Motivation.

The town of Eldewood, nestled between rolling hills and a dense forest, was a place where ambition seemed to fade with the setting sun. For years, the people lived in quiet contentment, their lives dictated by routine and the steady rhythm of simplicity. They rose with the dawn, tended to their modest crops, and retired each evening as the horizon swallowed the last rays of light. Dreams in Eldewood were small, often whispered into the wind and then forgotten.

But in the heart of the town lived a girl named Lyra. She was different. While others accepted the calm monotony, she felt a deep unrest gnawing at her. From a young age, Lyra was told stories about the old days when Eldewood was vibrant with energy. The stories spoke of pioneers who built homes with their bare hands, traders who braved the treacherous mountains for exotic goods, and artists whose works were celebrated far and wide. These stories, passed down from generation to generation, always left Lyra with a fire in her chest a yearning to do something more, to leave a mark.

As she grew, so did her ambition. While her peers were content tending the fields or learning the family trades, Lyra sought out knowledge. She devoured every book she could find, asking elders about forgotten crafts, ancient histories, and tales of faraway lands. Most smiled at her curiosity but warned her that the world outside was harsh, and ambition was a dangerous thing in Eldewood.

“You’ll wear yourself out chasing the wind,” her father often said, his voice soft but resigned. He had once been a man full of dreams, too—dreams that, over time, had been buried under the weight of daily life.

Still, Lyra's heart beat with a different rhythm, one that wasn’t satisfied with the small world around her. She often climbed the tallest hill in Eldewood to watch the distant mountains. She would sit there for hours, her eyes tracing the contours of the horizon, wondering what lay beyond them.

One evening, as the crimson hues of the sunset reflected in her eyes, an old woman approached her. Lyra had seen her before, a recluse who lived at the edge of the forest, known only as Maren. The town spoke of her in whispers, as if she were a relic from a time long past.

“You seek something,” Maren said in a voice that crackled like dried leaves. “Something that others here have forgotten.”

Lyra looked up, startled but curious. "Yes," she replied quietly. "I feel like I’m meant for something more, but I don’t know what. I don’t even know where to start."

Maren sat down beside her, the years etched into her face like lines in old parchment. “Motivation,” she said, her eyes fixed on the fading sun, “is like a flame. It can warm you, guide you, or burn you alive. Many in this town once had it, but they let their flames die. They feared the fire would consume them, so they chose comfort instead.”

Lyra’s gaze fell. “I don’t want to lose my flame, but it feels like it’s flickering. Some days, I wake up and wonder if it’s worth it. Maybe I’m chasing something that doesn’t even exist.”

Maren smiled a slow, knowing smile. “Motivation is not just desire. It’s resilience. It’s waking up each day and choosing to stoke the fire, even when it’s easier to let it die. The world is full of those who once burned brightly but became afraid of the flames.”

“What do I do, then?” Lyra asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You follow the fire. You let it guide you, even when it leads you to places others won’t dare go. But you must also learn to master it. If you’re not careful, the flames will consume you, leaving nothing but ashes.”

Maren reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, worn stone. It was polished, smooth, and unremarkable at first glance, but as the sun hit it, a faint glow seemed to emanate from within. “This,” she said, placing it in Lyra’s hand, “is a reminder. A reminder that the flame inside you is not to be feared. It is your strength. Carry this with you, and whenever you feel your fire dying, hold it close. Remember that your motivation is your power, but only if you wield it wisely.”

Lyra turned the stone over in her hand, feeling its weight. It wasn’t heavy, but it was solid real. She nodded, a surge of determination rising within her. “I won’t let it die,” she said, her voice stronger now. “I’ll keep going.”

Maren stood and looked down at her. “Good. Because this world needs people like you, Lyra. People who aren’t afraid to burn.”

With that, the old woman walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the forest, leaving Lyra alone with her thoughts. The sun had fully set by now, but the fire inside her was brighter than ever.

In the days that followed, Lyra’s resolve deepened. She continued to seek knowledge, to dream, and to push beyond the limits of what others said was possible. The stone Maren had given her never left her side. Whenever doubt crept in, she would hold it tightly and feel the warmth of the fire inside her.

Years later, when Eldewood was once again vibrant with life, its people pushing boundaries and reaching for the stars, they would speak of Lyra as the one who rekindled the town’s spirit. She became a symbol of what it meant to be truly motivated not just to dream, but to act, to persevere, and to carry the flame forward, no matter how many times the world tried to snuff it out.

And as for Lyra, she never stopped burning.