Liora's world was quiet, but not typical.
She lived in a small house at the edge of a forested village. The house was simple, made of stone and wood. It was sturdy, built by her parents with their own hands. The garden in front held vegetables, herbs, and a small patch of flowers that her mother insisted on tending despite long days of work.
Her father, Kael Elwyn, was a woodcarver. He didn't work with lumber like Arin's family. Instead, his skilled hands turned fallen trees into intricate furniture, tools, and small sculptures. People from nearby towns often came to ask for his work, praising the detail and care in every piece.
Her mother, Sera, managed the household with calm authority. She was patient and observant, a woman whose steady presence set the rhythm of their home. Liora often found herself mimicking her movements, unknowingly absorbing her grace and composure.
"…Liora, come help me with these herbs," her mother called, a gentle smile on her lips.
"Yes, mother," she replied, tying her hair back and stepping into the sunlit garden.
The girl's days were predictable, almost peaceful. Mornings were spent learning with her mother, afternoons helping her father, and evenings wandering the edges of the forest or along the river that curved past their village.
She had two younger siblings—twin brothers who were mischievous and loud. They often demanded her attention. Though she complained at times, she secretly loved the sound of their laughter filling the small home.
"…Liora, can you teach me to carve?" one of the twins asked one evening.
She smiled faintly, handing him a small piece of soft wood.
"Not yet," she said. "First, you need to learn patience. Only then can your hands follow your heart."
Liora's father was strict but fair. He valued honesty, hard work, and responsibility. He never scolded without reason, but his gaze could feel heavy.
"…don't rush, Liora," he told her one day as she tried to carve a small bird. Her hands moved too quickly, leaving tiny scratches on the wood.
"Yes, father," she replied, slowing her movements and noticing the difference as she focused.
Her mother, on the other hand, encouraged her to observe and listen to the world around her.
"Feel the rhythm of life," Sera said softly. "It's in the river, the wind, and the trees. If you learn to feel, the rest will follow."
Even though her life was calm, a subtle restlessness stirred within her. Sometimes, when the sun set low or the wind carried a strange scent, her heart would tighten. A vague sense of loss, like a memory that wasn't hers, brushed against the edges of her mind.
"…why do I feel this?" she whispered once to herself while sitting by the river.
The water reflected her face, calm and clear. Her fingers touched the surface, creating ripples across the reflection. That feeling—warm, quiet, and persistent—lingered, as if calling her to something she couldn't name yet.
Her parents noticed little things—the pauses, the daydreams—but said nothing. They thought it was just a child's imagination, a mind stretching beyond their village's small boundaries.
But Liora didn't believe it was imagination.
Something within her told her differently.
She often wandered beyond the village into the forest, exploring paths, listening to birds, and tracking small animals. She moved quietly and instinctively, a skill that often surprised her father when he came looking for her.
"…you're faster than I expected," he said once, a hint of pride in his voice.
"…I don't know why," she admitted, looking down.
The truth, buried deep inside her, was that she remembered something—or at least, felt it. A life that perhaps wasn't this one.
And somewhere far away, another life was also beginning—Arin's.
Though they didn't know it yet, the threads of fate were already weaving between them.