Chapter 1: The Birth
The moment the child opened their eyes, the world held its breath.
No mother. No father. No family to speak of. Only the child born into a storm, lying alone on the cold, damp earth beneath a sky twisted by an unholy eclipse.
The heavens churned in unnatural chaos, the light eclipsed by shadow. Thunder rolled in the distance, yet no rain fell. The earth trembled subtly, as though protesting the birth of something it could not comprehend. The child, with their eyes a shade too bright, blinked once. Twice. They did not cry. Instead, a strange stillness settled around them, as though the air itself dared not disturb their fragile form.
The eclipse lingered for three days and nights, casting an otherworldly twilight over the land. Crops withered under the absence of sunlight, animals refused to feed, and whispers of dread spread from village to village. When the sun finally broke free, the air carried an eerie calm, as if the world itself had changed in ways no one could yet understand.
It was then, beneath the uneasy light of dawn, that the river began its quiet journey with the child.
Placed in a woven basket lined with tattered cloth, the child floated down the river's gentle current. Their gaze, though unseeing, seemed aware eerily calm as the waters whispered and carried them forward. The river wound its way through forests untouched by time, brushing past roots, stones, and ancient secrets hidden beneath its surface.
The basket came to rest on the shore of Esha Valley, where a poor widower scavenged for driftwood to fuel his fire. Bent with age and grief, the man was a shadow of his younger self, his weary hands trembling as he walked the riverbank. A dull ache pulsed in his chest. loss, regret, and loneliness, his eternal companions.
His sharp eyes caught sight of the basket cradled in the reeds. For a moment, he thought it was debris, but then he heard the faintest sound a heartbeat, steady and unyielding, carried on the wind.
Kneeling beside the basket, the man lifted the frayed covering and froze. The child's bright eyes stared up at him unblinking, piercing, otherworldly. A chill crawled up his spine as he murmured, "What kind of soul are you?"
His heart warred with his mind. To take in the child would be an act of mercy, but he had no means to care for himself, let alone another. His trembling hands lowered the basket back to the water, and his voice cracked as he whispered, "Forgive me. I cannot save you."
As if understanding, the river surged gently, pulling the basket back into its current. The widower watched, haunted, as the child floated away, their gaze never leaving him until they vanished around the bend.
Further downstream, where the river wound past a sprawling estate, the child's journey paused again. Lord Thalion, a man of wealth and power, stood on his veranda, overlooking the festivities of his banquet. Lanterns glowed like fallen stars, and laughter echoed against the water's edge celebrating the end of the eclipse. Before
A servant's startled cry drew his attention. "My lord! A basket in the river!"
Curiosity stirred among the guests as they followed Lord Thalion to the riverbank. The lord's sharp gaze fell on the basket, half-submerged but miraculously intact. He ordered the servant to pull it ashore.
When the covering was drawn back, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The child lay silent, their presence unsettling yet magnetic. Lord Thalion knelt, his hand hovering over the basket. A faint warmth radiated from the child, a strange energy that prickled his skin.
"This child…" he murmured, his voice trailing off. Something about him felt wrong or perhaps too extraordinary for words.
Before Lord Thalion could decide, a figure emerged from the shadows a shaman with wild hair and eyes that burned like embers. His tattered robes swept the ground as he approached, his staff thudding softly against the earth.
The guests parted as he reached the child. Without hesitation, he placed his hand on the infant's forehead. The air shifted instantly, growing thick and heavy. The river's gentle ripples stilled, as if waiting.
"This is no ordinary child," the shaman intoned, his voice resonating with power. "Born under an unholy eclipse, untouched by hunger or thirst, carried by waters yet unclaimed by death."
The crowd murmured, their unease palpable. Lord Thalion frowned. "Superstition has no place here. It's just a child left to die by some unfortunate soul."
The shaman's piercing gaze snapped to the lord. "Do you not feel it? This child bears the mark of the storm. A force beyond mortal comprehension stirs within him. He will bring either salvation or ruin and perhaps both."
Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance, as though echoing the shaman's words. He lifted the child from the basket, holding them aloft. "Earth, water, sky bear witness! This child will shape the tides of destiny. Greatness and destruction walk hand in hand with him."
As his voice rose, the winds answered. Trees groaned, their branches bowing as though in submission. The lanterns of the banquet flickered wildly before extinguishing, plunging the crowd into darkness. A collective gasp swept through the onlookers, their fear palpable.
When the winds died, the shaman lowered the child back into the basket. Turning to Lord Thalion, he said, "The river has brought him here. His fate lies with you now. Shelter him, or cast him away it matters not. The storm will find him."
Lord Thalion stood frozen, torn between logic and the unshakable weight of the shaman's words. The guests whispered among themselves, their voices trembling.
And as the night stretched on, the child lay silent, waiting for the world to decide whether to fear them or embrace them.