Across the room, the old woman who had been dozing in the rocking chair stirred, her eyes now wide awake and fixed on the two elves with keen interest.

As Lyra's hand met Finrod's, a strange sensation washed over her, as if the very fabric of reality were shifting beneath her feet. The room blurred and wavered before her eyes, the sounds of the tavern fading into the distance as she was enveloped in a surreal haze. 

Suddenly, she was no longer in the Bannered Mare. The familiar warmth of the hearth was replaced by an ethereal glow, bathing the surroundings in an otherworldly light. The air hummed with a soft, melodic resonance, as if the very essence of magic itself danced upon the breeze. 

And then, she heard it -- the voice. Soft and soothing, yet imbued with an otherworldy power that sent shivers down her spine. It spoke her name, a whisper on the wind that seemed to resonate within her soul.

"Lyra," it called, the syllables echoing through the caverns of her mind, "You have been chosen." 

She tried to respond, to form words, but her voice failed her, lost in the vast expanse of the void. Instead, she listened, her heart pounding in her chest. The voice continued, but seemed to fade in and out. "Prophecy..." she heard, "Destiny..." 

"You are destined for greatness," the voice continued, its words weaving a tapestry of fate and fortune. "But you cannot walk this path alone. The man beside you is vital to your journey, bound to you by threads older than time itself." 

As the voice spoke, visions flickered before Lyra's eyes -- ancient ruins bathed in moonlight, symbols etched in forgotten tongues, and objects of power beyond mortal comprehension. Each image held a promise, a glimpse of what awaited her on the horizon. 

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the vision faded, leaving Lyra blinking in the dim light of the tavern once more. She glanced at Finrod beside her, wide-eyed, waiting for confirmation to see if he too experienced what she just did. 

Her mind raced with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. Was it real, or merely a trick of the mind brought on by too much skooma? She shook her head, resolving to lay off the substances in the future. Whatever the truth may be, one thing was certain -- her journey was only just beginning.