It began with rain.
Not a storm, nor a drizzle—just a gentle, steady rain that fell like whispered secrets over the rooftops of Eldoria.
Lyra stood at the window of the bakery, her breath fogging the glass, watching as the cobblestone streets darkened and the townspeople scurried for cover. The bread ovens were warm behind her, filling the air with the scent of cinnamon and cloves. Yet she felt cold, unsettled.
"I love the rain," she said softly.
Marien turned from her worktable, glancing at her daughter. "Do you? Most children hate being stuck inside."
"I don't mind. It's... familiar."
Marien paused, wiping flour from her hands. "Familiar how?"
Lyra didn't know how to answer. She only knew that the sound of rain made something stir deep inside her chest. Like the echo of a lullaby long forgotten.
---
That morning, fewer villagers visited the shop. Even the market outside had grown quiet, with stalls wrapped in cloth and chickens hiding under awnings.
Theo and Mira didn't come by.
So Lyra sat by the hearth, watching the flames curl around logs, and let her mind wander.
Images flickered at the edges of her thoughts—pillars of white stone, flowing robes, a crown made of stars.
She blinked. Gone.
She touched her forehead, frowning. "What am I remembering?"
A knock at the door startled her.
She opened it to find Old Renn, the village storyteller, standing with a soaked cloak and a wooden cane.
"Bless the bread and the hands that make it," he said with a wide smile.
"Come in, sir," Lyra said, stepping aside.
"You're alone?"
"Mama's delivering loaves to the healer. She'll be back soon."
Old Renn nodded, lowering himself into a chair near the fire.
Lyra fetched him a cup of warm milk and a slice of honey bread.
"You're too kind," he said, eyes twinkling. "Just like your mother."
They sat in silence for a while, the fire crackling between them.
Then Renn leaned forward.
"You know," he began, "there's a story about a girl who came from the stars."
Lyra's heart skipped.
"She fell from the sky like a streak of light, right into the river by the northern hills. The villagers who found her said she had no memory of who she was—only that she didn't belong."
Lyra swallowed hard. "What happened to her?"
"She grew up just like anyone else. But every now and then, she would say things—old things, things no child should know. She could calm animals, heal with her hands. Some said she was cursed. Others said she was blessed."
Lyra's fingers tightened around her cup.
"Some believed she was a goddess, sent to live as a mortal to understand the hearts of humans."
Renn's eyes met hers.
Lyra tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat.
"Do you believe in gods, Lyra?"
She hesitated. "I think... maybe I used to."
Renn chuckled softly. "A fine answer."
---
That evening, the rain stopped. The sky cleared just in time for sunset, casting everything in hues of violet and amber.
Lyra stepped outside, the air crisp and clean.
She walked toward the edge of the village, past the fields now glistening with dew. Her shoes squelched in the mud, but she didn't care.
She reached the old willow tree where she and her friends often met.
No one was there.
So she sat beneath it and looked up at the stars as they began to blink into view.
And then—
It happened again.
A memory—not hers, yet deeply familiar—rushed into her mind.
She was kneeling in a grand hall, light pouring from stained glass windows above.
Voices echoed around her.
"You have failed."
"Your compassion clouded your judgment."
"You shall walk among them until you learn humility."
A searing pain, then darkness.
Lyra gasped, her hand flying to her chest.
The memory faded, leaving only trembling and tears she didn't understand.
"I didn't mean to fail," she whispered into the night. "I don't remember... anything."
And yet—some part of her did.
---
The next day, Mira and Theo returned, soaked from their chores and eager to resume their game of "Fort of the Three."
But Lyra wasn't herself.
She was quieter. More distant.
"You okay?" Mira asked as they gathered wildflowers near the riverbank.
Lyra nodded. "Just tired."
"You don't look tired. You look like you've seen a ghost," Theo said.
Lyra forced a smile. "Maybe I have."
---
That afternoon, while Mira went to fetch lunch and Theo skipped rocks across the water, Lyra wandered into the trees along the river path.
She found an old shrine—forgotten, overgrown, and half-swallowed by vines. A broken statue stood at its center, weathered by time.
It depicted a woman with outstretched arms and a crown of stars.
Lyra's knees buckled.
She didn't know why—but the sight filled her with sorrow so deep it hurt.
She reached out, brushing moss from the statue's face.
"I know you," she whispered.
The wind rustled the leaves above.
And in the stillness, she felt the first clear thought pierce the fog of her forgotten past:
My name was once worshipped.
---
When she returned home, Marien noticed her quiet mood.
"Bad day?"
Lyra shook her head. "Just... a strange one."
Marien didn't press.
Instead, she handed Lyra a small loaf of bread.
"Go share it with Old Renn," she said. "He always cheers you up."
Lyra obeyed.
And as she walked under the stars that night, loaf in hand, the sky stretched above her—vast, eternal, and familiar.
---
> The rain had fallen to wash the dust from forgotten dreams.
In its silence, a name stirred.
And though she was still just a baker's daughter,
Lyra was beginning to remember
the stars that once wept at her fall.