The Little Wolf

Salvation of the Soul

King's Landing

The hands of fate were eager to grab Lyra, and eradicate her Soul.

While she was scarred and battered in every way possible, beaten down to a pulp with no strength to rise, she never failed to remind herself of the existence of mercy. It had been two days since Tyrion and Pod's merciful visit, and the monster was beginning to return to inside the murky depths of her thoughts.

Isolation and torture would have agonizing effects on any individual, yet the blows came harder to such a young child.

Her Soul, as he had been for a number of weeks, was absent. Occasionally he would flutter on the edge of the small window high above her, but that was only brief and he would fly free for another while before his return. His visits were likely saying "I am still here, Lyra", and for that, the young Outsider was grateful.

Her name, once more, had become just a word. Lyra was no more. The girl was buried beneath the ruble the destruction of her father's death caused. With her shackles, she crossed out her name on the stone floor in a fit of rage and odd strength. A fire sparked within her causing her to spit at her carved name. She scolded "vicious little monster" at the word, and spat at it once more. I am a monster. I am a monster. I am a monster.

She was so cold, inside and outside. She had grown up in Winterfell, known across Westeros for its cold climate, yet she never felt as cold as she did now. At least at Winterfell, her heart was warm with love, hope and dreams of adventure. Now she was just empty and cold, like an abandoned holdfast, laying claim to the land below, but void of any lord ruling it.

Her little body shivered at the chill of the ground, but a peculiar warmth surrounded her. She lifted herself up slightly to see a ray of light trying to push through the small window. Beneath shaking arms, the girl rose on her hands and stretched her back, pointing her face to the light. Her arms tremored, but she ignored it and found strength within her – she wanted to see the sun shine bright, and feel the comfort of its warmth. A slight breeze skimmed her shaved and bloodied patches on her scalp, and blew through her uneven remaining brown hairs. She had forgotten the warmth of the sun, and the feeling of breeze blowing through her hair, or gently smacking her face.

A moth fluttered to the window, and stared at the girl for a moment. Looking into the light, and admiring her Soul, her cracked lips eased slowly into a slight smile. Not a large or particularly cheery smile, but a smile nonetheless.

In one smooth flap of its wings, the moth transformed into a dove – the Outsider symbol of hope, peace and salvation – and sailed down to the ground in front of its master. There, he bowed his head in a mark of respect, and whispered to her mind "You are strong, Lyra. As is your Soul."

Lev rested on the stone floor by the girl, and Lyra eased her weak arms down and placed her head back on ground. The floor was no longer as cold as it once was, and the sunlight, though gradually fading, still provided her with comfort.

The Outsider and the Helai faced one another, and stared into each others eyes through the night. Lyra was scared if she blinked he would vanish, and none of this would be real.

She conceded and accepted that though death was inevitable, being alone in death was not. She would not be an empty shell; her Soul would not leave her. She looked at the beautiful bird on the floor beside her, and said, "Together, Lev. You are my Soul, I am your Master".

Together, Lev echoed back in her mind.