The alley behind the crumbling tenement was silent except for the faint dripping of last night's rain. Lyra had slipped out early, barefoot, her oversized shirt brushing the muddy ground as she followed a whimpering sound she couldn't ignore. Arin walked a few steps behind her, sleepy and annoyed, wondering why his little sister always dragged herself into trouble before dawn.
"Lyra, where are you going?" he whispered sharply. "It's barely morning!"
She didn't answer. She didn't even turn.
Her small frame halted suddenly at the mouth of the alley, where a sliver of pale sunlight illuminated a shivering bundle of fur. A skinny stray dog lay curled against the wall—its leg bent unnaturally, its breathing ragged, its eyes dull with pain.
Lyra knelt beside it without hesitation.
Arin froze. "Lyra… don't touch it—"
But she already had. Her small palms hovered above the wounded leg, her face softening into an expression Arin didn't recognize—something too gentle, too calm, too ancient.
The dog whimpered weakly.
"It hurts," Lyra murmured, as if she could feel the pain herself.
Arin frowned. "How do you—"
Then he saw it.
A single tear slid down her cheek. Only… it was not clear.
The droplet glowed.
Soft, warm gold, like a tiny star falling from her eye. It dripped onto the dog's fur, sinking into the wound as if the flesh itself drank it in. The twisted limb straightened. The swelling receded. The dog's breathing steadied as shimmering warmth spread beneath Lyra's hands.
Arin's mouth fell open.
"Lyra." He stepped backward. "What… what is that?"
More tears streamed down her cheeks—each one glowing with that same ethereal light. They fell on the dog's side, and bones cracked gently back into alignment, muscles knotted with pain loosened, and fur regrew in small shimmering patches.
No ordinary human could do this.
No ordinary healer could do this.
This was—
He swallowed.
Something not human.
When the last glowing tear fell, the dog suddenly lifted its head. Its eyes, once dull, now shone with vitality. It nudged Lyra's hand, tail wagging weakly, then stood—perfectly healed.
Lyra wiped her cheek. "There… you're okay now."
She smiled, but even that smile looked strange to Arin now—too serene, too bright, as if some hidden light radiated beneath her skin.
The dog licked her fingers before trotting away, looking back one time, almost… reverently.
Arin stared at his sister.
"How did you do that?" His voice was a whisper, trembling with both awe and fear.
Lyra blinked. "I don't know."
But she did. He could see it in her eyes. She knew something was happening—something she didn't understand, yet somehow accepted.
Arin grabbed her shoulders. "Lyra, people can't just—heal things with tears. That was—"
"A miracle?" she said softly.
He shook his head. "No. Not a miracle. Something else."
Something dangerous.
He remembered the rumors whispered by the old tenants. Strange things happening around Lyra. Lights flickering when she cried. Plants blooming where she stepped. Animals following her like she was sunlight.
He had always brushed it off.
Now, he couldn't.
"Lyra," he said more firmly, "don't ever do that again. Not in front of anyone. Ever."
Her small hands curled at her sides. "But the dog was in pain."
"I know," he whispered. "But… someone might see. Someone might take you away."
Her eyes widened, childlike fear replacing the earlier calm. "Do you… think I'm a monster?"
The question stabbed him.
"No!" He pulled her close. "You're my sister. You're Lyra. But whatever you are… whatever this is… we can't let anyone know. Not ever."
She nodded slowly, but her gaze drifted to the alley mouth, where the first full sunlight spilled across the ground. A faint golden shimmer flickered in her eyes—so fleeting he almost doubted he saw it.
They began walking back toward the building, Arin's hand gripping hers tightly. But as they stepped into the courtyard, Lyra suddenly halted again.
"Arin…" Her voice trembled. "Someone's watching."
He stiffened.
"Who?"
She didn't point. She didn't turn. She just stared ahead, her tiny shoulders shaking.
"I feel it."
Arin scanned the rooftops, the windows, the shadows. Nothing moved. Yet a strange chill crawled up his spine, prickling the back of his neck.
He pulled her behind him protectively.
"We're going inside," he said sharply. "Now."
But before they could take two steps, a faint metallic sound echoed behind them—as if something small struck the ground.
Arin turned.
A coin lay in the dirt.
Not an ordinary coin.
It pulsed faintly with the same golden glow as Lyra's tears.
Her fingers tightened around his arm.
"Arin… I didn't drop that."
He bent slowly to pick it up, but the moment his fingers touched the edge of the coin—
A burning symbol flared across the surface.
A symbol identical to the one that had appeared on Lyra's forehead the night she was abandoned.
Arin's heart stopped.
The coin vibrated.
Lyra whimpered.
And then—
A voice whispered from the shadows of the alley behind them, low and cold.
"Found you."
Arin spun around.
But no one was there.
Only darkness.
Cliffhanger: The first hunters—or watchers—have discovered Lyra's divine bloodline.