Chapter 2: Lyra no more

Lyra stared at her small, chubby hands, turning them over as if expecting to find her real self hidden in the lines of her tiny palms. Her mind whirled, replaying the rooftop scene over and over—the fear in Lianne’s eyes, the wind whipping around them, and that final desperate lunge.

The matron leaned closer, her gruff voice cutting through Lyra’s thoughts.

“Can you speak, little one? Or did the fall rattle your brains too much?”

“I… I can,” Lyra replied, startled by her own voice. It was high-pitched, soft, and barely above a whisper. Speaking felt strange—her mouth and tongue didn’t quite obey the way they used to.

The matron snorted, satisfied. “Good. You’ll earn your keep, then. No room for layabouts here.” She stood, adjusting her apron. “You don’t have a name, do you?”

Lyra hesitated, unsure of what to say. In her previous life, she had been Lyra, but now, with this new, frail body, it felt wrong to claim that name.

“No name? Figures,” the matron muttered. “You’re the thirteenth mouth to feed here. Number 13 it is.”

“Thirteen?” Lyra whispered, her small fingers gripping the tattered fabric of her dress.

The matron gave a careless shrug. “You’re the last one we took in. Orphans don’t need fancy names anyway.”

Lyra’s mind spun. A number. That’s all she was to them. A forgotten, abandoned child with no past and no identity. A part of her wanted to argue, to insist on being called Lyra, but she swallowed it down. For now, it’s safer to blend in, she thought and that she already agreed to find out what is going on with this little girl she is inhabiting.

“Get yourself washed up, Number 13. Breakfast is almost gone, and you’ll need strength for chores.The food here is not for free, you need to work for it.”

Lyra tried to stand, but her legs wobbled—unsteady and weak. The matron shot her a disapproving glare before walking off, muttering about “useless strays.”

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. She thought that the matron was supposed to be nice and accomodating but it was the other way around. But she guessed that it is to be expected knowing the fact that she is another mouth to feed and obviously the orphanaged can no longer handle another kid. This isn’t permanent, she told herself. I’ll figure it out.

The room was sparse—wooden cots lined the walls, each with a thin blanket. It seems like the orphanged never really received a support from any noble. It's just her hunch from her observations though. There are also a few older children, all dressed in faded tunics, eyed her warily. One of them, a boy with dirt-smeared cheeks, whispered to another, and they both snickered.

Lyra ignored them, focusing on making it to the water basin at the far end. Walking was hard—her legs were so short and wobbly, and every step felt like a cautious dance. She splashed her face, the cold water shocking her awake. Her reflection was faint in the rippling surface—a small, round face with wide, dark eyes and tousled brown curls.

“Oi!” A voice barked from the doorway. Another child—a lanky, older boy—pointed at her. “New brat! Matron says you’re on pig duty.”

“Pig duty?” Lyra echoed, her tiny voice trembling.

The boy smirked. “Yeah. Even the babies have to work.”

Breathe, Lyra, she thought. Philosophy taught her to remain calm, even when life seemed incomprehensible. She squared her small shoulders as best as a toddler could and followed the boy to the muddy yard behind the orphanage.

The pigs were fat, loud, and predictably filthy. Lyra wrinkled her nose as the boy—who introduced himself as Niko—thrust a bucket of feed into her small hands.

“Dump it in the trough. Try not to fall in,” he said, only half-joking.

Lyra struggled to lift the heavy bucket, nearly toppling over. With great effort, she dragged it to the trough, managing to tip it in without falling headfirst. The pigs jostled around her feet, snorting and squealing.

Niko leaned against the fence, watching her. “You didn’t even cry. Most little ones do.”

Lyra glanced at him, keeping her voice calm. “Crying doesn’t make the pigs less hungry.”

Niko tilted his head, as if trying to figure out why this tiny girl spoke like a grown-up. “You talk funny. You’re weird.”

Before Lyra could respond, the matron’s voice boomed from the doorway.

“Niko! You’ll be scrubbing floors if you don’t hurry with the firewood!”

With a huff, Niko jogged off, leaving Lyra alone. As she wiped her muddy hands on her tattered dress, her mind churned.

A new world, a new life… but why? Had she died in the fall? Was this some kind of purgatory? The idea gnawed at her, but she pushed it aside. Whatever the reason, she couldn’t just sit and cry. She needed information—a way to understand this place and find a way back.

As she looked around the orphanage yard, another thought crept into her mind—Who was she supposed to be in this world? She had woken up as a three-year-old child with no memory of how she got there. Who had abandoned her at the orphanage? Why was she left alone? Was it possible that whoever brought her here knew more about why she had appeared in this strange new reality?

Her mind spun with theories. Was she truly a forgotten orphan, or was there something more sinister at play? Maybe someone had deliberately placed her here, wanting her out of the way—or perhaps even dead.

That evening, after a bland meal of thin stew, Lyra found a quiet corner to sit and think. Her mind wandered back to the life she’d left behind. Her students, her cozy condo, her carefully planned lessons. And Lianne—was she safe? Had Lyra’s attempt to save her worked?

A small sob threatened to escape, but Lyra swallowed it down. Crying wouldn’t help. Survival meant adapting, learning, and finding allies.

Niko plopped down beside her, wiping dirt from his face.

“You still look lost,” he commented.

He shrugged. “You know, this place doesn’t let you keep much anyway.” he continued, his tone indifferent. “Matron says my parents left me at the gates.”

Lyra nodded, her mind racing. If she wanted to get closer to the truth, she needed to be useful or important to gain information about this place she is in. An idea formed—something risky but worth the gamble.

“What if we try to work hard and gain sponsorship from the nobles ?” she asked, trying to sound curious rather than determined and in a crackly voice, just like a baby not knowing how to properly pronounce a word

Niko scoffed. “Nobles are not really interested in this orphanged. Which is why that witch is always mad."

Lyra gave a small, determined smile. “Maybe we just have to give them a reason to notice us.”

If she could catch a few of the nobles attention, maybe she’d find answers—or at least a way to move beyond the orphanage. One thing was clear: Lyra was not done fighting, she was never raised as a quitter in the first place