Chapter 3

“What’s this journal doing here? I don’t know why, but this story sounds so fake….almost as if someone is hiding another secret,” Lyra muttered, closing the book as a strange unease settled over her. For some odd reason, the name felt familiar, yet she was certain she had never met a girl named Layla.

When she glanced at the clock, she realized it was past midnight. With a sigh, she placed the journal on the shelf and got up. After changing into her nightwear, she climbed into bed, but sleep refused to come.

She didn’t look back at the journal. If she had, she would have seen the cover darken to an inky black. Had she opened it again, she might have found the answers she desperately needed. But she didn’t.

Restlessness gripped her, though she couldn’t say why. As thoughts of the journal swirled in her mind, her eyelids grew heavy, and before she knew it, sleep claimed her.

When she opened her eyes, she was no longer in her room. A sprawling military camp, unlike any she had ever seen, stretched before her. The tents were made of rough, dark canvas, adorned with unfamiliar symbols, and the soldiers wore armor that seemed both ancient and futuristic.

In one section, wounded men rested as healers hurried between them, tending to their injuries. Farther away, near the outskirts of the camp, fires crackled under iron pots, where a few soldiers took turns stirring the contents. The scent of burning wood and simmering stew mixed with the sharp tang of blood and metal an odd contrast that unsettled her.

The air crackled with an energy that felt both magical and technological, a strange fusion that made no sense.

Am I dreaming? Lyra wondered, her heart pounding as distant voices caught her attention.

“Look out!”

She jumped at the voice and turned, but the warning wasn’t meant for her. No one was looking at her. Confused, she stepped closer, drawn toward the heated argument taking place. But as she laid eyes on the girl speaking, a chill ran down her spine.

She froze.Staring back at her was… herself. Or at least, someone who looked exactly like her.

The other girl was too busy arguing to notice her presence. Facing her stood a man, his broad frame and warrior’s stance unmistakable. Though she couldn’t see his face, something about him reminded her of a Viking soldier.

“You want me to trust you, Rowan?” the girl spat, her voice shaking with anger. “You expect me to betray my father for you?”

Rowan. So that was his name. But with his back still turned, Lyra couldn’t read his expression.

Then he spoke….his voice rough, yet strangely captivating.

“I’m not asking you to betray your father. I’m asking you to trust me. Can you do that?” His voice, firm at first, softened into something almost pleading.

“I am leaving,” the girl said, seething with anger. But the man caught her wrist, spinning her around and pulling her flush against him.

“No, you’re not. They don’t know you’re the enemy’s daughter, Lyra. When they find out, they will come after you…”

Lyra froze. Not only did this girl look exactly like her, but her name was also Lyra.

Before she could process it further, the man lifted the girl into his arms, carrying her effortlessly despite her protests. Still, Lyra couldn’t see his face. She was about to follow them when a distant voice echoed her name being called.

“Lyra, Lyra, wake up, honey. It’s morning.”

She slowly opened her eyes. Sophia was looking at her, as if waiting for her to wake up, her expression unreadable. The images from the dream lingered in her mind, particularly the girl who looked like her and the sound of that name—Rowan. It felt… significant, somehow, like a memory trying to surface.

“What happened, Mum? Why did you wake me up?” Lyra yawned and fell back onto the bed as if she were going to sleep again.

“Uh-uh, you are not going to sleep again. It’s hard for you to even come here, and now you want to waste the day sleeping? It’s already 10 in the morning.” Sophia pulled the comforter off her.

Lyra woke up dejectedly. “Alright, I’ll get up.” She got up, feeling downcast, and entered the washroom.

Sophia’s face paled. Without another word, she turned on her heel and hurried out of the room.

In the garden, Olivia and Wren sipped their tea, their conversation halting as Sophia rushed toward them, her face tight with worry.

“What is it, Sophie?” Wren asked.

“It’s Lyra. I heard her say the name Rowan. She’ll remember her past in no time. I just don’t understand one thing—her powers are sealed, so how come…?” Sophia stopped, not completing her sentence.

“I hope nothing goes wrong. She’s only twenty-five. Her powers, a force both potent and volatile, were sealed for her own protection—a measure that was supposed to last until she was thirty…” Olivia’s expression hardened.

“Hello, what’s going on?” Lyra’s voice cut through the conversation as she walked toward the garden.

“Um, nothing. We were just waiting for you. Come have breakfast with us.”

“Of course, I was going to,” Lyra said, sitting with the three ladies. Something felt off. The tension in the air was almost tangible. But before she could ask, Olivia started talking about something else, steering the conversation elsewhere.

*******************

He stood at his post, patrolling, but his heart pounded faster than usual. He could feel something…something he had been waiting for.

“Rowan, hey man, what are you doing here? I think your duty ended two hours ago.”

Rowan composed himself, turning to his teammate with a serious expression.
“Yeah, I was just here to clear my mind,” he replied. “I’ll be going.”
Without another glance, he walked away, his eyes dark with determination.

“I have to find you. Wherever you are, I’ll find you,” he murmured to no one in particular.

Midnight came, and Rowan lay in his bed, staring into the darkness. His room was void of light…just like his life. Sleep was a battle he didn’t want to fight. The moment he closed his eyes, that agonizing scene would return to haunt him.

He was a born warrior, never one to back down from a challenge. But somewhere along the way, he had mistaken his life for one, and in doing so, he had lost her.

He remembered her face, the way she looked at him before… before he let her go. He’d convinced himself it was for her own safety, but now, the memory was a knife twisting in his gut.

Sometimes, he wished he could turn back time. Rewrite the past. If given the chance, would he still make the same mistake? But deep down, he already knew the answer.

Finding her again was his only hope. But he had to do it without alerting her.

How would I even find her? For a moment, the warrior’s mask slipped, revealing the raw vulnerability beneath. What if he never found her? What if it was too late?

That was his final thought before exhaustion pulled him into dreamland… where, if only for a little while, he could be with her again.
His thoughts began to blur, the edges of reality dissolving into a swirling vortex of memory and longing, pulling him under.

************

The orange and pink hue had completely overtaken the sky. Light shied away, welcoming the oncoming darkness. It was evening, and mist had covered everything. Autumn is coming.

Rowan sat in his tent, checking some letters the king had sent. The message was clear, hurry…a command that enraged him, for he was being forced to do something he didn’t want to do. In frustration, he slammed the table.

“Tsk, tsk, my dear. It won’t do you any good to pour your anger on a poor, wooden object, now will it?”

“And who are you again?” Rowan seethed, not surprised by the visitor.

“I am Wren. In a sense, I’m Lyra’s governess. I’ve been with her since birth…to protect her.”

Rowan cut her off, his voice laced with disbelief.
“To protect her? You lied to her mother. Do you think I’m interested in your games? Lyra is nothing but a pawn to me, so you..”

A quiet whimper stopped him mid-sentence. He turned sharply, only to see the woman they had been discussing, Lyra standing there, her face frozen in devastation.

“Rowan…” Her voice trembled, broken.

And just like that, Rowan jolted awake. His heart pounded violently in his chest, his breath uneven. His hand was outstretched, as if grasping for someone who had already slipped through his fingers.

A dull ache settled in his chest as his own words replayed in his mind, cutting deeper than any blade.

“Why did I say that?” he whispered, his voice raw. “Will she remember all of this when we meet?”

With a heavy sigh, he lay back down, letting the weight of regret press into him once more.

****************

There was a stench in the room, a mix of dampness and something acrid, clinging to the air. The only light came from the moon filtering through a window, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

A silhouette in a black robe stood in the darkness, chanting spells in a low, rhythmic murmur. The hood concealed her face, casting it in deep shadow. Only the gleam of her eyes and the occasional flash of a twisted scar hinted at the fury within.

Suddenly, she stopped chanting and opened her eyes, narrow slits of danger lurking in the black depths. The right side of her face appeared burned, the scars twisting her expression into something even more menacing.

“Oh, so the seal is weakening. In no time, she will remember her past, and then it won’t be good for us. I’m afraid this time… we will be no match for her.”

“My lady, what should we do?” her minion asked, eyes downcast, avoiding her piercing gaze as if terrified of what he might see.

“We will wait until she recovers her memories.” Her voice trembled with hatred.

“She stole my birthright, the power that was promised to me! And Wren… that bitch turned her back on me. Choose her over me. But this time, I won’t let her off so easily. Because of her, I was cast aside, left to rot in the shadows while she basked in glory. But not anymore. Keep an eye on her.”

“Yes, my lady,” the subordinate replied, bowing before disappearing into the shadows.

She smirked, the expression making her face even more hideous.

“Layla, you’ve been reborn just for me. The power you hold…I’ll take it back, because it was mine to begin with. And that bitch Wren… she betrayed me for you. I’ll give her the most miserable death.”

At the end of her sentence, she laughed maniacally, the sound echoing through the dimly lit room, thick with the weight of unspeakable malice.

**********

“Mama, is there something I need to know?” Lyra wanted to ask directly about the strange story she had read, the one about Layla. But deep down, she knew no one would tell her the truth.

Still, after thinking about it all day, her curiosity had become too heavy to carry. So instead, she chose to ask Sophia in a roundabout way.

Sophia looked at her for a long moment, then sighed. “Why would you think that?”

Lyra looked away, biting her lip. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. But… sometimes I feel so different from everyone else. The world outside feels like a blur in my mind. I don’t know how to make friends. It’s like something is missing.”

Sophia’s eyes softened, but they held something Lyra couldn’t quite name…a mix of longing and something heavier.

“Why would you think that? Everything happens in its own time. Even if we want something, that doesn’t mean it will happen the way we want it to.”

“I don’t know,” Lyra whispered. Then, after a pause, she added,

“But Mama… you never told me about my father. We live in such a quiet, faraway place. There aren’t many houses nearby. It’s like… we’re living all alone.” She trailed off, the words getting tangled in the lump rising in her throat.