The Child They Call Lucky(ON HOLD)

CHAPTER ZERO: BEFORE THE PROBLEM (ME)

A Pre-Birth Report by Lyra, Age: Technically Not Yet Existing

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Okay.

Before we get into everything — the generals, the apocalypse, the very exhausting series of events that somehow ended with me being born into the middle of all of it — I need to explain something.

I did not ask for this.

I want that on record.

I, personally, submitted no application. I filled out no forms. Nobody handed me a brochure that said "Interested in a second life? Come be a baby in a post-apocalyptic warzone!" and I said yes, perfect, sign me up.

I was retired.

I was done.

My last life? Incredible. Smooth. A masterpiece, honestly, if I do say so myself. I spent approximately eighty-three years moving people around like chess pieces and not one of them ever figured it out. Merchants, nobles, politicians, generals — it didn't matter. I smiled, I positioned, I nudged, and everything went exactly where I needed it to go.

Nobody suspected the quiet one in the corner.

Nobody ever does.

I died peacefully, in a comfortable chair, with a cup of tea, at a very reasonable age, and I thought: that's it. I'm done. Retirement. Finally.

And then.

THEN.

Whatever force runs the universe looked at my file, looked at my very reasonable request for permanent rest, and said —

"Lol, no."

And now I'm here.

Let's talk about why.

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PART ONE: THE MEET-CUTE THAT STARTED ALL MY PROBLEMS

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My parents met during what historians would later call "The Restructuring" and what everyone who lived through it called "the absolute worst Tuesday in human history."

The world had ended. People had gotten powers. Society was reorganizing itself the way society always reorganizes after a collapse — loudly, messily, and with a lot of unnecessary violence about who was in charge.

My mother, Sora, was twenty-two.

She had a combat ability that let her move with terrifying precision. Fast, clean, efficient. She didn't waste energy. She didn't waste words. She showed up, solved the problem, and left.

She was, by all accounts, extremely cool.

My father, Caen, was twenty-four.

He had a sensory ability — he could read spaces, track movements, feel the shape of a situation before it happened. Tactical genius. Very calm. Very composed. The kind of man who walked into a room and immediately knew seventeen things about everyone in it.

He noticed my mother the moment she walked in.

She did not notice him.

This is important.

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The first time they met properly, it was a planning session for a joint operation. My mother had been assigned to lead the strike team. My father had been assigned to advise.