The sun had barely crested over the hills when the carts began to roll in.
Once a month, on the first morning after the full moon, Eldoria transformed into more than just a quiet village—it became a bustling hub of trade and color. Market Day had arrived.
Lyra was already awake, tying her apron and helping Marien stack their freshest loaves into wide, woven baskets. Honey rolls, crusty rounds with sunflower seeds, and soft herb-stuffed buns—all warm from the oven and wrapped in linen.
"You'll take the stall today," Marien said, brushing flour from her cheeks.
"Me?" Lyra blinked.
"You're ready. The villagers know you, and the travelers love your smile."
Lyra felt her face flush. "I'm not sure I'm good at selling."
"You don't sell," Marien said, pressing a hand to her daughter's shoulder. "You share what you've made. That's all."
---
The marketplace was already alive with voices and clattering wheels.
Traders from the capital, Averell, had begun to set up bright tents trimmed with gold thread. Foreigners with strange accents displayed spices, silks, and jewelry. Children ran between stalls, faces sticky with fruit, while musicians played lively tunes on pipes and drums.
Lyra set up her bakery stall near the fountain at the heart of the square. A red cloth covered her table, and she arranged the loaves in neat rows, garnished with sprigs of rosemary and lavender.
"Morning, Lyra!" called Mr. Halber from the cheese stall.
"Those sun buns again?" said old Madam Eska, eyeing the golden crusts. "You'll put my waistline in danger, girl!"
"Only if you eat three in one sitting again," Lyra replied with a grin.
As the morning passed, the stall grew busy. Locals returned for their favorites, and travelers stopped out of curiosity—drawn by the scent and Lyra's quiet charm.
One woman from the capital, draped in blue velvet, took a bite of a cinnamon knot and gasped. "This tastes like something my grandmother used to make," she whispered, eyes shining. "I haven't had anything like this in years."
Lyra smiled. "I'm glad it brought you joy."
---
By midday, the crowds had thickened. Lyra had sold almost everything.
She was wiping her hands when a man approached the stall—tall, in fine but travel-worn clothes. He wore a dark green cloak clasped with a gold pin shaped like a hawk. His hair was ink-black, and his eyes sharp as steel.
He picked up a seeded roll, examining it with quiet interest.
"What do you call this?" he asked.
"Harvest bread," Lyra answered. "It has cracked rye, flax, and wild herbs."
He took a bite.
His expression didn't change, but he nodded once. "It's excellent."
"Thank you," she replied, curious.
Most nobles looked down on market food. This man didn't.
"You're not from here," she added, before she could stop herself.
He smiled faintly. "No. I'm only passing through. But I've heard Eldoria has good bread." He glanced at the stall name carved into wood: Marien's Hearth. "That must be you."
"I'm Lyra. Marien's my mother."
"Well, Lyra. I'll be sure to remember that name."
He placed a silver coin on the table—far more than the cost of one loaf.
Before Lyra could object, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
---
When Lyra told her mother that evening, Marien went still. "Did he say his name?"
"No."
"Did he wear a ring?"
Lyra frowned, trying to remember. "Yes, I think so. A black stone. Carved with... wings."
Marien exhaled. "That's a noble's seal. Possibly a court advisor. Maybe even from the king's retinue."
Lyra stared. "The king?"
"Stranger things have happened," Marien muttered, mostly to herself.
---
That night, Lyra couldn't sleep.
She sat by the window, staring up at the moon, now waning and soft.
She thought of the stranger's eyes.
She thought of the glowing loaf at the festival.
She thought of the shrine in the woods.
And she felt it again—that strange duality.
She was Lyra of Eldoria, daughter of a baker, known and loved by her village.
But she was also something else.
Something ancient.
Something that shimmered beneath her skin like light beneath water.
---
The next morning, she returned to the marketplace to collect leftover crates.
She passed the fountain and saw that someone had left something beside it.
A small pouch.
Inside was a silver pin—shaped like a hawk in mid-flight.
No note. No name.
Only a sign that someone hadn't forgotten her.
---
> On market days, the world came to Eldoria.
And though Lyra sold bread with her hands,
She offered something greater with her heart—
A kindness that could disarm lords,
And a presence that would one day stir a kingdom.
The goddess did not need a throne to be seen.
She only needed a stall, and a loaf,
And a smile that softened fate.