The Last Daughter Of Ashwood

Chapter 6 – The Empty Cottage

Ashwood greeted the morning in silence.

Smoke drifted from shattered rooftops, and the scent of burnt wood lingered in the cool air. Villagers moved quietly through the streets, gathering broken beams and tending to the wounded. The laughter that once filled the square had been replaced by hushed voices and grieving hearts.

Lyra remained where she had fallen.

The silver pendant rested tightly in her hand, its crystal still warm from her mother's touch. A few steps away lay Elara's sword, its glowing runes now dull and lifeless.

Captain Rowan approached, her armor dented and streaked with soot.

"You should come with us," she said gently.

Lyra shook her head.

"My mother isn't gone."

Rowan hesitated before kneeling beside her.

"I didn't see her die either."

Lyra looked up, hope flickering in her tear-filled eyes.

"Then she's alive."

"I don't know," Rowan admitted. "But whatever happened... it wasn't ordinary."

Lyra stood and picked up the sword. Though it looked heavy, it felt surprisingly light in her hands.

The instant her fingers touched the hilt, one of the faded runes glimmered for a heartbeat before fading again.

Rowan noticed.

"It reacted to you."

"I think it knows me."

The captain gave a slow nod but said nothing more.

Together they walked through the damaged village. Every familiar place carried a painful memory. The bakery where Lyra used to buy sweet rolls stood with its roof collapsed. The market square was littered with broken carts, and the eastern gate had been reduced to splintered wood.

As they passed, villagers lowered their heads.

Some offered quiet words of sympathy.

Others simply watched.

By noon, the village gathered in the square to honor those who had fallen during the attack.

Seven guards.

Three villagers.

Each name was spoken with respect.

Then Elder Maelis stepped forward.

"And we remember the one who gave everything to protect us..."

She lowered her head.

"Elara Ashwood."

The crowd fell silent.

Lyra's chest tightened.

"No," she whispered.

Everyone turned toward her.

"You can't say that."

Her voice trembled.

"There wasn't a body."

No one answered.

"They don't know she's gone," Lyra continued. "Maybe she's trapped. Maybe she's somewhere else. We don't know!"

The elder's eyes softened.

"We pray that you are right."

Unable to bear another word, Lyra turned and ran.

---

The cottage stood untouched at the edge of the village.

Flowers still bloomed beside the porch, and bundles of herbs swayed gently beneath the roof. From the outside, it looked exactly as it had the day before.

Inside, everything remained where Elara had left it.

A kettle rested on the stove.

Two cups sat on the table.

Her mother's shawl still hung beside the door.

It felt as though she would return at any moment.

"Mother?" Lyra called quietly.

Only silence answered.

She searched every room, hoping to find a letter or some clue that explained who the stranger was—or why her mother had been taken.

Nothing.

As the afternoon sun faded, Lyra sat alone on her mother's bed.

Her tears fell onto the silver pendant.

The crystal suddenly glowed.

A soft blue light spread through its petals.

Then...

Click.

Lyra looked around.

The sound had come from beneath the floor.

She knelt and brushed her hand across the wooden boards until her fingers found a tiny carving shaped like the same flower engraved on the pendant.

With a deep breath, she pressed it.

A hidden compartment slid open beneath the bed.

Inside rested a small leather-bound journal wrapped in faded blue cloth.

On its cover, written in elegant silver ink, were two simple words.

For Lyra.