Lyrasia woke up to shouting.
It was distant at first, muffled by sleep, but the moment her mind sharpened, the noise became overwhelming. Angry voices, desperate cries, the sound of feet stomping against dirt.
Something was wrong.
She pushed herself up, her tiny body sluggish from sleep. The air felt heavy, thick with something that made her chest tighten. Then, she heard it—her mother’s cries. Heart-wrenching, gasping sobs that didn’t belong to the strong woman who tucked her into bed every night.
Lyrasia forced her way out of her crib, scrambling toward the door. The house was in disarray, furniture slightly askew as if someone had left in a hurry. When she reached the entrance, she saw her mother in the middle of their yard, clutching her chest as if physically trying to hold herself together. Her eyes were red and swollen, her shoulders trembling violently.
"Mother...?"
Her voice barely carried, drowned out by the commotion outside.
The villagers were gathered, a sea of worried faces. They whispered amongst themselves, their gazes flickering between her mother and the group of men standing at the front of the crowd.
Telio, the village head, stood with his arms crossed, an air of authority about him. His usual warm, neighborly smile was gone, replaced by something sharper, colder. Behind him, a squad of enforcers stood like statues, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons.
"Your husband is a traitor," Telio declared, his voice booming over the murmurs.
Lyrasia’s breath caught. Her tiny fists clenched at her sides.
Lies.
Her mother barely looked up, too consumed by grief. Lyrasia, however, was frozen, her young mind struggling to process the weight of those words. Her father? A traitor? But that didn’t make sense!
Before she could even think of a response, another group of men stepped forward. They weren’t enforcers or villagers. They were different.
Merchants.
Dressed in fine robes, their expressions were painted with exaggerated pity, as if this was some unfortunate business transaction rather than a family’s devastation. One of them stepped closer, his hands clasped together in mock sympathy.
"Your husband’s absence leaves you in a difficult position," he said smoothly. "Wouldn’t it be best to sell the land now? To secure your future?"
His voice was honeyed, but beneath it was something rotten. Something insidious.
Lyrasia’s stomach twisted. She understood, in that moment, that this wasn’t just about her father. This had been happening long before today. The slow, creeping control the merchants had over their village—the quiet suffocation of freedom masked by trade agreements and ’economic security.’
They were vultures, circling now that their prey had been sufficiently weakened.
Lyrasia’s mother barely reacted, her grief too consuming to notice the trap closing in. The contracts were already out, parchment gleaming in the morning sun.
A trade.
A bargain.
Their home, their lives, in exchange for a false sense of security.
The villagers remained silent, watching but never interfering. Some looked guilty, others indifferent. No one spoke against it. No one stepped forward to defend them. It was then Lyrasia realized—they had all been controlled for longer than she ever imagined.
Her father had fought back. And now he was gone.
Her small hands trembled at her sides.
Power.
That was what she lacked. That was why her family was being torn apart in front of her.
She wasn’t strong enough. Not yet.
But she would be.
The wailing cut through the early morning stillness, raw and unrelenting. It wasn’t the kind of cry that came from a scraped knee or a broken toy—it was the kind that stripped a person down to their very bones, leaving them hollow, empty.
Lyrasia’s mother knelt on the wooden floor, clutching her chest as though trying to hold herself together. Her hair was a tangled mess, her face blotchy and tear-streaked, her eyes red and swollen. She didn’t acknowledge Lyrasia standing at the doorframe, nor did she react when Meila and Ruan hovered nearby, their expressions tense.
The warmth that once filled their home, the gentle hum of a family’s love, had vanished. In its place was something cold, something ugly.
A hollow ache settled in Lyrasia’s chest.
Father is gone.
The words made no sense.
Felix, her father, the man who always ruffled her hair and whispered bedtime stories of legendary heroes, was missing. No—taken.
A loud bang at the door made everyone flinch.
The wooden door creaked open, revealing the village head, Telio, his face a mask of calculated sympathy. Behind him, a group of enforcers stood, their armor dull but their presence imposing.
"Your husband is a traitor," Telio declared, his voice smooth, almost rehearsed.
Silence. Then her mother gasped as though someone had struck her.
Lyrasia’s heart pounded, her small hands curling into fists. "That’s a lie!" she snapped, stepping forward before Meila yanked her back.
Telio barely spared her a glance, already stepping inside like he owned the place. "He went against the council, defied Vortell Trading Company’s interests, and involved himself in matters he should not have."
Lyrasia’s mother raised her head, tears glistening. "He—he only wanted fairness—"
"Fairness?" Telio sighed. "How naive. The world doesn’t run on fairness, woman."
The men in fine merchant robes entered next, their expressions carefully composed. Their honeyed voices followed, filled with insincere concern.
"We understand this is difficult for you, truly," one of them said with a pitying smile. "But given your husband’s current predicament, perhaps it would be best if you sold the land."
The contract appeared in his hands, crisp and ready.
Lyrasia’s stomach twisted.
She had seen it before—the way merchants twisted words, masked greed with charm. These weren’t simple businessmen. They were vultures, descending upon their home before the corpse was even cold.
"No," her mother said weakly, shaking her head. "This is our land."
"Refusing will only make things more difficult," another merchant added, as if discussing the weather. "For your family. For your daughters."
Ruan bristled. "You’re threatening us?"
"Threatening? No, no," the merchant chuckled. "Just advising. You have nothing left to protect it."
The enforcers shifted, steel glinting.
And Lyrasia had had enough.
Her blood boiled, her breath ragged. Fear churned inside her, but beneath it was something hotter, something angrier.
She moved first.
A blur of small limbs, a desperate charge straight at Telio, her tiny fists aimed for his stomach—
Only to be caught mid-air by a firm grip around her collar.
She yelped as an enforcer effortlessly lifted her like a misbehaving cat.
Meila reacted next, her hands weaving a hasty spell, golden energy sparking between her fingertips. "Glacies—"
A gust of wind surged forward, only for the nearest enforcer to flick a wrist, dispelling it like a candle’s flame.
"Cute," he snorted.
Ruan, gritting her teeth, bit her thumb, smearing blood in the air. "I call upon the spirits of Yakshoria—"
A summoning circle flared beneath her feet.
"Ah, ah," Telio interrupted, raising a finger.
In an instant, another enforcer stepped forward and slammed the hilt of his sword against Ruan’s stomach. She choked, the spell dissipating as she crumpled onto the floor, wheezing.
Lyrasia thrashed against her captor, but the enforcer barely budged, his grip unyielding. "What? Gonna stab us with your little twigs?" he mocked, smirking.
Her breath hitched, frustration burning in her chest.
They were weak.
No matter how much she planned, how clever she thought she was—none of it mattered.
They were children.
The men barely had to try. A few well-placed strikes, and it was over.
Her mother screamed when the enforcers yanked Felix into view, bound in thick chains. His face was bruised, blood staining the collar of his shirt. But his eyes—the way they landed on Lyrasia, on Meila and Ruan—held nothing but raw, unwavering defiance.
"Felix!" her mother cried, reaching out.
One of the enforcers shoved her back, sending her to the floor.
Lyrasia’s vision blurred with fury. She bit down on her lip, hard enough to taste copper.
Felix didn’t struggle as they pulled him toward the waiting carriage. He only turned his gaze to Lyrasia, something unspoken in his expression.
She opened her mouth—
But there was nothing she could say to stop this.
The wheels creaked. The carriage door slammed shut. The horses whinnied as they began to move.
Lyrasia could do nothing but watch as her father disappeared down the dirt road, dust rising in his wake.
A heavy silence followed.
The enforcers stayed only a moment longer, ensuring no more resistance. Then, one by one, they left.
Only Telio remained for a brief moment, adjusting his coat. He sighed, as if the entire event had been mildly inconvenient.
"Do consider the offer," he said casually. "It would be in your best interest."
With that, he was gone.
The house was left in ruins—not physically, but in spirit.
Lyrasia’s mother curled in on herself, silent sobs racking her frame.
Meila and Ruan sat where they had fallen, their expressions void of the usual fire.
Lyrasia stood frozen, the image of her father in chains burned into her memory.
She felt something shift inside her. A realization. A truth.
She was weak.
Too weak to fight back.
Too weak to protect anything.
Her fingers curled tightly into her palms, nails biting into skin.
It wasn’t enough to be smart. She couldn’t outthink sheer force. Not yet.
She needed power.
And she would get it, no matter what it took.