The dream came again.
A cave, silent and endless, as though the earth itself had swallowed all sound. Stalactites dripped faintly above her, their echoes stretching into forever. At the center of the cavern, a pedestal of black stone rose from the ground, and atop it — a book, bound in leather older than time. Its cover glowed faintly, etched with symbols she did not understand.
Lyra reached for it.
A voice, neither male nor female, whispered in her mind:
"Seven stood when the world drowned in shadow. Seven fell when man's heart rotted. Seek them, child of starlight… seek the forgotten virtues."
Then, a blinding halo, feathers of light falling like snow.
She woke with a start.
Her small room inside the noble estate of Gelded Dominion's capital was dark, the air heavy with the smell of damp stone. For a moment, Lyra lay still, her chest rising and falling too quickly. That dream again… She rubbed her eyes and glanced toward her desk.
The book sat there.
A plain, weathered tome, as if it had been waiting for centuries. She had found it when she was six, in the woods, inside that cave she could never find again. And though she never remembered how it ended up in her hands, she had carried it home.
At sixteen, she was old enough to know better than to believe in fairy tales. Yet the book pulsed faintly, as if mocking her doubts.
---
Rotten Dawn
Outside, the city was already stirring. The sound of vendors shouting prices carried through her window, though their voices were strained. Soldiers patrolled the streets, their boots striking cobblestones in unison.
Lyra stepped out into the courtyard. The air smelled of smoke and sweat. She saw it everywhere — the way the baker's stall stood empty because flour had been seized as tax, the way guards snatched coins from beggars in exchange for "protection."
This was Gelded Dominion: a kingdom that rotted under the invisible hand of King Leopold II. Few had ever seen his face. Fewer still dared speak of him except in whispers. They said his greed was endless, that he counted not hearts but gold.
But today, Lyra's worries were more personal.
"Lady Lyra."
The voice made her stiffen. Marcus Licinius stood in the courtyard, dressed in fine silks, his black hair tied neatly. His smile was polite, his words smooth, yet his presence carried the weight of chains.
"I trust you slept well? I hear dreams run in your family."
Lyra's lips pressed into a line. "What do you want, Marcus?"
He chuckled softly, as though humored by her boldness. "Straight to the point. I admire that. You know why I'm here. The Dominion needs stability, and what better union than yours and mine? Together, our houses could—"
"Could what?" she snapped. "Help you carve your way into the king's council? Everyone knows what you're after."
His smile never faltered. "Ambition is no sin, my lady. It is… necessary. Surely you see the wisdom of ensuring your family's future."
Lyra's fists clenched. She wanted to spit back, to say she would never be used as a pawn, but she felt the weight of her father's gaze from the balcony. He said nothing. He didn't need to. His silence was consent.
Marcus bowed, elegant as ever. "I'll await your answer. Don't take too long."
When he was gone, the silence that followed was worse.
---
Asrya
"Don't look so sour, sister."
Lyra turned. Her younger sister, Asrya, stood behind her, holding a tray of bread. Her hair was the same silver-gold as Lyra's, her eyes bright and unyielding despite the world around them. She was only fourteen, but she carried herself with a strength that belied her age.
"I hate him," Lyra muttered.
"I know." Asrya placed the tray down, then took her hands. "But you don't have to fight him alone. I'll stand by your choice, no matter what."
The words were warm. Too warm. Lyra felt guilt coil inside her chest. Asrya deserved a normal life, one free of rotten politics. But in Gelded Dominion, innocence was a luxury.
---
The Book of Whispers
That night, Lyra sat in her room with the book open across her lap. Its pages were filled with strange verses, fragments of stories about seven great figures — the Virtues.
Humility. Courage. Compassion. Justice. Wisdom. Temperance. Faith.
Some called them myths. Lyra wanted to believe they were more. She traced her fingers across the faded ink, whispering aloud:
"…if they really existed, then maybe… maybe the world isn't as hopeless as it looks."
As if in response, the pages shimmered faintly. For just a heartbeat, she thought she saw feathers of light again.
---
Breaking Point
The following week blurred together. Marcus came often. He didn't threaten, didn't shout — he didn't need to. His words were smooth enough to twist into every crack of her family's resolve.
By the time Lyra overheard her father agreeing to the arrangement, she knew she had no choice.
That night, she packed what little she could carry. Bread. Water. A knife. And, of course, the book.
"Asrya," she whispered, pausing at her sister's door. She wanted to say goodbye. She wanted to promise she'd come back. But the words stuck in her throat.
Instead, she left in silence.
---
Three Years of Wandering
The road was merciless.
Lyra's feet carried her across three continents.She crossed forests where bandits lurked, deserts where the sun burned her skin raw, mountains where dwarves traded steel for coin. She saw beastfolk villages crushed under taxes, elven arrows warning her away from sacred woods, whispers of sins ruling in distant lands.
Her clothes grew worn, her hands scarred, but she learned to fight, to wield the sparks of magic she had within her blood.
Some nights, she wept alone. Some nights, she read from the book, clinging to the hope that the Virtues might still exist.
Years passed. The child who fled her home became a woman, hardened yet unbroken.
---
The Collapse
At nineteen, she reached the border of Ironreach, a land pressed under Greed's shadow. She had walked for days with little food, her legs trembling with each step.
The streets blurred. The noise of the marketplace faded into a dull hum.
She stumbled once. Twice. Then fell.
The world tilted sideways. Cold stone beneath her cheek. The distant chatter of people not stopping to help.
And then… a shadow.
A figure stood above her, framed against the glow of a lantern. She could barely make out his features — messy dark hair, sharp eyes that studied her with a detached curiosity.
"…Hmm," he murmured, scratching his chin. "Who's this?"
The last thing sh
e saw was his silhouette turning toward the light of a small shop behind him. Then, darkness swallowed her whole.
–End of Chapter 1–