Lyra's POV
Golden light broke through the darkness.
Warmth surrounded me like a gentle embrace. Sunbeams danced through leaves overhead, creating patterns on my skin. I blinked slowly, letting my vision adjust. A garden materialized around me. Neat rows of plants and flowers spread in every direction. The smell reached me next—rich earth mixed with growing things and something else that tugged at my heart.
This place felt familiar.
"Lyra, come to me."
The voice drew my attention like a magnet. My feet moved without conscious thought, taking small uncertain steps. I glanced down and gasped. These weren't my hands. They were tiny, unmarked by time or pain.
Mother crouched between two garden beds, her hair flowing freely down her back. No elaborate styling or careful pins held it in place. Just natural waves catching the light, turning copper in the sunshine.
