Lyra, the question, felt the inquiry as a subtle shift in the weave.
It was a resonance, a harmonic that vibrated along the threads of her own existence.
She had always been the one to ask, to probe, to seek.
To be asked a question by the story itself was a profound inversion.
It was like a mirror turning to look back at its observer.
The question was not an absence of knowledge, but an invitation to it.