Lyra's eyelids fluttered open, greeted by a comforting warmth that cocooned her body. A fire crackled and danced in the hearth, casting flickering shadows that played across the rough-hewn walls of the small room. Thick blankets, woven from coarse but sturdy wool, swaddled her, chasing away the lingering chill that clung to her bones.
A dull ache pulsed in her head, a constant pressure that felt like something was trying to force its way into her memory, struggling to be remembered. Just then, a figure entered the room. He moved with a practiced grace, his weathered hands reaching out to steady Lyra as she attempted to sit up, pain etched across her pale face.
He spoke in a language that was initially incomprehensible to her, yet as the words flowed from his lips, a melody resonated within her, unlocking a forgotten understanding. The language, like a long-lost friend, welcomed her back into its embrace.
"Eira," he rasped, his voice rough with concern, "what troubles you? Does your head throb with pain?"
Eira. That was the name of the writer that she used when promoting her manuscript to the publishing company. But why did this old man call her by that name? She wasn't yet known enough for someone like him, a stranger in her eyes, to know her pseudonym. In fact, she couldn't place his face, his features fading into the background of her blurry memories.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper, "Why do you call me Eira?"
He furrowed his brow, a flicker of worry crossing his features. "What, my dear Eira, are you so ill that you don't even recognise me? It is I, Flewick. Though most call me Old Flewick."
"Old Flewick, you haven't told me how I ended up here. What happened to me?"
Old Flewick takes a deep breath, stroking Eira's head.
"It's a long story, Eira. You were-lost. For months, we searched for you, fearing the worst."
Lyra asked again curiously.
"But-why did I get lost? And why can't I remember anything?"
Old Flewick felt hesitated but answered anyway.
"Maybe you exhausted yourself too much. Have some sleep, you might feel better later. If you want to, your parents can answer that for you."
Lyra gasped, a sharp intake of breath that sent a jolt of pain through her head.
"Parents?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper, "who are these parents you speak of? I don't remember them either."
Old Flewick shook his head, his lips pursed in a sigh that echoed the sorrow in his eyes. "It seems you truly remember nothing. Well, rest here for now, child. I will go to your house soon and ask them to fetch you. Think nothing, just sleep."
He offered her a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a kindness that soothed her anxieties.
"Just remember this, the important thing is that you're safe here, Eira."
As he left, the fire's warmth seemed to echo his words, a comforting presence in the vast emptiness of her memories. The questions swirled in her mind like smoke from the dying embers, leaving only a faint scent of mystery in their wake.
Who was this Eira?
Where exactly is this place?
And who were these parents she had never known?
The answers, like elusive shadows, danced just beyond her grasp, waiting to be revealed.
***
The twilight sky cast long shadows across the land as an unassuming couple approached Old Flewick's humble abode. An air of quiet desperation clung to them, their faces etched with worry and longing.
A woman, her face's features which was worn with years of grief, burst into the cramped room where Lyra lay, her tear-stricken face a mask of raw emotion. She embraced Lyra with a ferocity that spoke of both love and loss, her sobs echoing through the stillness of the room.
Lyra cast a glance towards the doorway where she saw a man standing, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Tears streamed down his face as he grasped Old Flewick's hand in a grateful grip, overcome with relief and overflowing with silent thanks for the return of his daughter. He hastily brushed away the cheerful tears with his sleeve.
"Thank you, dear friend," the man choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "You have saved our daughter. We are forever in your debt."
Old Flewick, his face etched with lines of wisdom and experience, offered the man a reassuring smile.
"Gregor," he said, his voice gruff but gentle, "if Mary were still alive, she would be Eira's age. I have come to think of her as my own daughter. And Ann," he added, turning to the woman who still held Lyra close, "you are holding Eira far too tightly. Look at how pale she is."
Ann, her tears falling like a summer rain, pulled away and offered Lyra a tender smile. "Forgive me, dear Eira," she whispered, her voice filled with a maternal warmth that resonated deep within Lyra's soul. "We were so worried about you. We thought we had lost you forever."
In that moment, a flood of fragmented memories washed over Lyra, each fragment a painful shard of a life she barely understood. She saw flashes of a young woman, defiant and passionate, driven by a love that had blinded her to the truth. She saw the betrayal, the heartbreak, the desperate flight from home that had ended so tragically.
Eira was driven by anger and resentment after her parents refused to bless her marriage to the merchant's son, Alex. Unaware of the reality beneath Alex's charming mask and the fact that he was already betrothed to another lady, she had defied their wishes, driven by her infatuation. The dream she had so naively embraced turned into a chilling reality. Alex, she discovered, was a man of fleeting affections, interested only in satisfying his own desires.
His promises of love and marriage were nothing but empty words, meant to deceive a young girl yearning for love. Betrayal and despair gnawed at her heart, driving her back to the family she had so fiercely rejected. But fate, it seemed, had other plans. Exhausted and heartbroken, Eira succumbed to hunger and exhaustion, her life extinguished before she could find her way back to the warmth of her family.
Emotions, raw and unfiltered, surged through Lyra. She felt the grief and regret of Eira, the weight of her mistakes pressing down upon her. Tears streamed down her face, a cleansing rain washing away the years of solitude and isolation, leaving behind a fragile hope for redemption, mirroring the anguish she felt for the young woman whose body she now inhabited.
Lyra looked at the couple before her, their eyes filled with a love and longing that mirrored her own. Unconsciously, she returned Ann's embrace, the warmth of the woman's love a soothing balm against the storm of emotions raging within. For the first time in her life, she felt a sense of belonging, a connection that transcended the boundaries of time and circumstance.
"Father," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion and tears.
"Mother. I'm so sorry. I missed you."
Gregor, tears springing to his eyes, rushed forward and engulfed both Ann and Lyra in a tight embrace.
"Welcome home, Eira," he murmured, his words carrying the weight of years of unspoken love and forgiveness.
Lyra closed her eyes, the warmth of their embrace a soothing balm against the storm raging within her. She knew that the road ahead would be long and arduous, filled with challenges and uncertainties. But she also knew that she was not alone. She had a family, a purpose, and a chance to rewrite the ending of a story that had been left unfinished.
Though the shadow of Eira's regret lingered, it was now accompanied by a glimmer of hope. For in the depths of her sorrow, Lyra had found something far more precious: a love that could conquer the past and heal the wounds of a broken heart. And as she held onto that love, she knew that she would never truly be alone again.
Eira was no more. But in Eira's place, Lyra would strive to live a life worthy of the love and devotion her parents had for their lost daughter. After all, she was Lyra, but she was also Eira now. From that moment on, Lyra vowed to cherished her life, along with memories of Lyra and past Eira, together with her loving family.
**
A week had passed since Eira's return to the warmth of her family home. Her gaze drifted across the vast expanse of snow-covered fields, the wintry landscape stretching endlessly beyond her window.
Since inhabiting Eira's body, Lyra had slowly begun to accept the surreal reality of her presence in this strange, yet strangely familiar world. The Glacia Kingdom was exactly as she portrayed in her manuscript. It felt as though she had always belonged here, a notion that sparked a flicker of amusement within her.
"Impossible," she whispered, a chuckle escaping her lips. Two Lyra cannot exist in the same world.
From the very first day, she marveled at the casual use of magic by Gregor and Ann in their daily life chores. However, she had no recollection of original Eira's memories using magic like her parents. The next day, she decided to bring up regarding that matter.
"I wonder why can't I do what you do? Why can't I do magic too?"
Gregor looked away, avoiding her gaze. Old Flewick had explained regarding her memory loss as a consequence of trauma, thus the incident leaving gaping holes in her mind. For Gregor and Ann, as long as Eira remained physically unharmed, they were content.
"It's... not always easy, Eira. Some have a natural affinity, while others- struggle."
Eira felt very curious, "So... I was a failure? Was I?"
Gregor sighed heavily, "Magic flows from within, and sometime... it simply chooses not to reveal itself. Forcing it won't work."
Ann pulled Eira into a hug, cheering her daughter with merrily tone, "Don't be discouraged, dear. Magic takes time and patience. You'll find your way. The time may not be too soon but who knows, maybe someday our Eira is destined for great things."
Eira chuckled inside. I do appreciate that, but it seems I have no great luck in love or magic.
Eira figured out by herself that original Eira may threw away her sadness of failure behind her which leading to her eagerly intimated towards Alex. He was the worst type of playboy that she ever met in her past life.
May they never meet in her new life from now on. Good ridden.
Lyra looked at Ann and Gregor with understanding, "I guess my inability to awaken magic was really a pain in the neck."
Gregor and Ann glanced towards each other. Gregor gave Ann a signal, indicating that they must do something, or else their daughter's trauma could gone worsen.
***
That night, as shadows stretched across the room, Ann entered Eira's chamber, carrying a worn but meticulously preserved box. With a gentle smile, she placed it in Eira's hands.
"My dearest Eira," Ann began, her voice laced with a soft melancholy, "I have something to give to you. It is an heirloom, passed down through our family for generations. I believe it's time for you to claim its ownership."
With trembling fingers, Eira unveiled the box, revealing a pendant that glimmered as if newly forged. This snowflake-shaped charm, crafted from shimmering white gold with veins of the purest silver that seem to flow and swirl like miniature rivers beneath the surface.
Its edges are adorned with intricate carvings that resemble frost crystals, each one delicately etched with unknown enchantment like runes of ancient power. It held a potent, yet enigmatic aura. At the center of the snowflake rests a small, faceted crystal, clear as ice yet imbued with an inner glow that shimmers with the faintest shades of blue and violet.
"Thank you, Mother," Eira gently touched the pendant. It looks like ancient relic. This must be a family fortune.
"But... is it okay for me to take it?"
Ann smiled, her eyes twinkling with warmth. "Of course, Eira. I'm sure the pendant looks lovely on you. An old woman like me has long passed the time for such adornments. I've had my moments," Ann whispered to Eira as if telling her a secret, " just think of it as good luck charm."
Eira, her heart brimming with affection, accepted the pendant. As she held it in her palm, a strange familiarity washed over her. The intricate snowflake design seemed to pulsate with a faint, yet undeniable energy. A memory, long buried deep within the pendant, surfaced – a fragment of a memory from a forgotten past, carried a humming voice from the unknown.
Wear it, Aethel, and carry the light. Remind them that even in the coldest night, warmth can be found in shared stories, shared burdens, and shared dreams.
Eira pondered, hearing that name. Aethel? Isn't that name...
She looked at Ann who still smiling at her, did not seem to hear that voice. So, I'm the only one heard that voice. I wonder why?
***
From that moment, Eira meticulously pieced together the fragmented memories within original Eira's mind, aided by the clues from Lyra's own world. A chilling truth gradually emerged: she had somehow entered the world she had created – the world of her first manuscript, written at the tender age of ten. The very manuscript that had perished in the flames that consumed the orphanage, forever lost.
This realization sent a shiver down Eira's spine. The small village she inhabited, nestled within the Glacia Kingdom's borders, was merely a fragment, a single chapter in a vast and potentially perilous saga. Beyond its protective embrace lay dangers untold, far greater than anything she had ever dreamt up. Decades had passed since she penned this world, yet little had changed, except for the apparent dismissal of summoners.
Lyra sighed, recalling the reaction that greet her inquiry about the summoner's existence. They even laughed at me when I asked that.
Yet, amidst the lurking shadows, a sliver of comfort remained. As long as she remained within the kingdom's boundaries, she knew she would be safe. The secrets of this world and the mysteries within her own soul would remain kept hidden for now, but a spark of determination flickered in Eira's eyes.
She had stumbled into a real-life story, grander than anything she'd penned, filled with magic and wonder. A story she was now determined to unravel, one chapter at a time. Her writer's instinct hummed with excitement, eager to seek inspiration to discover the untold chapters that lay ahead.
With a resolute smile, Eira gazed at the snowflake pendant, her connection to this fantastical world. A world she would explore and navigate, one story, one page at a time.
That name... Aethel... I remember that name for sure. It's the name of my mother's family when I was living as Lyra. I no longer heard anything from that pendant since that night.
"Undoubtedly, that was the first manuscript I wrote. So, recalling it holds the key to survival... perhaps."