The soft clink of porcelain snapped through Sylvera's thoughts.
She hadn't been thinking anything clear. Just the same half-formed things, circling. The sound cut straight through it anyway, sharp and wrong. Her breath caught. An old woman stepped in, a tray on her hand. There was tea on it. Bread. It smelled of herbs as it spread through the room.
Sylvera barely noticed it ,the first thing she noticed was the woman's face.
The maid froze as she saw her. Completely still. Her eyes wide.
Her lips separated, but no sound came out at first she looked like she saw a ghost.
Then her hands began to shake.
The tray on her hand started shaking softly as she managed to lower it onto the table.
"Lyria…" she whispered.
The name hit Sylvera like cold water.
She straightened "Don't call me that."
It came out sharper than she meant. Too fast. The old woman flinched as if it struck her , her thin fingers gripping the folds of her apron.
"I'm not Lyria," Sylvera said again, slower this time, but her voice was tight. "Please stop calling me that."
The maid blinked rapidly. Tears on her faded eyes.
"But you look just like her," she said, as her voice was trembling. "Exactly like her. How can you not be?"
"I'm not," Sylvera said.
The certainty didn't sound as strong this time.
Her head started throbbing. The mark on her collarbone started pulsing faintly, a dull reminder under her skin. She had spent days here maybe longer. Searching. Looking for something that would make sense of all this. She had checked every corner of the room for signs of magic. Books. Symbols. Anything.
There was nothing.
Everything felt normal.
Too normal.
So why did this place feel familiar?
Sylvera pressed her fingers on her forehead and closed her eyes for a moment.
"I'm sorry,".
"I shouldn't have raised my voice like that",Sylvera said.
The woman didn't speak she just stood there, staring for a second longer. Then she took a few small, steps forward.
"It's all right, my lady," she said slowly. "It's just that it has been so long. And when I saw you and it felt like the past walked back into this room. My heart " She stopped, swallowing hard. "My heart couldn't take it."
Sylvera finally looked at her properly for the first time.
"Who exactly are you?" she asked.
The woman gave a faint smile, and looked at her with her warm eyes.
"I am Berra," she said. "I was your maid. I looked after you when King Arther's dad brought you here. You used to call me Sister Maid."
The words settled between them.
Sylvera felt something heavy sitting on her chest, she doesn't remember this woman.
Not her name. Not her voice. Nor her face.
And something felt weird deep inside her. Small. Quiet. A faint warmth she couldn't explain. Like a memory trying to rise but she couldn't quite remember it.
"I'm not Lyria," she said again.
This time it didn't sound like anger.
It sounded like doubt.
Berra's expression shifted. Her smile faded slightly.
"Then who are you, my lady?"
Sylvera's hands twisted together in her lap. She looked down at the floor.
"My name is Sylvera," she whispered.
The name felt solid in her mouth. Real.
But even as she said it, something inside her hesitated.
Sylvera.
Lyria.
Two names. Two lives.
Berra repeated it slowly. "Sylvera."
She nodded. "It suits you."
Sylvera looked back up at her. "Do you know anything about lyria? About who she exactly is ? If I'm not Lyria… why do I look like her? Why does everyone keep saying I am?"
Berra's gaze drifted away toward the window.
"I don't know everything," she admitted. "But I know this. Lyria was… special. She had a hunger to learn. It was in her bones. She watched the stars like they were speaking to her. She was bright."
Her voice softened.
"And she was hunted."
Sylvera's heart began to pound.
"Hunted?" she asked.
"For what she could do," Berra said quietly. "For the magic she carried."
The word magic felt heavy in the room.
"And then?" Sylvera asked.
Berra's throat worked as she swallowed.
"She vanished. One day she was here. The next… she was gone. No trace. No goodbye. Some said she was taken. Some said she died."
Her eyes filled again.
"When I saw you just now…" Berra's voice broke. "For a moment, I thought she had come back."
Silence followed.
Sylvera didn't knew what she was suppose to say.
She turned around and walked towards the window. Sunlight poured outside. Everything looked very peaceful. Golden. Clean.
Her saw a reflection on the glass.
Was it her own face she was seeing?
Or was it Lyria's?
"Everything here feels wrong," she said quietly. "Like I'm living someone else's life."
Berra came to stand beside her.
"Dream or not," she said gently, "you must have came back here for a reason."
"But I don't know what that reason is," Sylvera replied. Her voice shook. "Arther says I'm Lyria. He says Lorian lied to me. I don't know who to believe anymore."
Berra placed a careful hand on her shoulder.
"The truth doesn't hide forever," she said. "It finds its way out. You only need to listen. Your heart remembers more than you think."
Sylvera stood there, listening to those words. She didn't know what tomorrow might bring.
But she knew one thing.
She would find the truth.
Even if it broke her.
Time passed without her noticing.
The room grew quieter again after Berra's words. But they stayed in her head.
Lyria.
Magic.
Vanished.
A life she doesn't remember.
She didn't know if any of it was real.
But she have to find out.
Even if she had to pretend for a while.
She turned back to Berra, steadier now.
"I want to know everything about Lyria," she said. "Everything."
Berra nodded slowly. "There is much I can tell you—"
The pain hit without warning.
Sylvera gasped.
It felt like fire tearing through her collarbone. Sharp. Blinding.
Her knees gave out and she hit the floor hard, clutching at the mark beneath her shoulder.
It burned.
Hotter than before.
White-hot pain spread through her chest, stealing her breath.
"Lyria!" Berra cried, rushing toward her.
"It's the mark," Sylvera forced out between clenched teeth. "It's burning—"
The pain wasn't just in her body.
It crawled into her mind.
For a split second, she thought she heard something.
Whispers.
Cold. Faint.
Her vision blurred.
Berra moved quickly to the table and grabbed the bracelet Arther had left behind.
"This will help!" she said, her hands shaking. "Please, wear it!"
"No," Sylvera tried to say.
It was Arther's.
She didn't trust it.
But the pain surged again, stronger.
Her body trembled.
Berra knelt beside her and pressed the bracelet into her hand.
"It was made to calm the mark," she said firmly. "The court mage made it long ago. One of Lyria's closest friends. It will ease this. Trust me."
Sylvera's fingers wrapped around the cool band of stone and pearl.
The moment it touched her skin, warmth spread up her arm.
The fire dulled.
The pain retreated slowly, like a wave pulling back from the shore.
Her breathing steadied.
The whispers faded.
She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding but no longer racing out of control.
When she opened her eyes, Berra was watching her with fear and hope mixed together.
"What is this bracelet?" Sylvera asked quietly.
Berra wiped sweat from Sylvera's forehead with her sleeve.
"Lyria had it made when the pain began," she said. "She didn't want anyone to see how much it hurt. So the mage made this for her. It carries calm. It carries memory. It helped her endure."
She squeezed Sylvera's hand gently.
"And now it helps you."
Sylvera pushed herself upright slowly. The room no longer spun.
She looked down at the bracelet resting against her wrist.
If it had belonged to Lyria…
What did that mean?
"Thank you," she said softly.
Berra helped her back onto the bed.
"You don't need to decide everything today," the old woman said. "But if you truly wish to know more… there were journals. Lyria kept them hidden. Places only she knew."
Sylvera's pulse quickened slightly.
"Do you know where they are?"
Berra shook her head. "Only Lyria did."
She paused.
"But maybe you do too. Somewhere deep inside."
Sylvera looked down at the bracelet again.
The stones shimmered faintly. Not bright. Just steady.
For the first time in days, she didn't feel like she was falling apart.
She felt… held together.
Still confused. Still afraid.
But calmer.
Berra stood and adjusted the tray on the table.
"Rest for now," she said gently. "Let the bracelet do its work. When you are ready… we will search for the truth together."
Sylvera watched her move toward the door.
The room felt different now.
Not safer.
Not dangerous either.
Just waiting.
And somewhere deep inside her chest, beneath the calm the bracelet gave her, something stirred.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Memory.
It pressed lightly against the walls of her mind.
And this time,
It felt ready to break through.