The doors to the Heartchamber opened with a solemn groan, revealing a vast, sanctified space bathed in golden starlight. The air within was still—so still it felt as though time itself had stopped to watch her enter. Lyra stepped forward, every motion tentative, as if the air were too sacred to disturb.
The chamber was unlike anything she had ever seen. Its walls curved with impossible grace, embedded with constellations that shimmered and shifted with each breath she took. Marble columns lined the perimeter, each carved with ancient script that pulsed faintly, like distant heartbeats. The ceiling above was a dome of swirling galaxies, moving with a rhythm that felt both alien and intimately familiar.
At the center stood an altar. It rose from the floor like the tip of a mountain, its surface etched with runes that glowed softly. Around it, lights danced—tiny motes of starlight that seemed to hum in resonance with Lyra's presence. As soon as her eyes met the altar, she knew. This was it. Whatever she had come to reclaim... it waited here.
She approached slowly, heart pounding in her ears. The moment her fingertips brushed the surface—
Reality shifted.
She was no longer in the chamber.
Now she stood within a modest building nestled in the center of a vast garden filled with luminous flowers. The sky above shimmered with a thousand stars, impossibly close, as if they were watching. A soft breeze carried the scent of night-blooming blossoms.
Lyra turned.
A table stood nearby, draped in a silken cloth, laden with pastries and teacups that steamed gently despite the still air. And across from her, seated in regal poise, was... herself.
Or rather, someone who looked exactly like her. But her bearing was different—serene, powerful. Her hair was adorned with filaments of light, her robe threaded with constellations. A crown of woven silver rested atop her brow.
Lyra's breath caught.
"You... you're me?"
The other Lyra smiled gently.
"You already know the answer. I am you. And you are me. We are the same—or we were."
"Then this... this place, this moment..."
"Only happens when you are ready. When you have reclaimed enough of yourself to remember."
Lyra stepped closer, brow furrowed.
"Then why did I forget? What was so important that I had to become... this? Lost?"
"Because forgetting was the only way to protect what mattered most," the past self said gently. "You sacrificed everything to stop what would have consumed all worlds."
"I was told there was a breach. That I sealed it. Is that true?"
"Yes. A tear in the veil between the realms, one that chaos had begun to leak through. You were the only one who could weave it shut. And in doing so, you unraveled yourself."
Lyra swallowed. Her voice cracked.
"So all this pain... this confusion... it was because I chose it?"
"Not because you wanted to suffer. But because you refused to let others suffer. That was your choice."
She sat down across from the past self.
"Then who was I? What role did I hold before all this?"
"You were the Weaver of Fate. One who guided destinies and shaped the threads of time. You watched over countless lives and bore the burden of knowing their paths."
Lyra opened her mouth to ask the question already forming in her thoughts—
"What... what is fate, really?"
But before the words could leave her lips, the past Lyra raised a hand and interrupted softly, yet firmly.
"If you need to ask what fate is, then that answer must be found, not given. That is your burden—your journey. If you cannot uncover the meaning of fate on your own... then you are not yet worthy of being the Weaver of Fate."
Her voice was calm, but the weight behind her words struck Lyra deeper than any blade could have. A silence settled, thick with meaning.
"And now? What am I now?"
"You are Lyra. A beginning, not a lesser form. A chance to choose again who you want to be, with the wisdom earned through sacrifice."
Lyra sat in silence, processing. Then, softly,
"There is someone with me. Noxy. Who is she really?"
The past self's expression grew wistful.
"She is the oldest among us. The one who chose to walk beside you in every life. She carries the burden of all knowledge—and the loneliness of remembering it."
"She gave up everything to guide me, didn't she? Even knowing I wouldn't remember her?"
"Yes. Because you asked her to. Because she chose you."
"But why? What does she gain from it?"
"Nothing. Except the chance to see you find your way again. And that is enough for her."
Lyra's heart ached.
"She always sounds so sure... but she must be hurting."
"She is. And that is why you must care for her now. She is strong, but even the oldest of us can grow weary."
Lyra looked up, pain in her eyes.
"Then I will. I promise I will."
A gentle silence passed. Then, the past self said,
"There is still more you must remember. But for now, I will give you the first step back."
She reached across the table and placed her hand against Lyra's forehead.
Light poured through her.
Lyra saw a vision—a core memory. She stood on the peak of a mountain beneath a sky of spinning constellations. Threads of light danced between her fingers. She reached, and the world moved with her touch.
"This is your first true communion with fate."
The vision faded.
"I give you a fragment of your power. It will not allow you to control fate, not yet—but you will sense it. You will feel the threads as they shift around you. Sometimes, you may even glimpse what is to come."
"You mean... I can see the future?"
"Only shadows of it. Possibilities. A whisper of what might be. But beware—fate changes when observed. And what you see is never set."
"How do I use it?"
"Not with effort. With trust. Let it come to you. Listen when the world whispers."
The stars above pulsed.
"And Lyra... take care of her. Of Noxy. She may be ancient, but she is lonelier than any of us. She is your guide—and your guardian."
The vision began to dissolve.
"Will I see you again?"
"When the time is right. I am always a part of you. Walk forward. And do not look back."
A final pulse of light.
Lyra gasped, hand gripping the altar in the Heartchamber. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks.
She remembered.
Not everything.
But enough.
And it changed everything.