Lyra.

The scene in the trees disappears, and like a broken reel, my life flickered before me, each frame pulling me deeper into the past.

I was five again, staring up at my father's face. His gray eyes shone with warmth and a pride that once seemed eternal. But the warmth dimmed overtime, replaced by a chilling indifference that sliced through me like a winter wind.

A voice, soft and soothing, threaded through my memories. 'I'm here with you. I will protect you. Wait for ...