The world returned in a breath.
Lyra gasped softly as her awareness snapped back into her body. She found herself still kneeling on the altar, surrounded by the dim blue glow of the chamber. Everything looked the same—her hands, the air, the faint hum of the crystal veins etched into the floor—but something had shifted.
She inhaled deeply. The scent of old stone and burnt incense struck her sharper than before, piercing her awareness like a blade of clarity. Her ears caught subtle sounds she would have once missed: the breath of magic pulsing from the altar's heart, the gentle echo of her heartbeat bouncing off the crystal walls.
Everything's clearer, she thought, frowning as she stood. Sharper.
She walked slowly down the steps of the altar, her fingers brushing along the marble surface. A chill followed her touch, but it wasn't the cold of stone—it was the whisper of knowledge, of something ancient now reawakened within her.
She paused near the base of the platform, pressing a hand over her chest.
"What… am I now?"
A subtle warmth stirred within her chest in response, resonating with that invisible thread she had felt upon waking. She couldn't see it, but she knew it was there. It wasn't just power. It was connection—to the world, to the flow of time, to the lives of others and their unwritten destinies. It pulsed in rhythm with the beating heart of existence.
Is this what it means to be the Weaver of Fate? She wondered. To feel the threads even when you don't understand them?
There were memories—fragmented and blurred, but hers. A thousand voices whispering secrets she had once known. And among them, a few truths stood clearly: her name, her purpose, her bond with Noxy, and the ancient language that had once been as natural as breathing—the Fate Tongue.
She raised a hand and whispered a word in that forgotten tongue. The air shimmered faintly around her palm, glowing threads spiraling outward, revealing the possible paths her next step might take.
A step left—minor fortune. A step right—subtle misfortune. Straight ahead—neutral.
The vision vanished as she exhaled, releasing the thread. The spell had answered her, but she sensed the cost. Something brushed her mind as she released the magic, something vast and cyclical. If she'd held it too long, if she'd gone deeper…
She might've lost herself.
But she didn't. She was immune, or so the knowledge said. The reason whispered to her as if from a distant past:
Because you are the one who wove those cycles in the first place.
She stood for a long moment, hand clenched.
"Fate…" she murmured, the word heavy with meaning. "If I'm meant to find you… I will."
Then, quietly, she turned toward the exit.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The door of the chamber creaked open.
Outside, Noxy and Veyrith turned toward her. The faint crystal light from within bathed Lyra in an otherworldly glow. She looked different—sharper, quieter, not in form but in presence. Something about her had changed.
Before Lyra could speak, Noxy tilted her head and asked with certainty,
"You met her, didn't you?"
Lyra blinked in surprise. "How—?"
Noxy exhaled through her nose, folding her arms.
"Even if I'm not my true self, I can still read the memories of those who haven't reached divinity yet. It's not like I try to peek—I just… receive them. Like a flood."
Lyra gave a helpless shrug. There was no point in hiding anything.
"So," Noxy continued, smirking slightly, "what knowledge and power did she leave you with?"
Lyra opened her mouth, but Noxy interrupted again with a raised hand.
"Yes, yes, I know I'll know it anyway, but speak it aloud. For your own clarity."
she did.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lyra told her everything—the cryptic encounter with her true self, the fractured memories, the feeling of connection, and the understanding she now carried. She described the Fate Tongue, the spell she had tried, and the strange immunity she possessed. Noxy listened with patience, nodding thoughtfully.
Veyrith, who had remained silent until now, furrowed his brow.
"Fate Tongue? You mean magical language that tells the future?"
Lyra turned to him.
"Sort of. It's more like… seeing possible outcomes, understanding the weight of choices. But it's dangerous. If you're not careful enough, you can lose yourself in it."
Veyrith looked alarmed. "And you're immune to that?"
"Apparently," she replied. "Because of what I was before."He nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of that. Then, hesitantly, he asked,
"So what… are you, exactly? A goddess?"
Noxy chuckled under her breath.
"She's not a goddess—not yet. But what she was… far beyond one."
Veyrith stared at Lyra, eyes wide, and then laughed softly under his breath.
"I see. So I really did choose the right person to follow."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"
"I thought that if I followed someone like you," he said, tone steady, "someone chasing the truth of herself… I'd gain more than I ever could on my own. Power. Insight. Purpose. And now? I believe that even more."
Lyra looked at him, unsure of what to say. But there was a faint warmth in her chest.
After a pause, she turned back to Noxy.
"There's something I've been meaning to ask."
But Noxy already knew.
"If you're wondering why I don't just return your memories—why I don't unlock them—" she sighed, "it's because your memories are sealed with the power of fate. I have no authority over that. Not even the full version of me could do it without consequences."
Lyra looked down, her voice quiet. "So I have to walk this path myself."
Noxy nodded. "Yes. And now that you've taken the first real step, it's time to think ahead."
"What's next then?" Lyra asked.
"There's a valley in the far west of this continent,"
Noxy said, her tone shifting.
"That's our destination. But we're on the eastern edge. The journey will be long—months, maybe years."
Lyra squared her shoulders.
"Then we should—"
"—Search this temple first," Noxy said. "Temples like this don't just house memories. They often have treasuries—artifacts, tools for the Chosen. And with your authority returning, you might sense it."
Lyra closed her eyes, reaching out with that inner thread. She focused, letting the pulse of fate flow through her. And there it was.
"Just below us," she said softly. "Hidden, west of the altar. Behind a veil."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The treasury revealed itself slowly.
Its illusion faded as Lyra approached, the hallway dimming before revealing a vast chamber lined in star-metal. Relics long untouched filled the room: robes stitched with celestial thread, a dagger that shimmered with unrealized futures, scrolls bound in glass inscribed with the Fate Tongue.
Awe settled over them all. Veyrith stepped forward hesitantly, eyes wide.
"These are…"
"Gifts left by the past," Noxy said softly. "For those who would walk fate path again."
Lyra walked among the relics, her hand brushing the surface of a scroll. It vibrated faintly beneath her fingertips—as though it recognized her.
It was only the beginning.
And outside, the winds of destiny began to stir