Chapter 6 - Aunt Maris Is Gone

Lyra

The ground fractured. Dark clouds spiraled in a vicious storm. Buildings cracked and crumbled beneath the force of the wind, stones tumbling into the abyss. The scent of smoke and ash smothered everything except the howls of the wind.  The world was splintering.

Through the chaos, she saw a man. A tall pillar of strength amidst the collapse. His arms raised, body straining. He held the line between destruction and salvation. Their eyes met. Quiet desperation marked his features, restraining something far darker than the storm. A tense understanding neither fully grasped passed between them.

Lyra’s heart beat a fierce staccato. Darkness grew, engulfing the realm, and sweeping away her father, stepsister, and stepmother. Silence swallowed Lyra’s screams.

The storm’s center drew her forward. Despite the blinding glow, she couldn't look away. In the chaos’s nexus, a woman stood, obscured by the brilliance that radiated from her. But her power was undeniable. The Moon Goddess…

As the darkness enveloped Lyra, the goddess exuded a mysterious, elusive promise.

****

Lyra startled awake, woodsmoke and damp earth filling her nose. Her vivid dream festered in the back of her mind. What did it mean? She shook her head, trying to push the images aside to concentrate on where she was and how she got here.

She blinked as her surroundings came into focus. Shadows slithered across the tent canvas, illuminated by the moonlight’s glow slipping through the cracks. 

Bear skin blankets were draped over her, soft and musky, they chased away the lingering unease from her dreams. Brushing the coarse fur, Lyra tested its reality. A luxury she would never have been provided before.  The ground’s coolness seeped through a thin mat beneath her, making her shiver.

Muffled voices filtered in from outside. She lay still, straining to hear. The crackle of a campfire punctuated their exchange. 

“We can’t afford another delay. The patrol’s already behind schedule,” one said, irritation sharpening his tone.

As they talked she looked around, noticing stacked bags and supplies in the corner. A light draft whispered through the tent opening, brushing against her cheeks.

“You want to tell Veyron that? Be my guest,” another replied dryly.

Pushing the blanket aside, she sat up. 

“Not unless you want me cleaning latrines for a week,” the first muttered. 

A pause, then a resigned sigh. “Fine, let’s break camp. We’re not waiting much longer.”

Questions flooded her thoughts. Who were these people? Where was she? Most importantly, what was going to happen to her?

She pulled the blanket around her shoulders. If they meant her harm, would they have given her blankets? No, she’d be in a metal cage. She watched the entrance, torn between staying hidden and stepping out to face whatever awaited her.

Then the tent flap rustled, and Lyra scooted back. Panic coiled in her belly as light spilled in, casting a malevolent shadow on the coarse fabric walls. She imagined a stern, accusing patrol guard stepping inside. She tensed, ready to flee.

Until the figure crouched down, and she recognized the kind face.

“Aunt Kyline?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Kyline’s lips twitched into a smile as she handed Lyra a small wooden bowl. 

“You’re awake. Good. Here, eat this,” she said.

Relief flooded Lyra. Releasing her anxiety with a shaky exhale, she hesitated before taking the bowl. The stew smelled earthy and rich, with a faint smokiness that reminded her of long-forgotten home-cooked meals.

Kyline watched her closely, her expression softening. “Eat,” she urged again.

Lyra took a small spoonful, the savory stew warming her insides. “I thought…” She muttered, “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Kyline placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m here now,” she said, comfortingly.

“Aunt Maris said… she said you were with him. With Veyron.”

Kyline didn’t immediately answer. Her face tightened, but she gestured for Lyra to keep eating. “Finish your supper,” she murmured.

Lyra looked down at the stew, appetite dulled by grief. “She’s dead,” she whispered. “Aunt Maris is gone.”

Kyline’s shoulders sagged, her composure slipping. “I know,” she said sorrowfully. “There wasn’t anything we could do.”

“She told me to save them.” Lyra’s voice wavered as tears stung her eyes. “What does that even mean?”

Kyline’s gaze grew distant. “Maris always saw further than the rest of us,” she said after a long pause. 

“What do I do?” Lyra pressed.

Kyline placed her hand lightly on Lyra’s cheek, brushing away a tear. “Rest,” she encouraged. “You’ll need your strength for what’s ahead.”

Before she could object, Kyline stood abruptly, her fur-lined cloak brushing against Lyra’s arm. “Goodnight, little wolf,” she said, adjusting the tent flap as she stepped outside.

Lyra stared at the empty bowl in her lap, left alone with a whirlwind of questions.