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The shadow of the ancient oak stretched before me like a dark sentinel, its gnarled branches reaching toward the sky in silent supplication. My hands trembled as I traced the rough edges of my father's headstone, feeling each groove of his name - Aeron Lambert. The evening air carried the musty scent of decaying leaves and damp earth, while somewhere in the distance, a mourning dove's cry pierced the silence like an arrow through my already fractured heart.

My legs buckled, knees hitting the cold ground with enough force to send jolts of pain through my body. I welcomed it - anything to distract from the chaos in my mind. My fingers clawed into the soil, desperation making me dig deeper as if I could somehow reach through the earth to find answers.

"I miss you, Father," I choked out, the words scraping my throat raw. The wind whipped through the dying oak's remaining leaves, carrying with it the bitter taste of my own isolation.

Every muscle in my body felt wound tight, ready to snap under the weight of these dreams that wouldn't let me go. Valerie's face floated behind my eyes - her golden hair catching the moonlight I'd seen, those crystal-blue eyes holding secrets I somehow knew but couldn't remember. How could I yearn so deeply for someone who existed only in my mind?

"I don't know what's real anymore," I confessed to the silent grave, my voice breaking. I pressed my forehead against the cold stone, seeking some kind of anchor. "These dreams, these... memories. They're not just in my head anymore. I can feel them in my bones, in my blood." My hands shook as I formed them into fists, watching my knuckles turn white. "The way my body moved with swords; it knows things I never learned. My instincts... they're not mine, but they are."

Hot tears spilled down my cheeks, and I didn't bother wiping them away this time. My breath came in ragged gasps that tore at my lungs. "What if I'm not who I think I am?" The words came out in a broken whisper. "What if this entire life is just..." I doubled over, arms wrapped around my middle as if I could physically hold myself together.

The soft crunch of leaves announced another presence. I stiffened, quickly drawing my sleeve across my face, though I knew there was no hiding the way my shoulders shuddered with each breath.

"Einar?"

Mother's voice quavered in the evening air, laden with an emotion I'd never heard before. I turned, still on my knees, to find her standing there, her figure bathed in moonlight. Her fingers worked frantically at the amulet she always wore. Her face was drawn, years of hidden burden evident in the deep lines around her eyes.

"Mother..." My voice cracked, barely recognizable. "Why are you here?"

She moved toward me with halting steps, her usual grace replaced by a hesitancy I'd never seen. Her hands twisted the fabric of her grown, knuckles white with tension. "I should be asking you the same," she said softly, her eyes scanning my face as if memorizing it. "You look so lost, my son."

I dropped my gaze to the ground, watching as my tears darkened the earth beneath me. "I was thinking about Father," I muttered, my throat tight. "About everything."

"Einar..." Her voice broke on my name, and something in that sound made my head snap up. She swayed slightly. "I'm so sorry, for everything."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I stumbled to my feet, my legs unsteady beneath me. "Sorry? For What? What are you saying, Mother?"

She drew a shaky breath, her hand pressing against her chest as if to keep her heart from breaking. "These dreams you're having..." Her voice trembled. "I should have told you about them long ago."

"W-What about them?"

"They're yours, Einar. Your memories. From a life you once lived."

"Life I once lived? That doesn't make sense."

"They were supposed to be there from your birth," she continued, each word seeming to age her. "But you showed no signs, no changes. I thought... I thought they were gone. I was wrong. Your features, those crimson eyes. I lied about them coming from your grandfather."

Something stirred in my blood, that same instinct, or power, from before. "Then why do they haunt me now of all times?" My voice deepened with each word, becoming something older, something that didn't belong to my seventeen years. "Who is Valerie? Why am I like this?" The words tore from my throat in a roar that shook the leaves above us. "WHO AM I? AM I EVEN REAL?"

Mother flinched as my eyes blazed with crimson light, casting a shadow across her pale face. But instead of backing away, she surged forward, wrapping her arms around me with desperate strength. Her body trembled against mine, but her grip remained firm. "You're as real as that bright moon, my dear boy," she whispered fiercely into my shoulder, her tears soaking through my tunic. "But there's more to you than this life."

My hands hung at my sides, unsure whether to embrace her or push her away. "Tell me everything," I demanded, my voice rough with emotion. "Please."

She pulled back just enough to look up at me, her face streaked with tears but set with determination. Her hands cupped my face, thumbs brushing away tears I hadn't realized were still falling. "Yes, my son. But first, you should know my true name." She straightened her spine, and suddenly I saw not just my mother, but a woman of noble bearing who had hidden herself away. "I am Lyra Leonhart, daughter of Edwinn Leonhart, Lord of Emberfell."

"Lyra Leonhart? Emberfell?" The name sparked something deep within me, a memory not quite formed. "The First City?"

"Yes." She lifted her chin, and in that moment, I saw the weight of years of deception fall away from her shoulders. The crystal at her throat pulsed brighter, casting strange shadows across her face. "And now, it's time you learned who you truly are."

As she began her tale, I felt the foundations of my world crumbling beneath my feet. My fingers dug into her arms, seeking stability as everything I thought I knew shifted like sand in a storm. If everything was real, what did that make me now? The question echoed in my mind as the night grew deeper around us, the old oak our only witness.

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Years before Einar’s birth…

The Leonhart castle stood like a fortress, its grand architecture a testament to centuries of power, tradition, and magic. Each stone, each archway, whispered of legacies forged in ancient flames, bloodlines strong and proud. Yet, amidst the grandeur, Lyra Leonhart had always felt like a stranger in her own home. Magic flowed through the veins of her family, wild and bright like the ancient flames that dragons commanded in the old era. But her magic had always been different—fainter, quieter, as though it was afraid to burn as fiercely as it should.

Her father, Edwinn Leonhart, Lord of Emberfall, never cared about her lack of power. He loved her deeply, proud of her wild spirit and unquenchable curiosity. To him, Lyra was perfect, regardless of how her flames flickered instead of blazed. But it didn’t make the whispers of the other nobles and the sharp remark from the royal family of Ishar, any easier to bear.

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Lyra had always sought more than the rigid expectations of her noble house. She craved adventure, and mystery—something that went beyond her family’s narrow world of fire magic and ancestral pride. And so, one night, just as the sun sank beneath the horizon, casting long shadows over the land, she ventured beyond the safety of the estate walls, into the unknown.

Her destination was the Shallow Ruins, a place shrouded in dark myths and ancient magic bordering with Kal Mountains, the ancient mountain range. Tucked deep within the forest, the ruins lay at the very edge of Leonhart territory, dangerously close to the forbidden lands beyond the mountains. No one sane ventured there, but sanity had never held much appeal for Lyra. She had heard stories—rumors of a forgotten power hidden within those crumbling stones, magic that could unlock secrets of forbidden lands.

As she approached the ruins, the air grew thick with an unnatural chill. The once warm and familiar summer breeze had been replaced by a biting wind that gnawed at her skin. The sky, once streaked with gold and pink, now turned a deep, ominous red, dark clouds gathering overhead. Something felt... off.

The ruins loomed before her—massive stone structures now overgrown with vines and moss, barely recognizable as the grand buildings they once were. The remnants of arches, walls, and pillars jutted out from the earth like the bones of a long-dead giant. And yet, despite the decay, there was a strange energy here, something ancient and waiting.

“This place feels like it has been drained of energy.”

Lyra’s heart pounded in her chest, half in fear, half in exhilaration. She stepped over the crumbling remains, her boots crunching softly on the stone and earth beneath. The further she ventured, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. It was as though the ruins themselves were alive, watching her, calling for her.

Suddenly, a flicker of light caught her eye—a faint, shimmering thread that seemed to snake its way deeper into the ruins, glowing against the encroaching darkness. It pulsed like a heartbeat, almost beckoning her forward.

“What in the hell is that?” she muttered under her breath, her curiosity overcoming her caution.

She followed the light, stepping cautiously through the rubble, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. As the thread led her deeper, the temperature dropped further, and a sense of unease settled over her. But still, she pressed on. She had come this far—turning back now was not an option.

The shimmering thread of light led her to an archway, half-collapsed but still standing. She ducked beneath it, entering a chamber that had been hidden from view, buried deep within the ruins.

And that’s when she saw her.

In the center of the chamber lay a figure encased in a faint cocoon of magic. The soft glow of the magical barrier illuminated her delicate features, casting a pale light on the worn and scared silver armor she was wearing. Lyra’s breath hitched.

The figure appeared almost human but not quite. Long, silver hair spilled over her shoulders. Her skin, though fair, shimmered faintly, dotted with delicate scales along her arms and neck. Two elegant horns curled from her head with pointy ears on the side, and behind her, wings—large and golden-tipped—lay folded, their feathers glimmering in the dim light.

Lyra’s heart raced. She had heard tales of magical beings, creatures of immense power, but she had never imagined seeing one with her own eyes. And yet, here she was. Whoever—or whatever—this woman was, she wasn’t from this world.

Lyra knelt beside her, her fingers trembling as they brushed against the soft feathers of her wings. Warm. Alive.

“What are you? Dragon? Human? Elf?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

There was no answer, no movement. But when Lyna pressed her ear to the woman’s chest, she felt cold and within that cold a faint, steady heartbeat. Relief and awe washed over her in equal measure. Whoever this woman was, she was still alive, though barely. The cocoon of magic surrounding her was weak, its glow flickering like a dying flame.

She looked around the chamber, the dry air, the worn stones that would crumble and turn to dust with just a touch, there was no life in here, no magic. Everything was drained of it. She couldn’t leave her like this.

“I’ll help you,” Lyra whispered, her voice shaking with the weight of her promise. “I don’t know what you are... but I’ll help you.”

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Back at the castle, Lyra’s mind was consumed by thoughts of the woman in the ruins. The image of her silver hair, delicate scales, those magnificent wings, was burned into her memory. She could barely eat, barely sleep, her mind racing with possibilities. What was she? How had she come to be in the ruins? And why did Lyra feel such a pull toward her?

She knew she couldn’t tell anyone. Her family, especially her father and brother, would forbid her from returning to the ruins, from continuing her quest to save the mysterious woman. There’s a chance that they would kill that woman, to protect her. But she was determined. She would not let this go.

With the help of her loyal butler, an old family servant who had cared for her since she was a child, she began to gather supplies. Potions, elixirs, rare herbs, magic stones; anything she could find that might help restore the woman’s strength. Each day, she returned to the ruins, carefully placing the items near the cocoon, pouring potions down her soft lips, watching as the faint glow of magic slowly began to strengthen.

It was slow, agonizingly slow, but over the course of weeks, then months, Lyra saw a change. The woman’s hair that were silver before, slowly started to turn golden. Her skin which looked aged before, now looked soft as women in her early twenties. The light surrounding her brightened ever so slightly with each visit. The air in the chamber felt different too, thicker with energy, as though the ruins themselves were beginning to stir in response.

But with the passage of time came danger.

The sorcerers in black cloaks had returned. Lyra had seen them lurking in the shadows of the ruins, their eyes hungry, their presence suffocating with dark aura. They had been searching for something in the ruins. It was only a matter of time before they found the chamber. Before they found her.

One day, as Lyra knelt beside the cocoon, placing another stone near the woman’s side, she felt a shift in the air. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Scales on the woman’s arm and neck were disappearing inside her skin, it felt like insects crawling back into the earth. Something was happening.

The woman’s fingers twitched.

Lyra’s heart raced as she watched, wide-eyed, her breath catching in her throat. The cocoon of magic around the woman flickered, then slowly began to dissolve.

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After months of waiting and countless visits, finally, the woman's eyes opened, and it was worth the wait. The crystal-clear blue eyes were unlike any she had ever seen.

Lyra froze, her pulse thundering in her ears.

The woman blinked slowly, her gaze locking onto Lyra’s with a calm, otherworldly intensity. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words.

Then, in a soft voice filled with ancient sorrow, the woman whispered, “Thral'vok… Jol'thar.”

Tears sprang to Lyra’s eyes, relief and disbelief washing over her in waves. “You’re awake... I’ve been waiting for so long.”

The woman slowly sat up, her wings shifting behind her, pale blue eyes glimmering faintly in the dim light. She glanced around the chamber, her expression distant, as though she were waking from a dream that had lasted centuries.

“Thal'vrath zhor vekar drath'in,” the woman said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Vakhar?”

Lyra wipes her tears as she whispered, “T-That’s dragon tongue? It’s been lost for ages since…”

The woman looked back at the slab where she was sleeping. She traced her hand on it as though checking something, then turned back at Lyra. “Forgive me, human. I thank you for the help you provided.”

Her tongue was not clear, Lyra instantly thought that the woman was not used to Orrinth. She started speaking with gestures and a slow tone. “Lyra. My name.”

The woman’s eyes flickered, as though she had just taken notice of Lyra. “Valerie… of Aetherion.” She stepped forward. “Why help me? For time, I felt you.”

Lyra swallowed hard, her throat tight. “Because... you needed it. I couldn’t leave you here.” She paused for a moment. “And you looked like dragons from myths, at least from the wings.”

Valerie’s gaze softened, a faint smile touching her lips. “You remind me of someone... someone I lost a long time ago.”

Lyra’s breath caught in her throat. She wanted to ask more, to understand, but the words wouldn’t come. There was something about the woman’s eyes—something ancient and heartbreaking. Whoever she had been, whoever she had lost, the pain still lingered.

And in that moment, Lyra realized that she had stepped into something far greater than herself. A mystery that stretched back through time, woven with threads of magic and sorrow.

But for now, there were no more words. Only the quiet, heavy silence of the ruins, and the threads of fate binding them together.

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