She was born under a quiet sky in Drymus, a village nestled between shadowed mountains and
whispering forests. Her birth went unnoticed, except that her eyes were spirals of green and gold.
that seemed to turn endlessly, like small galaxies trapped in irises. The midwife gasped. Her
father, battle-scarred, gaunt with grief torn by war, turned away. Her mother, frail, trembling,
She held her close, whispering prayers to any god that might protect her child.
From the first day, Lyra understood isolation: the children ran from her, villagers whispered behind
she found closed doors, and even strangers avoided meeting her gaze. Her mother, ill and exhausted did,
what she could, but love alone could not protect her against the fear of the world.
So Lyra wandered. She wandered through forests and along riverbanks, tracing shapes in mud.
she spoke to trees, listening for voices in the breeze. Her companion was silence, patient,
constant, familiar.
" Why do I imagine so many things that don't exist? Is it me? Am I not normal, or is the world too blind to see them? "
she whispered to herself one evening, pressing her hand against the bark of a
gnarled oak. The wind answered only with silence.
Then one evening, the forest gave her more than solitude. From a hollow tree,
from which emerged a small serpent, its emerald scales glimmering like wet leaves. Gracefully it rose,
unafraid, circled her twice before nestling softly in her lap. Its eyes, black as night and
Glimmering with gold, studied her. Its gaze so piercing so deep Lyra felt truly seen for the first time in her life and she felt fear of exposure to unknown.