The voice echoed through Lyra's mind like a breeze stirring the leaves—soft, ancient, and filled with knowing.
"You have returned. The blood remembers."
She knelt within the circle, hands pressed against the glowing earth. The light surrounded her now, rising from the runes and the stones like mist, wrapping her in its gentle embrace.
"I don't understand," Lyra whispered, though she wasn't sure if she spoke aloud or in her thoughts. "What do you mean, 'returned'?"
The answer came not in words, but in visions.
Flashes of a time long gone.
A sky filled with two moons—one silver, one crimson. A city of spires made of crystal and living wood. Healers dressed in robes of light, standing beneath the twin moons, singing the world into balance.
Then—darkness.
The crimson moon shattering into embers.
A tide of shadow spilling across the land.
The Silver Moon dimming.
The circle crumbling.
And silence.
Lyra gasped and pulled back, heart pounding in her chest. The vision faded, but the feeling remained—a deep, aching sorrow, as though the forest itself mourned.
She looked around the circle. The stones pulsed with soft silver light, and for the first time, she noticed a mark at her feet—an intricate symbol etched into the soil. A spiral surrounded by crescent shapes, glowing faintly.
Compelled by something deep within, she reached out and placed her hand on the symbol.
A surge of warmth shot through her, and her vision went white.
She was standing in a vast, moonlit field. The stars above twinkled like tiny lanterns, and in the distance, she could see the outline of the stone circle. But it was whole—new. And she was not alone.
A woman stood before her. Tall, regal, with hair like flowing moonlight and eyes that shimmered like the sky. Her robes were woven from light itself, and the same pendant Lyra wore now hung at her throat.
"You are of my blood," the woman said, her voice both thunderous and tender. "The last living thread of the Silver Line."
Lyra stared, breath caught. "Who… who are you?"
"I am Serelith, the First Healer. Keeper of the Moon's Song. This place was once sacred—where the magic of Solara was renewed. But it was lost when the Crimson Moon fell. You are the first to return."
Lyra's voice trembled. "Why me?"
"Because the world needs healing. The balance is breaking. Darkness stirs in the forgotten places. The magic sleeps—but it remembers you."
The woman reached forward, placing a hand on Lyra's chest, over her heart. "Your power comes not from control, but from connection. You must listen. Feel. Let the moon guide you."
Lyra nodded slowly. "What do I do?"
"Restore the circle. Awaken the light. Protect the balance." Serelith's image began to fade. "And beware… not all who seek the moon come with light in their hearts."
The vision dissolved, and Lyra fell back into her body, gasping.
The stones no longer glowed, but the mark beneath her hand now shimmered with silvery lines. Her pendant was burning hot.
She stood shakily, the knowledge left behind from Serelith still buzzing in her mind. She understood now—partially, at least. The circle was a conduit, a place where ancient magic flowed freely. But it had been broken, its song silenced.
And she was meant to wake it up again.
"Restore the circle," she murmured, touching one of the runes carved into the stone. It glowed faintly beneath her fingertips. "Awaken the light…"
The forest around her stirred, and a breeze rustled the leaves above. The circle was listening.
She sat in the center once more, legs folded, hands resting on her knees. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, drawing on the warmth that lived inside her. Not just her magic—but her memories. Her grandmother's songs. The laughter of the villagers. The joy of life, and the pain of loss. All of it. All of her.
She lifted her voice in a soft hum.
The melody came without thought—high and haunting, like the wind through the trees. A lullaby her mother had once sung. The moment the first note left her lips, the pendant blazed with silver light.
The runes flared around her.
The stones thrummed like drums.
And then—the forest answered.
The trees swayed in rhythm, the wind joined in harmony, and the very earth beneath her feet vibrated with power. The melody rose and fell, carried on moonlight, and with it, the ancient magic of Solara stirred.
A crack split across the ground outside the circle.
Something old had awakened.
When the light finally dimmed, Lyra opened her eyes. She was drenched in sweat, heart still pounding, but something had changed.
The circle felt whole again.
Alive.
And yet, as she stood and stepped outside it, she felt a chill in the air. A wrongness on the wind.
Something had watched.
Something had listened.
She turned back toward the path, her senses sharp. A shadow flitted between the trees, fast and silent.
Lyra backed up a step.
Whatever had slept was not just magic.
Something else had awoken too.