidence?
Or had he heard those words from someone else?
The warrior removed the silver pendant from around his own neck.
My pendant.
With trembling hands, he fastened it around the little girl's neck.
"It will hide her," he murmured.
"It must."
The Queen cupped his face.
"Promise me."
"I swear on the Moon Goddess."
"You will not fight for the throne."
He shook his head.
"I'll fight for our daughter."
A loud explosion shook the palace.
Stone cracked.
The nursery door burst inward.
A soldier stumbled inside, covered in blood.
"They've reached the royal wing!"
The King's jaw tightened.
He scooped the little girl into his arms and held her close for one heartbreaking moment.
The child reached up with tiny fingers and wrapped them around his thumb.
He smiled.
A smile so full of love that tears blurred my vision.
"I wish..." he whispered to her, "I could watch you grow."
The Queen pressed her forehead against the baby's.
"Live enough for all of us."
She kissed her one last time.
Then she turned.
Not toward the child.
Toward the battle.
The King handed the little girl to another man waiting in the shadows.
An older warrior.
His silver cloak was stained with mud from hard travel, but his eyes were steady.
Orion.
Only younger.
"Go," the King ordered.
"No matter what happens..."
Orion bowed deeply.
"...she survives."
"I'll give my life before I fail."
"I know."
Orion wrapped the child carefully in a dark blue blanket and disappeared through a hidden doorway behind the nursery fireplace.
The stone wall slid shut behind him.
No trace remained.
The King slowly drew his sword.
The Queen stood beside him.
Hand in hand.
Facing the door.
Neither spoke.
Neither looked afraid.
Outside...
Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Closer.
Closer.
Then a voice, smooth and cruel, drifted through the flames.
"Open the door."
The Queen's eyes hardened.
The King tightened his grip on his sword.
The voice came again, louder this time.
"You cannot hide her forever."
My blood ran cold.
I knew, somehow, that the man behind that door would one day become the greatest nightmare of my life.
And just before the door splintered under the first crushing blow...
The vision shattered like glass.
- Writer
