Removing her soaked raincoat and swiping her wet feet against the equally drenched welcome mat, a little girl stepped into the modest house she shared with her mom and dad.
The door shut behind her with a soft thud, sealing off the rhythmic patter of the rain. She skipped toward the kitchen, purposefully ignoring her mother's disapproving gaze—a gaze that had warned her earlier not to play in the rain outside.
"There's a cup of tea on the small table beside the fridge. Drink it so you don't catch a cold," her mom instructed, her voice gentle but firm.
"Okay, Momma," the girl chirped, heading toward the fridge.
Behind her, her mother's lips curved into a smile as she watched the little girl's carefree movements. But the smile didn't last, as it soon dissolved into a frown.
Too young to notice the tension hanging thick in the air, the girl continued toward her tea.
She spotted the cup exactly where her mother said it would be. It was her favorite white china with little blue roses that seemed to pop out, printed along the rim.
Her mother had given it to her on her sixth birthday. To the little girl, drinking tea from it made her feel like a princess, just like the ones on the old television.
Giggling, she reached for it, but the moment her palms touched the porcelain, the searing heat made her hands jerk instinctively. The cup slipped and shattered on the floor with a sharp clatter.
Feeling the burn, Her scream pierced the air.
Both parents rushed in. Her mother immediately knelt beside her, eyes scanning her body for burns or bruises. The girl was unharmed, but when she looked down and saw the broken remains of her precious cup, the tears came fast and loud.
She pointed at the pieces on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
That was when her father's patience snapped.
"Shut up!" he barked.
The sheer force of his voice silenced her instantly. But he wasn't finished.
"Can you just be quiet for once? It's always one mess after another with you. Why can't you act like other kids?"
His hands waved erratically, his temper unrestrained.
"Chris, it was just a mistake," her mother said softly, trying to defuse the moment.
"A mistake?" he scoffed bitterly. "Just like her. Right?"
The insult struck like a slap.
"Don't you dare say that. My daughter is not a mistake," her mother snapped, rising to face him, her nostrils flaring.
"Your daughter…...I knew it. This brat isn't mine, is she?"
The little girl didn't understand the words, but she saw something change in her father's expression, his eyes were shifty, yet pleased.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" her mother whispered, her voice breaking.
"You. And this little devil is what Is wrong with me." His gaze dropped to the girl. "Stop leeching off me for Christ sake."
"You're blaming a child for your failures?" her mom shot back, her voice rising.
"Failures? I don't even know if she's mine. For all I know, she's the result of your whoring."
The girl, trembling, crawled beneath a chair, peeking through its legs in horror.
She didn't hear what her mother said next, but she saw her father's face redden. A vase flew across the room and shattered near her mother, who dove out of the way.
Then, without another word, he walked out into the rain.
That.
That was the last time she saw him.
The next day, she overheard that he'd died—hit by a car in a hit-and-run. His body was never recovered.
Weeks later, her mother found out she was pregnant.
But someone had to work for them to survive.
So, even with the weight of pregnancy, her mother worked tirelessly, taking on jobs in every spare hour she had.
They left the house as they could no longer afford it.
soon, it became selling the fridge, the old TV, and anything deemed a "luxury."
The little girl watched her mother's stomach grow bigger and bigger as she struggled to make ends meet.
Seven months later, Kiel was born premature.
The day Lyra first held his tiny hand and saw his squinting blue eyes, she felt something stir inside her. Not just love—but something deeper, a new sense of responsibility. A burden that crawled up her back.
She always wondered, if she hadn't dropped that china cup, would things have turned out differently? If her parents hadn't fought, would her father have stayed long enough to know about Kiel—the son he'd always wanted?
That broken cup had changed everything or maybe it had just torn the curtain that had blurred her eyes for way too long.
Even though her father was rarely home, even though he was distant and most times, a drunk, he'd still been there. And that was enough. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
Now, whenever she looked at her mother—once beautiful and bright, now faded and exhausted, she wondered if her mom believed it too.
That she was a mistake.
From the moment she could legally work, Lyra did, relentlessly. Every job, every shift, every effort was her way of paying back a debt no one ever asked her to repay.
And when she later found out her father had faked his death, escaped child support, and lived with a secret second family, one he had started while still with her mother, the guilt still didn't disappear.
Instead, it grew.
If she had just held on to that china cup...
Maybe her father would've stayed. Maybe he would've known about Kiel. Maybe the child he actually wanted would've been enough to forgive her existence.
Even if no one ever said it, Lyra carried the weight.
Her mother.
Her brother.
She owed them everything.
Even if it bled her dry.
After all, she had taken from them the most precious things:
A partner.
A father.
A youth.
And If losing herself was the price, it was worth it.
From that rainy day on, she knew
A broken china cup, her lost childhood.
---
Somewhere far away, in a makeshift shack swallowed by overgrown grass, a figure stirred on a crude wooden bed, her torn clothes clinging to her aching body.
A small black creature crept toward her, its paws silent on the floor.
Just as it got close, the figure jerked awake, startling the animal into retreat.
Lyra winced, her hand flying to her head to ease the pounding ache. Her brown eyes fluttered open and landed on a pair of glowing green ones watching from the shadows.
Her breath caught in her lungs, She shot upright, scooting to the edge of the bed as a scream tore from her throat.
The black ball of fur darted under a pile of rubble and vanished outside.
Exhaling shakily, Lyra blinked, slowly scanning the unfamiliar space around her. "Where... am I?" she whispered.
She crawled across the bed and carefully set her foot down. Her legs wobbled, but she pushed forward toward the small opening the creature had slipped through.
It was low so she had to stoop to exit.
Outside, the world opened into a field of tall, swaying grass and wild blooms, glistening under soft sunlight.
Lyra frowned.
'I've never seen this place before.'
Then it all hit her at once,her memories flooding in like a tidal wave.
The expedition.
Æther.
Mr. Rhett.
And.....her?
How was she still alive?
Looking down, she examined herself. Her clothes were torn, her skin scratched and bruised in different places, but she was healing.
She couldn't possibly have survived that storm, could she?
Her brows pinched in frustration as she tried to remember. When nothing surfaced, she sighed and turned back to the shack.
She'd given up her tag, her chance to survive because Mr Rhett had needed it more or maybe he deserved it more than she did.
But it seemed the heavens weren't done with her yet.
She let out a wry smile, trailing her fingers along the sturdy wooden beams. The shack looked flimsy but felt solid. The wood was freshly cut even the air in the shack smelt like nature, Someone had built this, recently.
Flopping down onto the bed again, she winced. "Ouch."
Rubbing her sore backside, she scanned the room again and froze.
The black creature was back, peeking in from the entrance.
Her heart skipped, but she stayed still, biting back another scream. Her limbs tensed as the creature slowly stepped inside.
Just when she thought she might panic and scream, it bolted again.
She exhaled, hand on her chest. But something about those eyes... they felt familiar.
Green eyes.
Her brown ones widened. "Wait... wasn't that the last thing I saw before I blacked out?"
But the creature was too small to have saved her. Right?
Still, it had green eyes, and black fur. It matched the last things she remembered, except the chiseled jaw and scabbard...which she might've imagined.
Maybe it was a shapeshifter. Or some strong, odd creature terrified of her.
Or maybe...
She laughed lightly. "I probably survived the storm, dragged myself here, and built this whole shack while half-dead."
Snorting at her own sarcasm, she shook her head.
Either way, she was alive.
And if someone had saved her, she'd find a way to return the favor if she could.
But that was for later, she needed to find a way out.
Out of this strange place.
Out of Æther's reach.