Lyra had always felt like a fragment of a story left unfinished.
She had no parents. No memories before the age of six. Only Mara—the old healer who found her curled at the roots of the great Moonspire Tree, shivering beneath the starlit sky.
"Where did I come from?" she had asked Mara once.
The woman had only smiled, tracing her fingers through Lyra's silver hair. "From the stars, little one. The wind carried you to me."
Lyra never believed it. Not until the soldiers came.
It was supposed to be an ordinary evening.
The scent of fresh bread and spiced cider lingered in the air as Lyra navigated the bustling marketplace. Merchants called out their wares, laughter echoed from the tavern, and the sun cast long shadows against the cobblestone streets. She handed a bundle of dried herbs to the baker, his rough hands brushing hers as he gave her a warm loaf in exchange.
Then, the first scream shattered the peace.
Lyra's head snapped up.
A line of soldiers moved through the square, their black armor gleaming in the fading light. Swords drawn. Eyes sharp.
A hush fell over the crowd.
Then she saw it—the sigil of King Veymar emblazoned on their chests.
The king's men never came this far into the wildlands. And they never looked at people the way they were looking at her now.
Like they had found what they were searching for.
"Seize the girl!"
The command sent a shockwave through her body.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Then—she ran.
Down the winding alleys. Past startled faces. The loaf of bread tumbled from her grasp as she leapt over barrels, her breath ragged. She didn't stop to think, didn't stop to wonder—only to move.
But they were faster. Stronger.
Pain exploded in her side as an armored body crashed into her, slamming her onto the hard stone. The air rushed from her lungs.
"Don't hurt her!"
Mara's voice. Sharp. Fierce.
Lyra's vision blurred as she struggled beneath the soldier's weight. She had never heard Mara sound afraid before.
"Mara, run!"
The old healer didn't move. She stood firm, her hands trembling but alight with a golden glow.
The soldiers hesitated.
Magic.
Rare. Feared.
Mara's voice rang out, steady despite the tremor in her hands. "You don't understand." Her gaze locked onto the captain. "She is the Starborn."
The world seemed to stop.
Lyra's breath hitched.
The word coiled inside her chest, foreign yet familiar—like a song she had once known but long forgotten.
Starborn.
She didn't have time to process it.
"Take them both," the captain ordered.
A shadow loomed. The cold weight of a gauntleted fist struck the back of her skull.
Darkness swallowed her whole.