The forest loomed ominously around Mira, her heart pounding as she crouched beside Lia’s unconscious body. The voice that had called her name reverberated through the trees, soft yet commanding. It was neither threatening nor comforting—it simply was, as if the forest itself were speaking to her.

“Who’s there?” Mira called out, her voice trembling but defiant.

The shadows ahead seemed to ripple, and a figure emerged, stepping lightly as if the ground itself welcomed her. She was a vision of wild freedom—long, unbound hair like cascading silver, adorned with feathers and tiny glowing stones. Her eyes were piercing, a kaleidoscope of colors that shifted like the winds. She wore a cloak that seemed woven from sunlight and mist, flowing around her with each step.

“I am Lyra,” the figure said, her voice both a whisper and a gale. “The Guardian of Paths and Freedom.”

Mira’s breath caught as she took a step back, instinctively shielding Lia. “What have you done to her?” she demanded.

Lyra’s gaze softened as she glanced at Lia. “The outcast is merely sleeping,” she said with a faint smile. “Her spirit is strong, but her body needed rest. She’ll awaken soon.”

Mira’s eyes narrowed. “Lyra… You’re one of the Twelve Gods, aren’t you? One of the creators of this world?”

Lyra inclined her head gracefully. “Yes, child, I am. The winds carry my will, and the roads speak of my freedom. But tell me, Mira—why do you ask this? Do you not already know the answer?”

Mira clenched her fists, her mind racing. “Then what the hell are you doing here? Gods don’t just walk around in forests for no reason.”

Lyra’s laugh was light, like the rustle of leaves in a summer breeze. “Oh, but they do, if the winds guide them. The trail you followed—the golden-green light that led you here—it was mine. It connects to my sanctuary, a place open to mortals who seek my guidance.”

Mira frowned. “I wasn’t seeking you.”

“Perhaps not intentionally,” Lyra said, her smile enigmatic. “But you found me nonetheless. Now, let’s talk about you, Otherworlder.”

Mira froze, her heart skipping a beat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said quickly, her voice too sharp to sound convincing.

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Lyra tilted her head, her colorful eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh, Mira. Do not play coy with me. I know you’re not of this world. The winds whispered of your arrival, and your very aura carries a foreign essence. You do not belong here—at least, not originally.”

Mira bit her lip, her mind a whirlwind of panic. She wasn’t ready for this conversation, not with a god. Yet, another question burned in her mind. “You’re one of the Twelve Gods—the ones who created this world. You stand for freedom and choice. Then why,” she asked, her voice rising with frustration, “is your world so suffocating? Why are people forced into roles, bound by traditions and expectations? Shouldn’t they be free from those constraints?”

Lyra’s expression shifted, her amusement fading into something more solemn. “That question alone tells me you are not from this world. Were you of this land, you would already know the answer.”

Mira held her ground, her gaze unwavering. “Then explain it to me.”

Lyra sighed, her voice carrying the weight of countless ages. “Long ago, when this world was young, my name was spoken often. Mortals revered the freedom I offered—the endless horizons, the courage to forge one’s own destiny. But with freedom comes chaos, and with chaos comes the unknown. My worshippers, along with those of Zephyr, the God of Chaos and Storms, embraced this truth. They experimented, pushed boundaries, sought to transcend their limits.

“But humanity is a jealous and ambitious race. They envied the elves’ longevity, the beastmen’s strength, the dwarves’ endurance. And so, in their experiments, they sought to become like them. They succeeded. They became demons.”

Mira’s eyes widened.

Lyra countinue. “They gained long lives, great magic, and physical prowess. But they lost their morals, their empathy. They became creatures driven by primal desires, spreading death and destruction. They were cast out to the Netherworld—a realm we gods created to contain them. Yet the damage was done. My worshippers, and those of Zephyr, were blamed for the chaos, though many others had taken part in these experiments.”

“Why didn’t the gods stop it?” Mira demanded.

Lyra’s laugh was bitter. “Because it did not serve their domains to do so. Valen, the God of War and Honor, was unaffected. Elara, the Goddess of Hearth and Family, saw an opportunity to strengthen her hold on mortals by binding women to the hearth. And Kelan, the God of Balance and Order, saw the chaos as proof that freedom was dangerous. They turned the world into what you see now—a place where roles are rigid and freedom is stifled, all in the name of control.”

Mira’s heart sank as she processed Lyra’s words. “And the other gods? They just… let it happen?”

Lyra shrugged, a sorrowful smile on her lips. “Some did not care. Others believed it was for the best. The winds of change are often feared, Mira. And so, my name, and that of Zephyr, became taboo. We are mentioned only in creation myths, our true nature buried beneath centuries of mistrust.”

The weight of Lyra’s story pressed heavily on Mira’s shoulders. “So you’re saying the world is like this because people were afraid of freedom?”

“Afraid of what freedom could bring,” Lyra corrected. “But you, Mira… you walk a different path. You challenge the constraints placed upon you. That is why the trail led you to me. Tell me, what will you do with the freedom you seek?”

Mira hesitated, her mind racing. She thought of her own struggles, the roles forced upon her, the dreams she had yet to define. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I know I won’t let this world tell me who I’m supposed to be.”

Lyra’s smile returned, brighter this time. “Then perhaps you are not so different from me after all.”

Mira opened her mouth to respond, but a groan from Lia interrupted her. She turned quickly, relief flooding her as Lia stirred and blinked up at her groggily.

“Mira?” Lia murmured, confusion clouding her voice.

“I’m here,” Mira said softly, brushing Lia’s hair from her face.

When she turned back to Lyra, the goddess was gone, her presence lingering only in the faint rustle of the wind. The golden-green trail had faded, leaving Mira alone with her thoughts and her friend.

As they made their way back to the village, Mira couldn’t shake the feeling that her journey had only just begun. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear—she would not walk it alone.