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Chapter One: The Pull of Forgotten Stars
The dream always began the same way.
A field of silver grass, lit by a moon that didn't belong to this world. Stars shimmered like tears in the sky, whispering things she could never remember upon waking. A boy stood in the center of it all, his back to her, the wind tousling his dark hair. His voice, when it came, was always the same—soft, broken, familiar.
"Find me again… even if you forget."
And then, always, fire. Screaming. Her heart splitting open with a grief too ancient for her seventeen years. She would reach for him, always too late, and wake up gasping.
Lyra sat bolt upright in bed, the echoes of the dream still clawing at her chest. The same dream, again. The same boy. The same burning sorrow. Her hands trembled in her lap, and she could still feel the phantom warmth of his fingers slipping from hers.
"Every damn night," she whispered, pressing her palm to her heart. "Who are you?"
Her room was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that didn't just exist—it watched. Her clock blinked 3:03 AM in red. Outside, the wind howled like it remembered something she didn't.
On her nightstand lay a half-finished sketch—a boy's eyes, drawn over and over again, trying to catch their haunted look. She hadn't even realized she'd been drawing them until she found her notebook filled with them. Always those same eyes. Always looking back at her with the kind of sorrow that didn't belong to strangers.
The next morning, Lyra tried to shake the dream. She splashed cold water on her face and stared into her reflection for longer than necessary. Something about her eyes looked unfamiliar today. Like they belonged to someone older, someone who had lived too many lives.
She made her way to the café where she worked after school—The Hollow Bean, tucked between a vintage bookstore and an abandoned flower shop no one remembered ever opening. It was quaint, with its stained-glass windows and flickering fairy lights, and the scent of roasted beans always reminded her of rainy childhood mornings.
She liked the café. It was safe. Real. Full of small chatter, cinnamon, and songs about things that didn't matter. Nothing mystical or terrifying ever happened here.
Until that morning.
She was behind the counter, half-listening to soft jazz, when the bell above the door rang. She looked up—and the world narrowed.
A boy walked in.
No, not just a boy. Him. The stranger from her dreams.
Same black hair, same sad eyes like dusk before a storm. Taller now, older, wearing a black coat that dusted his knees, his boots muddy from the rain.
He froze when he saw her.
And Lyra—Lyra forgot how to breathe.
Time paused. Jazz faded. Coffee hissed in the background.
"Lyra?" he said.
She blinked. "How… how do you know my name?"
His eyes softened. Pain. Hope. Recognition. All at once. "Because I've said it a thousand times. You just never remember me."
She stared at him, mouth parting. "This… isn't funny."
"I'm not trying to be funny."
He said his name was Kael. Just Kael.
He didn't say much more. Only that he'd just moved into town. That he was starting school next week. That he wasn't staying long.
But every time he looked at her, it felt like he was fighting not to fall apart.
When he left the café, Lyra stood frozen in place for almost ten minutes. Even her coworker Mari had to nudge her.
"You okay, starlight? You look like you saw a ghost."
Lyra didn't know how to answer. Because it was worse than a ghost. Ghosts were strangers.
Kael felt like a home she'd forgotten how to return to.
That night, Lyra dreamt again.
But this time, it changed.
She was no longer a girl in a field. She was a woman, older, dressed in robes that shimmered like stars. Her hands were bloodied. Her face tear-streaked. Kael knelt before her, a sword through his side. She screamed something—but the words were muffled.
"I will find you," he said through blood and breath, "Even if it takes a thousand lives."
Then, darkness.
Lyra woke up sobbing.
The next day, she found Kael waiting for her outside the café.
"You remember something," he said quietly.
Lyra hesitated. "Not really. Just… flashes."
He looked relieved. "It's starting. Good."
"Starting?"
Kael's eyes darkened. He looked up at the clouds as if searching for something old, something cruel.
"You and I… we've done this before. Lifetime after lifetime. Always the same. We find each other, we remember, and then…" He trailed off. "Something tears us apart."
Lyra stared at him. "That's insane."
"Is it?" He stepped closer. "You've dreamed of me since you were a child. You feel it too, don't you? The pull. The ache in your chest when you look at me. The memories hiding behind your eyes."
"I—" She wanted to deny it. But she couldn't.
Because even now, standing here, she could feel it: a magnetic thread connecting their hearts, something older than time.
"Why now?" she whispered. "Why are we remembering now?"
Kael's voice dropped, almost a growl. "Because something's waking up again. Something that doesn't want us together. Just like before."
She didn't know what he meant.
But that night, as she slept, she saw the woman in gold, standing at the edge of a cliff, her hair like sunlight and her voice like ice.
"If she remembers… she dies again."
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