A soft breeze carried the scent of rain and earth. The sky above shimmered with gentle hues of violet and blue, a dawn unlike any she had ever seen. There were no divine sigils burning in the air, no celestial towers, no chains of light binding the world.
It was quiet. Beautifully quiet.
Lyra sat beside a clear river that wound through a vast, untouched forest. The trees glowed faintly, their leaves shimmering like crystal under the newborn sun. Tiny creatures—some familiar, some entirely new—moved cautiously through the undergrowth, exploring a world that had never known fear.
Her reflection in the river startled her. Her eyes had changed.
They weren't the same silver they once were; they now held a faint golden ring, glowing softly in the light.
"Rian…" she whispered, touching her reflection. "Is this your doing?"
A faint hum responded, rippling across the surface of the water—the same hum she had heard in the void. It was weak, distant, but there.
She smiled faintly. "So you're still here."
Lyra rose, brushing the dust from her cloak. Though she wore the same armor, it felt lighter now, more alive. The star-shaped mark on her wrist pulsed once, gently guiding her toward the east.
"I'll follow," she murmured, her voice steady. "Wherever you are."
Days turned into weeks as she wandered through the reborn lands. Mountains shimmered like glass, rivers sang faint melodies, and strange flowers bloomed wherever her feet touched. The world was reshaping itself—alive, wild, and free from divine rule.
But not all was peace.
In the ruins of the old realm, fragments of fallen gods still stirred—echoes of their power trapped within relics and dying creatures. Lyra found one such remnant in a valley of stone: a massive broken statue, once Eryndor's likeness, now bleeding black smoke into the air.
She approached cautiously. "You still cling to life?"
The statue's cracked face moved slightly, voice low and bitter. "You think this world can exist without us?"
Lyra's eyes hardened. "It already does."
The ground trembled as the black smoke surged upward, forming a monstrous shape. But before it could strike, Lyra's mark flared—light bursting from her palm, pure and golden. The smoke disintegrated, scattered like dust.
When the silence returned, she stared at her hand in awe. The light had felt… familiar.
"Rian," she whispered again. "Your power—it's part of me now, isn't it?"
The wind stirred gently, brushing her hair, like a faint touch of laughter carried from far away.
Lyra smiled through her tears. "Then I'll carry it well."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, she climbed a high ridge overlooking a vast ocean that glowed with starlight. A single star flickered on the horizon—the same one she had seen the day she awoke.
Her heart ached, but her voice was steady as she whispered,
"I'll keep walking until I find you, even if it takes a thousand dawns."
The wind answered softly, carrying a single word through the quiet:
"Promise."