Mira woke to the chill that clung to the room, the thin morning light casting long shadows across the rough-hewn walls. For a moment, she lay still, feeling the scratch of the straw mattress beneath her, each breath a quiet reminder of the life she’d left behind. This was not the world she remembered, not the body that felt familiar. And yet, here she was, beginning another day in this strange, borrowed life.
“Mira, come on!” Lucas’s voice rang out, already half-dressed, his excitement crackling in the quiet room. “We’re going to the temple gathering today!” He grinned, his face bright with a joy that Mira tried to mirror, though the words felt hollow to her. A temple gathering was a day of games and stories for children like Lucas, a day to feel the warmth of community. But for Mira, it was another day of playing a role, of pretending she was someone she barely understood.
Lior, her older brother, had opted out of the gathering. Lucas mentioned it in a hushed tone, a touch of envy in his voice. Lior, he explained, had attended so many times that he found it dull and repetitive. Mira envied him for that freedom, for the choice to turn away from these rituals with an ease that spoke of belonging. She didn’t have that luxury; indifference wasn’t an option. She followed Lucas out the door, her steps careful, as if each one reminded her of the unfamiliar weight of her role.
The village was already stirring. People moved along the dirt paths with an ease that spoke of lives woven deeply into the rhythms of this place. Mira watched them, feeling like a spectator to a world that wasn’t hers, while Lucas darted ahead, calling for her to hurry. She hesitated, her gaze drifting over faces that greeted her as though she were the Mira they knew.
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Before long, other children gathered around, their voices filling the air with laughter and cheerful shouts. They welcomed her into their games without question, their joy bubbling up and wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. Mira joined in, laughing and playing as best as she could, allowing their easy camaraderie to settle the edges of her loneliness. She looked at Lucas, whose smile was radiant, blending seamlessly into the group of children, his joy a reminder of the innocence she struggled to grasp.
Then, a hush fell as the temple doors opened, and an old priest emerged, his long robes flowing with each step. His face was solemn, lines etched deep across his skin, and his gaze seemed to reach out, searching each child’s face. Mira felt an urge to shrink away, as though he could see the unfamiliar soul behind her eyes.
“Gather, children,” he said, his voice soft but filled with authority. They edged closer, the playfulness fading into an attentive silence. The priest’s presence was heavy, a reminder of something larger, something ancient that held them all in its grip.
He raised a hand, his voice lowering as his gaze settled over them. “Today, I will tell you of the Birth of the Divine… of the ten gods who rule the heavens and shape our world.” His words were quiet, but they rippled through the air, binding them together in a shared reverence. This was not just a tale but a truth, a piece of the world’s fabric woven into the lives of all who heard it.
As the priest began, Mira felt a pull, caught between the story’s weight and her own lingering sense of displacement. His voice wrapped around them, each word echoing through the temple’s quiet as he spoke of gods and the sacred bonds that had shaped their lives long before their own. And as she listened, a small part of her felt tethered, a faint thread pulling her into this world she had not chosen yet was now bound to. Here, in the telling of the gods, Mira felt, for the first time, that she might someday understand the life she had entered, even if only as an outsider looking in.