LYRA'S POV;
I grinned as I perched on the branch of the mango tree, my bare feet gripping the bark like a tiny, determined monkey. Below me, the sun glinted off the ripe, golden fruit. Perfect targets. Perfect fun.
"Take that!" I shouted, hurling a small stone. Thwack! One of the mangos wobbled precariously, then tumbled to the ground with a satisfying plop.
A voice barked from across the yard. "Mrs. Thalorin!"
I froze mid-climb, peeking through my long, white hair. Purple eyes wide, pale skin glowing in the sunlight. Yep. Definitely caught.
Mrs. Grell, our neighbor, stomped toward the tree, arms crossed, face red like a boiled crab. "Lyra! You are five years old, not a monkey! What on earth do you think you're doing in my mango tree?"
I grinned cheekily, sticking out my tongue. "I'm… checking the mangos! To see if they're ready! Yes, that's it!"
Her eyes narrowed. "Checking? Throwing rocks at them is not checking! Do you even know the meaning of respect?"
I paused, pretending to think very hard. "Respect… hmm… is it when you eat the mango first and leave me none?"
Mrs. Grell groaned, muttering something about "spoiled children" and "disgraceful neighbors," then shouted across the fence.
"Mrs. Thalorin! Come here at once!"
"Mama!" I yelled, pointing up at the tree. "Help! She's saying mean things about me!"
Mira Thalorin, my Mama, and her husband were quietly working in the garden. Mama dropped her basket of herbs and wiped her hands on her apron.
"Lyra! What have I told you about climbing—"
I didn't even wait for the lecture. Instead, I ducked behind a thick branch and whispered to myself, Operation Mango Freedom is a go.
A plop! Another mango hit the ground. I giggled.
Mama scowled up at me, shaking her head. "Lyra! Down from there this instant! You'll get yourself hurt!"
I stuck my tongue out at her too, though secretly I loved that she was always worried. It meant she cared.
Her husband groaned, dropping his tools. "She's going to be the end of us."
I laughed quietly. "They'll never catch me!"
Mrs. Grell, however, was already storming over, flailing her arms dramatically. "I swear, if one more mango is missing, I will—"
I swung down gracefully—or at least I thought it was graceful—and landed in the grass with a small bounce.
"Mama!" I said, running into her arms for safety. "She's trying to get me in trouble again!"
Mira Thalorin sighed, rubbing my head. "I see that, little troublemaker."
I looked up at Mrs. Grell, hands on my hips. "You will what?" I asked innocently, my purple eyes sparkling.
Her mouth opened, then shut. She had no answer. I grinned. Victory.
I glanced back at the mango tree, still standing tall behind me. Tomorrow… I will climb even higher.
Because being mischievous? That's my superpower.
The sun had dipped low, and the little house smelled faintly of herbs and warm earth. I sat cross-legged on the floor, my small hands clasped tightly in my lap. My cheeks still burned from Mira's earlier scolding.
"Lyra," Mira said softly, kneeling beside me, brushing my long white hair behind my ears. "I—"
"No, Mama!" I interrupted quickly, eyes wide. "It's my fault! I was naughty. I should've listened… it's all my fault."
Mira sighed, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "You're always so quick to blame yourself, little troublemaker. But even when you're naughty, I want you to know… I love you."
I blinked. Her eyes were warm, and I felt a tiny spark of relief. "Really?" I whispered.
"Really," she said. Then, standing, she clapped her hands together. "Now, I need to warm the clothes for tomorrow."
I scrambled to my feet and followed her into the laundry corner of the house. A small stack of clothes lay neatly folded, and Mira's hands glowed faintly red as she hovered them over the warmth she conjured with her magic. Fire danced lightly along her palms, wrapping the clothes in a gentle heat.
"Whoa…" I murmured, staring. My purple eyes widened. "Mama… that's magic?"
Mira smiled, lifting a shirt from the warmth and shaking it free of the glow. "Yes. I'm one of the Pyrrh clan. We can control fire—not just to fight, but to help, too. Heat water, warm clothes… cook food. Fire is powerful, but it's also useful."
I watched her carefully, fascinated as the flames danced harmlessly in her hands. "Will I… have magic too?" I asked, heart beating fast.
Mira chuckled, tucking the warm clothes into a basket. "You will. But your power will awaken when you turn seven. For now, you just need to grow strong and learn about the world."
I bounced on my toes. "Seven?! That's so soon! I can't wait!"
"Slow down, little one," Mira said, laughing softly. "There's a lot to understand before then."
I tilted my head, curiosity sparking. "Mama… all the other kids… they always talk about tiers. They say things like 'this clan is Tier 1' or 'my power is Tier 3.' What does that mean?"
Mira sighed and paused, folding the last shirt carefully. "Ah… the tiers. That can be a little confusing. But I'll try to explain."
I leaned forward eagerly. "Yes! Tell me!"
"The clans in Aetherra," Mira began, "are all different. There are seven major clans, each with their own powers. Some are stronger than others. The tier system—" she hesitated, trying to simplify it for a five-year-old, "—is a way of ranking strength. The higher the tier, the stronger the clan's magic usually is."
I scrunched my face. "Stronger… like… who can throw bigger rocks?"
Mira laughed. "Not exactly," she said, ruffling my hair. "It's more than throwing rocks. Some clans control fire, others water, stone, wind, shadows, or even light. Some are very strong and dangerous, some are… like us… weaker, but useful in ways others aren't. And tiers are… well… just a way people compare their strength. Even grown-ups don't always agree."
I blinked, trying to picture it. "So… if I'm weak now, I can still get strong later?"
"Exactly," Mira said, smiling. "Even the weakest can grow to be very powerful if they learn and practice. Strength isn't just about magic. It's about courage, cleverness, and heart."
I nodded slowly, still watching her hands glow as she warmed a tiny pair of socks with fire. "I think I want to be Tier 1 someday!"
Mira's lips curved into a soft smile. "We'll see, Lyra. For now, just be curious and kind. That's the most important part of growing strong."
I hugged her tightly, resting my chin on her shoulder. "I want to learn everything… all the clans, all the powers… everything!"
Mira chuckled, lifting me gently. "Then you'll have a long life of learning, little one. And I'll be here to teach you… every step of the way."
I watched the clothes glow warmly in her hands, amazed by the magic, and my mind buzzed with possibilities. Fire, water, shadow, stone, wind, light… one day, maybe I would have magic too. And one day… maybe I could be stronger than anyone imagined.
But for now… I was just Lyra, five years old, sitting on the floor, staring at fire, and dreaming of what was to come.
A few hours had passed, and the smell of dinner filled the little house. Mira stirred a pot of stew over a gentle flame, humming softly. I, of course, could not stay idle.
My purple eyes caught something gleaming near the corner—a sword and a bow with a single arrow leaning against the wall. Papa Rylan's weapons. My tiny heart skipped a beat.
I tiptoed closer, gazing at the sword. It was huge compared to my small five-year-old hands. The arrow was almost as long as my arm. My lips curled into a mischievous grin.
"I can use both!" I whispered to myself. "I just need to… lift it… maybe swing a little…"
I wrapped my hands around the sword hilt. Ugh! It barely moved. I tried the bow next, struggling to hold the arrow steady. "Why… why is everything so big?!"
A deep, warm laugh echoed behind me. "Struggling, little warrior?"
I jumped, nearly dropping the weapons. Papa Rylan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. His broad shoulders and calm presence made me feel both safe and challenged.
"Mama said you were curious," he said, crouching to my level. "Curious is good… but we have to start small."
"I want to use them both!" I said, pouting, purple eyes wide. "I want to be strong like you!"
Rylan ruffled my hair. "One thing at a time, Lyra. The sword first, then the bow. You're small now. That's okay. Even the strongest warriors start small."
He carefully lifted the sword for me, holding it so I could feel the weight without it toppling me. My tiny arms strained under the heft, and I stumbled backward slightly.
"See?" Rylan said softly, steadying me. "It's heavy. That's why we learn slowly. Your strength will grow. Patience is part of being a warrior."
I frowned but nodded. "Okay… slow."
He showed me how to grip it correctly, adjusting my hands over and over. "Balance, Lyra. Strength without balance is just falling."
Next came the bow. Rylan handed me the arrow, guiding my fingers over it and teaching me how to pull the string just enough—not too much, not too little. My arms shook, but I managed a small pop as the arrow released, barely skimming the floor.
"Not bad for your first try," Rylan said with a chuckle. "Soon, you'll be able to aim higher."
I grinned, bouncing on the balls of my feet. "I'll be the best! Strong like Papa!"
Rylan laughed, lifting me briefly onto his shoulders. "One day, maybe. But for now… practice and have fun. That's the most important part."
I hugged his neck, feeling safe and excited all at once. Sword, bow, magic… maybe one day, I could really be strong like them.
But for now, I was just Lyra, five years old, learning to lift weapons too big for my tiny hands—and dreaming of the adventures I'd one day have.
I could hear Mira's soft chuckle from the kitchen as I swung the sword awkwardly, the wooden practice blade clashing with Papa Rylan's.
"You're getting stronger," she said, her voice carrying through the warm air, scented faintly with stew and herbs. "Don't underestimate your tiny warrior."
I grinned, puffing my chest out. "I'm practicing, Mama! I'll be as strong as Papa one day!"
Rylan laughed, stepping back to give me room. "Patience, Lyra. Strength takes time. But your heart… your heart is already strong."
And that's how it began. Every morning, after breakfast, I ran across the yard with Papa, my white hair streaming behind me, my purple eyes sparkling with excitement. He taught me to swing the sword, to aim the bow, to run, to balance. I stumbled, tripped, missed… but every mistake came with laughter, guidance, and a gentle hand from Rylan or a teasing smile from Mira.
I was five then, but every day was an adventure. And every day, the bond between me and my Papa grew stronger. He was my teacher, my companion, my hero.
Days turned into months. Months turned into years. Nine years passed in the blink of an eye.
Now, I was fourteen.
I held the sword firmly in my hands, no longer struggling to lift it. My aim with the bow was steady, precise, almost effortless. Every morning began with training, every evening ended with stories from Mira and her gentle reminders about kindness, wisdom, and courage.
People in the village whispered when I walked past: the pale girl with long white hair and deep purple eyes. She moved with a grace that seemed unnatural for someone so young. They said she was beautiful, breathtaking even, with an elegance that turned heads.
I didn't care much about the whispers. What mattered to me was the weight of the sword, the pull of the bowstring, the fire in my veins, and the pride in my parents' eyes.
Training had become my life, my bond with my father, my way of honoring the quiet lessons of Mira's magic. And yet, deep inside… a spark remained, waiting. Waiting for the day it would awaken fully.
I had grown from a mischievous, reckless child who threw stones at mango trees into a young woman capable of strength, skill, and courage. But my story—our story—was only just beginning.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, a question lingered:
Was I truly ready for the world beyond this small town?