Early morning shades of golden sunlight spilled through the windows, half-illuminating the mirror upon Lyra's dresser where she sat and unraveled her night braids. Within the shafts of light were tiny, shining particles reminiscent of dust specks which swirled around Lyra in a faint rippling halo. Thousands of murmuring voices, almost indistinguishable in their airiness, filled the room with a gentle buzzing warmth as the spirits within spoke unto one another. They did not speak to her yet, taken as the others had been the night before, with sharing thoughts amongst themselves whilst lingering in her presence. In return, Lyra paid them little mind, her fingers swiftly undoing notch after notch while intermittently finger-combing through the loose coiled tresses draped along her back in a veil. 

A familiar wearness greeted her in the mirror's reflection, eyelids heavy and drawn while her lips neither turned nor dipped. Such a face belonged to one resigned to the day's presence. Not one who would soon bear witness to their heart's desire. The thought of Rhea levied her heart and Lyra coaxed the muscles in her cheek to curve upward. Regret pooled in her stomach immediately. She did not lack in beauty, having inherited a likeness to her mother's physique, but Rhea would not be fooled by such a paltry excuse for joy.

Lyra traced the corners of her lips set at such an unnatural angle that felt grotesque to her eyes, less likely to endear than it was to disgust. How had she smiled before when seated across from Rhea with only the flickering light of the hearth, and Rhea's brilliant eyes to distract from the fatigue pressed upon her shoulders? She blew out a sigh, fingertips passed over her lips to cover the pitiful smile from sight. 

Had she finally lost her ability to feign a smile after one night of barren searching and fitful dreams?

Lyra began to lower her hand but once the back of her fingers grazed her cheek, her stomach stirred. She leant back from her hand as if the limb it'd been connected to were foreign to her and studied her nailbeds with intrigue. They were the same as they had been the night before but somehow felt new all at once. If she applied them differently, then what would the outcome give her?

Tentatively, Lyra turned her hand over and let her palm envelop her cheek while her fingers settled against the thin skin at her temple. 

It wasn't the same, the size of her hand and the softness of her palm were wrong, but her body knew the motion it had to take and followed suit. She swiped her thumb against the underside of her eye. Nothing caught on her skin, but Lyra remembered dewy tears gathered there. She mimed brushing them away, or attempting to at least, but it hadn't felt right. 

That wasn't what happened the night before. 

Her breath caught as realization struck, and she ripped her hand away from herself, startled at what she'd done. There was no other soul to bear witness save for the ghyude but Lyra felt scandalized nonetheless. Her hand covered her mouth again, but this time, heat gathered in the hollow of her throat and rose unto her cheeks with tingling warmth.

Gods above, was this Rhea's doing?

The first touch her estranged friend had thought to offer her was one of comfort, yet it made Lyra's skin hum in rememberance. Recollections of the evening reminded some dormant part of Lyra's heart to beat, ache and long for the mere seconds of peace she'd found at Rhea's side.

Lyra dared not wrap her arms around herself, exmbarrassed by the thought of attempting comfort through a fascimile of Rhea's embrace. But her heart yearned for it, the hold tight enough to stem the headwaters of her thoughts, but nowhere near suffocating enough to dam its flow. Rhea was so warm, and Lyra remembered struggling against the urge to melt into that warmth to no avail. Oh, but the woman vexed Lyra to no end with her silence yet her old friend had been exceedingly honest in her affections. Clumsy, perhaps, but honest. 

And Lyra had missed her terribly. 

"Rhea," Lyra whispered, stroking her fingertips from her bottom lip to her chin. The name - her name - was a decadent sweet Lyra dared not indulge in for fear she'd grow too wanting of its taste. Then, once it no longer satisfied her, what else would she crave from her old friend?

What would leave her the least ruinous once Rhea departed again? 

Lost in her languishing, Lyra hardly noticed the gathering of spirits until they'd settled around her freckled shoulders in a fine shawl made of sunbeams. The ghyude had taken note of her and took to offering their greetings which couldn't be made the night before. Lyra smiled as the spirits wound through through her hair, softly stroking over the coils until they glowed with lustre. Kisses pressed to the curve of her knuckles and the heart of her palm carried well-wishes for the coming hours, accompanied with a tender balm which soothed her gnarled heart. Yet, the smile twitched upon her lips vanished as the few ghyude whom lingered around her ears whispered chilled tidings.

"Mweziyah, gentle Mweziyah beware.." the spirits' voices were soft, but there was a haunting echo within their words. It reverberated in Lyra's soul, intertwined with her evened breaths tasting of aether. It pooled on her lips as a heady fog drifted into her ears and threaded itself around the crevices of her senses, careful not to slip between the delicate seams where her consciousness resided.

"Within the sherwood, cold light wanders.."

Lyra forced herself to meet her reflection's gaze, yet the one within the mirror did not appear alone. No matter how many times she bore witness to the Sight, Lyra could not fathom its intensity. While her natural eyes perceived the image of herself seated before her vanity, all around her were shards of reality offered by the ghyude. They were as translucent as glass, frosted gather along the shimmering edges curled in a faint dusky hue like shadows ground to powder. 

In her reflection, the same hue overtook her eyes. Velvet nightfall shone dimly with scattered flints of starlight. She admired it for a moment, then closed her eyes to it. Behind her eyelids was not darkness, but a shifting world of aether, spreading and breaking apart as the fragments vied for her attentiveness. Experience told her they would come undone with a boorish touch so Lyra fingers stilled in her lap to fight the urge to try and reach for them. Blurred images dashed across her mind's eye quicker than she could discern their makings. 

Pain throbbed at Lyra's temples and she thinned the inhale of aether to keep from dizzying herself further. A call sent into the reaches of her mind, "Gather yourselves." 

For a moment, the distance in her voice which echoed all around her yet came from within her arrested Lyra's thinking but she put aside her curiosity again. The scattered kaleidoscope of fragmented halted all at once, then slowly drifted toward one another as though pulled by a thread until they'd formed a mosaic surface. Lyra reached out within her mind to touch along the small breaks within the glass, sealing them together with viscous wisps of aether. Soon, the image itself was whole and Lyra gazed into the towering heart of the greenwood. Slowly, carefully, she closed her mind's eye once more and let her consciousness seep into the aetheric mirage. 

The world opened around her, and as Lyra opened her eyes, sensation overwhelmed her entire being. She reminded herself there was no need to breathe for her spirit detached itself from her physical body. Temporary though the severance was, elation blossomed in Lyra's heart as her entire being suffused with aether.

She felt light, untethered, awake.

From her perspective, the world below was a painting of dense swaths of green streaked across a canvas with a generous hand. Amidst it, bright blue rivers webbed through the trees, their waters teemed with life and burbled gently over rocky beds. Animals sequestered in their burrows, wandered beneath the dappled light of a shimmering sun, and soared high within a over-turned ceiling of oplascent cerulean. Lyra stretched out her hand to it, wondering what would lie beyond should she push it aside.

I could know, she thought to herself. Poison dripped into the stirring waters within her being, and Lyra flinched at the resonance it vollied back to her. The thought withdrew with her outstretched hand, a murmured prayer to the High Mother for such hubris drowned out the hungry surge. Her mother warned her once of what it would mean to commune with the spirits, to see the world as they did.

Humanity should not covet divinity, and divinity shall never part hands with humanity.

Alluring as the temptation was, such a boundary was not meant to be crossed. Yet, the ghyude were an innumerable brood of errant spirits who bore witness to countless acts so long as the sun's light graced the land. They were good nor evil; their allegiance unattainable. If she'd fallen to temptation, plunged herself to the taboo, they would only bear witness to her demise.

Cognizance returned Lyra's better sense. Time was of the essence. She would need to witness what the ghyude had to show her, and return to herself before Damiano became aware of her. So frightened was he of the ley, Lyra could not bear inadvertently nurturing the seed of distrust within him out of misplaced greed. She relinquished her wanting, and in its rightful place sat love for her brother.

"Show me," Lyra commanded, and the ghyude answered. They whisked her down over the treetops and showed her how to weave between leaves without disturbing a single vein. She became sunlight, a hammering drumbeat enstilled with warmth and strength. Every living thing basked beneath her radiance, though she was but a mere mote amongst the masses bestowed upon the world with each morn. Lyra dared not to let herself bask in the feeling for too long, but her mind was filled with the idle thought — Ah, so this was what it felt like to be one of the ghyude.

Lyra's attention snapped up at the harsh brittleness of a leaf crunched beneath footfall. From beneath the wan light fallen between the canopies, silhouettes emerged with growing shape and definition to their twisted features. They were human, she knew, from the seed curled within a bed of aether at the pit of their navel. Paths sprouted from the seed. Roots twisted along the length of their legs; their sidereal bodies thrummed with innate energy cycled from head to toe. Though the land yearned to seek and return from them, the connection was blocked by the leather boots and undergarments encased around their feet.

She studied the swirling pools of aether aligned from the core of their being to their heads. Each pool was in alignment, a well of power extending deep within their being, but oddly stunted. True to the ghyude's words, a glaring luminescence radiated from the humans. It followed them with a countenance of smoke, clinging to their footsteps and wafting around their bodies, brightening and dimming with each breath. Lyra's soul shuddered as she drew deeper into the sunlight, wanting for its comfort and away from this abomination. For the light emanating from the humans' bodies did not invite, it took.

They could not see it. As they walked, the boughs shied from their presence and the grass wept dew unto the dirt beneath their boots. Lyra could not hear birdsong amidst the trees, and the knotholes within their boles were vacated.

The forest was terrified of their presence, and so was she.

"What do they want?" Lyra whispered, thinking aloud but also beckoning for the ghyude's wisdom.

"We do not know," the ghyude spoke as one, a thousand pleas fitted into the crux of their following silence. "The Guardian cannot tell us."

Instanteously, Lyra thought to ask them why they believed she could. The thought banished from her mind when she felt them crowd around her, millions of little hands held fast to her being. Fondness curled within her as she recalled Damiano, his quivering voice and damp eyes as he held her. She wrapped her arms around the ghyude, deepened and stretched her presence enough to gather them all against her bosom.

All the while, her eyes never left the humans. When she looked upon them without the Sight, the black tabbards emblazoned with the flare of a sun embraced by the crevaces of a sickle moon arrested her. An elegant insignia inscribed upon a surcoat spun from a fabric so rich in its darkness that light neither repelled nor absorbed its threads. The iron skin enveloped around their mortal flesh had been polished to shine beneath glinting sunlight. It might have been impressive, if not for what lied beneath.

Ether subsumed Lyra's sight and she flinched. Their sidereal bodies quivered, shuddering in the way a flame would when hungrily feeding air within its maw. She held the ghyude away from them. Sunlight could not be moved without the will of the sun itself but she cared not to appeal.

Protect them, her soul urged with a cloying desperation threatening to choke her. Lyra steeled her will against it but welcomed the thought all the same. She must protect the spirits - the forest, her people - from these monsters that'd found their way into their home in the midst of their sorrowing. The weight of her duty rested on her shoulders, heavy and grounding.

"Beware Mweziyah, beware…"

Consciousness began to ebb, and the world fell away with Lyra's eyes refusing to leave the strange humans.

"The ones who bear the cold light."

Aether pooled on Lyra's lips. It warmed, heated as though a finger brushed against her skin, gently tracing the curve of her mouth with her breath. For one awful moment, she imagined the touch with a calloused hand and a tenerous voice sweetened with care.

"What can I do for you, Lyra?"

Then her eyes snapped open, and she breathed out a ragged sob at her reflection. Sunlight waned within her bedroom, and only a few ghyude remained to watch over her with gentle petting and whispers of love into her hair. But its wan light reminded of what she'd witnessed within the forest, and the ache within her heart spoke of what she would do next.

Lyra scrubbed at the tears drying beneath her eyes, and began the methodical task of braiding scarves into her hair. She readied herself with a single-minded efficiency all while watching the dimness gathered at the corners of her eyes.

For her family, her friends, and her land — whimsical dreams of past romance could be forsaken. But deep within her heart, she wished it were not so.

She wished, she hoped, she prayed that Rhea had not brought a plague upon their home.