The wheat fields of Eldoria danced with the summer breeze, golden stalks swaying like waves beneath the midday sun. The fields stretched far beyond the village borders, warm and whispering secrets to those who listened.
Lyra loved these fields. They were her sanctuary, her playground, her secret world.
Today, she ran barefoot through them, laughter ringing in the wind.
"Catch her, Mira!" a boy's voice shouted.
"I'm trying!" a girl replied, panting.
Lyra darted between stalks of wheat, heart pounding with joy, hands brushing against the golden grain. Behind her, Mira, her closest friend, stumbled through the field, her braids bouncing with every step. Right behind Mira was Theo, the village blacksmith's son, tall for his age and loud in everything he did.
"You can't catch me!" Lyra called out, grinning.
"You're cheating! You're too fast!" Mira yelled, mock frustration in her voice.
Theo huffed. "She's not fast, she's magic! Nobody runs like that."
Lyra skidded to a stop and turned, her hair sticking to her forehead. "Maybe the wheat likes me more than you."
"You talk to plants," Theo teased. "You're weird."
"And yet you're still chasing me," she shot back, sticking out her tongue.
They all burst into laughter and collapsed into the field, the sun warm on their faces, the sky stretching above them like a dream.
---
The three had become inseparable over the years.
Mira was the daughter of the seamstress and dreamed of joining the royal fashion guild someday. She was gentle, curious, and always had ink stains on her fingers from sketching dress designs in the dirt.
Theo wanted to be a knight, even if he tripped over his own sword the last time he borrowed a wooden one from the guards. He was brave, bold, and fiercely loyal—even if he still secretly cried when his dog barked too loudly.
And Lyra, though she didn't know it, was the light that held them all together.
Even when the days were hard.
Even when life got messy.
---
Later that afternoon, they sat under the shade of an old oak tree at the edge of the field, sharing slices of fresh honey bread Lyra had brought from the bakery.
"I think we should build a fort here," Theo said through a mouthful. "A secret one. For just us."
Mira nodded eagerly. "With a lookout tower. And traps. And maybe a flag."
Lyra smiled. "Can we put flowers on the roof?"
Theo groaned. "Why flowers?"
"Because even warriors need beauty," she replied matter-of-factly.
They spent hours planning their imaginary fortress, each of them dreaming out loud, their laughter drifting through the breeze.
And when the sun dipped low, casting the fields in a warm, golden glow, Lyra lay back and stared at the sky.
She didn't know why her chest felt heavy sometimes, like a song she'd forgotten how to sing. But here, with them, the ache was quiet.
Here, she belonged.
---
The next day, Lyra returned to the bakery before dawn. Her hands had grown deft and confident, kneading dough with a rhythm that came as naturally as breathing.
Marien watched her from the doorway.
"Off to the fields again today?" she asked with a smile.
Lyra nodded. "After chores."
"Tell Mira I've got scraps for her mother's patchwork."
"I will."
Marien paused, then added gently, "You're lucky, Lyra. Not everyone has such friends."
Lyra looked up. "Why do you say that?"
"Because some people live whole lives before they find anyone who truly sees them."
The words settled deep in Lyra's heart, even if she didn't yet understand why they mattered so much.
---
That afternoon, while Mira worked on a flower crown and Theo tried (and failed) to carve his name into a rock with a stick, Lyra wandered a little deeper into the wheat field.
She found a quiet place where the wind stilled, and the sun broke through the stalks in golden beams.
She closed her eyes and let the warmth wash over her.
A soft humming sound rose in the air—faint, distant, like a lullaby without words. It wasn't coming from the fields. It was coming from her.
Her fingers tingled. The wheat around her bent slightly, though there was no breeze.
And for a moment, she felt... something. Like a memory hovering just out of reach.
A palace made of light. A name whispered in reverence. A judgment passed.
Her eyes snapped open.
The humming stopped.
---
When she returned to her friends, they noticed the change in her eyes.
"Are you okay?" Mira asked gently.
Lyra nodded. "Just... daydreaming."
Theo frowned. "About what?"
She hesitated.
"About... forgetting something important. But I don't know what it is."
They exchanged glances.
"You're weird," Theo said again, but with a smile.
"I like her weird," Mira replied, wrapping her arms around Lyra's shoulders.
And in that moment, whatever shadows had stirred in the wheat field were pushed back by the brightness of friendship.
---
That night, Lyra dreamed again.
She stood at the edge of a grand balcony, but it wasn't the bakery rooftop. It was vast and shimmering, overlooking a realm of stars.
Figures in gold and white stood before her—tall, radiant, eyes like galaxies.
A voice echoed through the dream:
"She is not ready yet."
"But she is waking."
Lyra turned to speak, but her voice was gone.
And then—
she was back in bed, heart pounding, sheets tangled around her legs.
She sat up, staring at the moonlight streaming through her window.
"I'm just a girl," she whispered to herself.
But part of her wasn't so sure.
---
The next morning, she joined Mira and Theo again, and they began building their fort using old crates, sticks, and lots of determination. They argued about tower height, flag design, and whose job it was to gather wildflowers.
But even in their bickering, there was joy.
They were children.
And for now, that was enough.
---
> In a world that once called her divine,
She now ran barefoot through the fields,
Laughed with children,
And built dreams out of twigs and honey bread.
And slowly, quietly,
The goddess slept on—
cradled in laughter,
and wrapped in wheat.