At the age of three months, the boy had learnt to talk.

At the age of six months, the boy could walk.

By the age of nine months, the boy had already hunted.

By the age of 1, the boy had shown multiple signs of being loved by nature. Birds flocked to him, plants grew wildly near him, and strays wouldn't ever leave his side. Once, a cobra had found its way into his living quarters. The boy played with the cobra all night long.

He was undoubtedly a genius.

One far beyond a regular human.

Some may be delighted to have a son like him.

Some may be apprehensive, going to the church or the authorities.

Yet others may be so fearful that they attempt to end his life with their own hands.

Some may be too scared to do anything at all.

The child was 2. He could already fluently converse. He had picked up magic from god knows where, given that both his parents were peasants, without access to such. One day, he was calmly lying in bed with a myriad of insects crawling all over him. Ants, flies, worms, even Maxx "C".

The child had done things that children just don't do.

His parents had enough.

They were too fearful of him to end him themselves.

They threw him into a river and hoped he drowned.

Nature loved the child far too much.

What was that child?

Did he survive?

Will he kill us when he grows up?

The parents never got a chance to find out.

The two of them, despite living in the slums, had an odd resistance to disease. They never got sick, never so much as coughed or sneezed. However, that night, the night the boy fell in the river, the two of them contracted smallpox, malaria, dengue, typhoid, every disease one can possibly think of.

It goes without saying, they met their end soon after. Nature loved the boy far too much.

The boy was adopted by a pair of wolves. A wolf couple that inhabited the marsh.

They weren't fenrirs or sky wolves, frost wolves or inferno wolves, just a pair of your everyday forest wolves.

The boy grew older still.

By the time he was 5, his 'parents' had passed on.

The boy inherited the wolfpack.

They weren't fenrirs or sky wolves, frost wolves or inferno wolves, just a pack of everyday forest wolves.

They had a myriad of natural enemies. They found it difficult to kill food. Their growth was difficult.

Were it not for their tremendous rate of reproduction, akin to that of goblins, they would have been wiped out long ago.

By the time he boy was 10 years of age, the wolfpack had tripled in size. Their predators ignored them, they found food easily, humans avoided their habitat altogether.

While there were many that visited the marsh, none ever met any wolves by some off coincidences.

Many cubs were born as frost wolves. Many others were inferno wolves. There was even a thunderclap skywolf. No fenrirs. The wolfpack was now the dominant force of the marsh.

Nature's love for the boy gradually waned as the boy got older. He was still a natural druid, but nature loves children above all else.

The wolfpack continued to expand, but some wolves would occasionally die.

The wolfpack continued to expand, but some wolves went hungry.

The wolfpack continued to expand, but one day...

Humans arrived.