The sun was already sinking when Eryan, Selene, Kael, and Lyra reached the outer road leading back to the village. What should have been a homecoming felt like a march toward judgment. The girl with silver hair clung to the pendant on her chest, trying to ignore the way her own steps echoed unnaturally against the earth.
The gates were open. Villagers had gathered there, drawn by rumor and fear.
"There they are…"
"The smith has returned."
"But who's that with him?"
Dozens of eyes fell upon Lyra, whispering like rustling leaves.
Selene pulled her cloak tighter around the girl's shoulders, muttering under her breath, "Stay close. Don't let them see you're afraid."
But Lyra's trembling hand betrayed her.
The Elder's Gaze
At the forefront stood the village elder, cane planted in the dirt, her eyes sharp despite her years. She measured Eryan with a glance, then lingered on Lyra.
"Smith," she said, her voice steady, "you return with one more than you left. Explain."
Eryan stepped forward, his posture like iron. "She was imprisoned in the labyrinth. A survivor of old experiments. She's free now, and she's under my protection."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Words followed—fearful, angry, doubtful.
"An experiment?"
"They bring curses."
"We should cast her out before it's too late."
The elder silenced them with a strike of her cane. "Your words are fire upon dry straw. But fire still burns." She turned to Eryan again. "You risk the safety of all by sheltering her."
Eryan's jaw tightened. "I'll bear that risk. Alone, if I must."
For a moment, the elder held his gaze. Then she sighed. "So be it. But know this, smith: fire can forge, but it can also consume. Do not let her flame consume us all."
The Forge at Dusk
That night, the forge was heavy with silence. Eryan stoked the coals, Kael leaned against the wall with arms crossed, and Selene busied herself preparing broth.
Lyra sat apart, knees drawn to her chest. The runes faintly glowing beneath her skin made her look both fragile and dangerous.
Finally, she spoke, voice barely above a whisper. "They all hate me. I saw it in their eyes."
Eryan set his hammer down and turned toward her. "Fear isn't the same as hate. They don't understand you."
Lyra hugged her knees tighter. "Maybe they don't need to. Maybe I shouldn't have left the labyrinth."
Kael scoffed. "That place was a tomb. If you stayed, you'd already be dust. Better here, even if they spit at you."
Selene shot him a glare. "Kael—"
But Lyra shook her head. "He's right. Dust would have been easier."
Eryan crouched in front of her, his voice like steady steel. "Listen to me. You're not dust. You're not a weapon. You're Lyra. And as long as you're in this forge, you're not alone."
Her eyes shimmered with tears. "…Do you really believe that?"
"I do."
A Small Flame
Later, when the others had retired, Lyra wandered back into the forge. She found Eryan hammering silver on the anvil, sparks dancing like stars.
"What are you making?" she asked softly.
He didn't look up. "Something for you."
Minutes later, he handed her a pendant—a shard of polished silver shaped like a flame.
"It's plain," he said, "but it's yours. Forged for no chain, no command. Just you."
Lyra's hands trembled as she fastened it around her neck. Warmth spread through her chest, pushing back the cold whispers inside her. For the first time, a faint smile touched her lips.
"Thank you… Eryan."
Shadows Beyond
But peace was a brittle thing.
Far beyond the village, at the ruins of the collapsed labyrinth, cloaked figures knelt in the dust. Their hands traced the broken runes, lips moving in hushed tones.
"The Subject has awakened."
"The Zero breathes."
"Then the Forgeborn project is not dead—it sleeps, waiting."
Their leader lifted his hood, crimson eyes gleaming.
"Good. Let her live. Let her grow. And when her chains break, the world will burn brighter than any forge."
The earth trembled faintly as they vanished into shadow.
Back in the village, Eryan paused mid-swing, his hammer ringing hollow. He looked out into the night sky, unease gnawing at his chest.
The storm had only just begun.
Morning came with unease. Smoke from the forge curled into the pale dawn as the village stirred, but whispers traveled faster than fire. Every tongue seemed to repeat the same words:
"The girl in the forge."
"The experiment."
"The cursed child."
Lyra stood by the door, clutching the silver flame pendant Eryan had forged for her. Though the gift steadied her, she could still feel the villagers' suspicion pressing against her like invisible chains.
The Elder's Trial
By midday, the elder summoned them all to the square. Villagers crowded close, leaving a wide circle in the center. Lyra stood beside Eryan, Selene, and Kael, her heart pounding.
The elder raised her cane, calling for silence. "Fear grows when left unchecked. We will not let shadows rule us. Today we will judge whether this child may stay among us—or be cast out."
Murmurs rose—agreement, doubt, even anger. Lyra's stomach twisted.
Eryan stepped forward. "This isn't justice. It's exile."
"Peace, smith," the elder said. "No verdict will be given until we see the truth. If she is no danger, she will stay. If she brings harm, she cannot remain."
Selene whispered fiercely to Lyra, "Stay calm. Don't let them provoke you."
But Lyra's hands shook. The runes beneath her skin pulsed faintly, betraying her emotions.
The Challenge
One villager shouted, "If she is harmless, let her prove it! Let her stand in the circle unarmed!"
Another added, "Let her face trial by strength, as our forebears did. If she survives without bloodshed, then perhaps she belongs."
The elder hesitated, but the demand grew too loud. At last she nodded. "So be it. A trial without weapons. A trial of restraint."
A man stepped into the circle—broad-shouldered, carrying only a wooden staff. His eyes were cold. "If she cannot control herself, she will endanger us all."
Kael spat on the ground. "This is a farce."
But Lyra lifted her chin, trembling though she was. "I'll do it."
Eryan caught her arm. "You don't have to."
"Yes," she whispered, meeting his gaze. "I do."
The Trial
The circle closed. Silence fell.
The man with the staff lunged, testing her reflexes. Lyra dodged clumsily, stumbling back. Her body was weaker than his—but something inside her flared with each strike, a hidden rhythm pushing her to move.
Whispers from the crowd:
"She moves like the wind…"
"No, like something unnatural."
The man pressed harder, blows raining down. At last his staff cracked against her shoulder, sending her sprawling.
Pain seared her—but then, the runes beneath her skin blazed. Energy surged, spilling uncontrollably. The ground trembled.
Gasps erupted.
Lyra's eyes glowed silver. Her voice broke with panic: "I… I can't stop it—!"
A wave of force exploded outward, flinging her opponent across the circle and knocking villagers off their feet. Dust spiraled high into the air.
The Aftermath
Silence followed the blast. Fear etched every face. Some villagers scrambled to help the man she struck—others pointed at Lyra with wide eyes.
"She's dangerous!"
"She'll destroy us!"
"Cast her out before it's too late!"
Lyra collapsed to her knees, tears streaking down her cheeks. "I didn't mean to… I didn't want to…"
Eryan rushed forward, placing himself between her and the crowd. His voice rang like steel on an anvil.
"Enough! You saw her—she fought not to harm, but to defend herself. The power broke free because she's afraid. You want to punish her for surviving?"
The elder struck her cane against the ground, silencing the chaos. She looked long at Lyra, then at Eryan.
"This trial has revealed truth," she said slowly. "The child holds power beyond her control. Yet power is not evil in itself. The forge teaches us: fire may consume, but it may also temper. I will not condemn her for what she cannot yet master."
The villagers erupted—some in protest, others in reluctant agreement.
Eryan lifted Lyra to her feet, steadying her. "You heard her," he growled. "She stays."
That night, back at the forge, Lyra sat quietly by the fire. The silver flame pendant gleamed faintly against her chest.
"I ruined everything," she whispered.
"No," Eryan said. "You showed them the truth. It frightened them—but fire always frightens before it warms."
Kael smirked, tossing her an apple. "You flattened half the square. Not bad for a beginner."
Selene rolled her eyes. "Don't encourage her." Then, softer, she added, "But you did well. You didn't give in to rage."
Lyra blinked at them, tears welling again—but this time, not only from sorrow.
She touched the pendant, then looked at Eryan. "Then… may I keep this name? Lyra. Not Subject, not Experiment. Just Lyra."
Eryan's eyes softened. "Yes. That name is yours. No one can take it."