Four Keys to Erasmuth: Lyra Okenas

Chapter Nine

Lyra spent the rest of the afternoon preparing for her departure. She carefully packed scrolls and labeled books, methodically organizing the knowledge she'd safeguarded for years. A potential successor was already in mind, but she'd need to seek their acceptance first.

A boisterous voice shattered the silence. "Lyra!" Riet barged in, his words echoing through the towering shelves of the Archives. He didn't bother with knocking. "Where are you? We have much to plan!"

Lyra sighed, exasperated by Riet's disregard for boundaries. "Upstairs, on the left," she called back, continuing her packing.

Moments later, Riet entered her room, his eyes widening at the disarray. Clothes and books lay strewn across every surface. "What's with all the chaos?"

Her hands trembled as she crammed clothes into her pack, folding and refolding them endlessly. "Packing now felt better," she rambled, the words tumbling out between nervous breaths. "So leaving in a few days will be easier. Maybe." Her eyes caught a stack of survival guides for traveling to the Capital. "These definitely need to come," she muttered, tucking them under her arm. "And food? We were going to discuss food, right?"

Riet, seeing the tears that threatened to spill from Lyra's eyes, gently placed a hand on her shaking arm. His gaze held hers, warm and steady. "You're making the right choice, Lyra," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm. "Even if it feels like everything you know is crumbling right now."

Lyra's breath hitched as she turned away. Tears burned in her eyes, her voice raw as she choked out, "I know, this is my home, my life. But walls and routines don't make family. My past is lost, as murky as the Grey Sea. Now, leaving, I see faces I should have known better. Regrets, like a heavy sack, weigh me down."

She clenched the bedspread, her struggle silent but fierce. "I had friends, treated them like shadows, never saw their worth. You showed me, in hours, what years couldn't. I chased a grand title, "Archivist who'd change the world, but forgot to change my own corner first."

Lyra's sigh filled the room, her tears drying as resolve crystalized in her eyes. "I'm coming with you," she declared. "If my Keeper's touch can mend this world, for the Village of End and beyond, let's do it. Let's build a world where hope thrives, not harshness."

Riet's smile warmed the room. He nodded, his eyes reflecting understanding and pride. "We shield ourselves, Lyra. It's how we cope, how we feel safe. Trusting others is a risk, yes, a risk of hurt and loss. But they also offer a gift, Lyra - hope, love, laughter, life's truest treasures. As we train, as we journey, those friendships will blossom. You will change the world, and I'll be there every step."

His sudden grin broke the seriousness. "Enough of this emotional stuff!" Riet boomed. "Elders need informing, so let's make haste!" Before Lyra could blink, he was downstairs and gone, a whirlwind of energy leaving her both nervous and excited.

The walk to the Elder's Hall was mercifully short, for Lyra, the Hall being conveniently located beside the Archives in the heart of the Village. The Elders met daily, from noon's chime to the sun's descent. Lyra never truly knew what transpired within these walls, though a faint, ever-present scent of emberleaf, a herb known for its mind-numbing euphoria, lingered in the air. She couldn't be sure, but suspicion gnawed at her, whispering of long hours spent in a haze of smoke and idle indulgence.

Entering, she found the Elders gathered around a large table, pipes dangling from their lips, not a hint of debate in the air. Disappointment stabbed at Lyra. She'd hoped for men grappling with the Village's woes – the gnawing hunger, the lack of shelter, the plight of the helpless. But judging by their languid postures, she highly doubted such weighty matters occupied their minds.