Life was a tapestry of fleeting moments—each one delicate, each one profound. From the fragile bird breaking free of its shell to the violent storm looming in the horizon, these moments were destined to come and pass. Yet, their echoes lingered, rippling outward, shaping the world in an unending chain of cause and effect.
And now, another such moment unfolded. A new life had entered the world—a moment of joy for some, of sorrow for others.
High atop a lonely mountain, hidden within a dense forest, stood a small cabin. Its wooden frame, weathered by time and the endless whispers of the wind, seemed to blend into the landscape. The air was thin, carrying the crisp scent of pine and the distant promise of snow. Below, the world was swallowed by a sea of mist curling through the trees. In this secluded haven, beneath the silver glow of the moon, a mother held her child.
Her eyes shone in the dim light, their silver depths reflecting the pale glow that seeped through the cracks in the cabin's walls. Shadows clung to the corners, retreating only where the faint flicker of a dying candle reached. She swayed gently, cradling the child in her arms. His first moments had been filled with pain, his frail body trembling against the cold air, but now, wrapped in her warmth, he knew something new. Something familiar, even if he couldn't name it. Love.
Softly, she sang to him, her voice like the whisper of leaves in an autumn breeze. The words spoke of a place far beyond this tiny haven—a world of wonders and secrets even immortals could not fathom. Vast fields of silver grass beneath endless stars, rivers that shimmered with the glow of lost souls, mountains whose peaks touched the very edge of the heavens. But he didn't understand. He couldn't imagine why he would ever long for such a place when he had her.
Yet all things must come to an end.
Dawn arrived. The first light of the sun crept into the cabin, stretching pale fingers across the wooden floor, tugging at the edges of his world. The air was still, holding its breath as if dreading what was to come. Then came the voices—sharp as daggers, shattering the fragile peace around him.
But none of it mattered. He still had his mother's warmth.
She whispered to him, her breath uneven, her voice growing weaker, more distant with each word. Then—nothing.
The wind howled through the open door, cold and merciless. Then, as if cradling him in unseen hands, it lifted him from his mother's lifeless embrace, carrying him beyond the shattered walls of the cabin. The scent of blood was thick in the air, mingling with the faint traces of lavender that still clung to her skin. A sword lay buried in her stomach, its hilt gleaming cruelly in the morning light. Her once-vibrant face was frozen in stillness, her lips parted as if caught in the middle of a final lullaby. Her platinum hair, once shining like woven moonlight, now swayed gently with the crescent of the wind, drifting like a ghostly veil over her still form.
The warmth that had shielded him was gone, replaced by something vast and formless. A force neither kind nor cruel, carrying him away from the shattered remains of the cabin. The world blurred, twisting into streaks of shadow and light, until—
A moment later, he was gone from sight.
The wind continued its unrelenting journey, a cold, invisible hand that cradled the child and carried him down the mountain. The trees bent in its wake, their leaves scattering like whispers caught in the cold breath of the storm. The wind swept over rocks, carried the scent of pine and moss, and howled through the broken trunks of ancient trees. But there was no warmth, no comfort in its touch. It was a force of nature, unyielding and untamed, and in its grip, the child was weightless, carried through a blur of sound and movement.
The journey was swift but relentless. He was carried through the thickening forest, past jagged stones and swift, gurgling streams, his small form no more than a breath caught in the storm's path. The world around him was nothing but blurred shades of green and gray, shadows passing by in quick succession, until—
The wind, as if unsure of its next move, slowed. The child, now barely clinging to consciousness, was lowered gently to the ground beside a mountain stream. The air was damp, carrying the scent of earth and the faint, cooling waters that splashed over stones, their soft gurgle faint against the fading howl of the wind. Mist curled through the trees, wrapping around the child as if the very forest sought to hide him away from the world that had brought him to this point.
The wind, spent from its long journey, released its hold on the child. His body, small and fragile, lay unmoving.
And far above, beyond the shadow of the trees, the wind screamed its fury, carrying with it the echoes of a lost lullaby.
~~~~~~~
A voice cut through the void. Low. Unfamiliar.
"So, you're still breathing."
The words stirred something in him, pulling him from the abyss. The warmth that had once surrounded him was gone, replaced by something else—something colder. His tiny body twitched, his fingers barely moving, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. He didn't understand the words, but the sound itself—deep, steady—became an anchor, dragging him back to the waking world.
A pause. Then, the voice came again.
"Tch. Fragile little thing."
His eyelids fluttered open. The world was a blur of shifting shapes and dim light. The air smelled different—damp earth, rusted metal, something faintly acrid. Something loomed above him—a figure, wrapped in shadow, the edges of their cloak barely stirring in the cold wind.
A soft, broken whimper escaped him.
A hand reached down, rough fingers brushing against his cheek. Not gentle. Not cruel. Simply… assessing. The fingertips lingered for a moment, tracing the dampness left by his tears.
"What am I supposed to do with you?"
Silence followed. Then a sigh, slow and measured. The arms that lifted him were firm, unfamiliar, yet they did not hurt him. The warmth was different. Not safe. Not soft. But steady.
He did not know words. He did not know loss. But he felt it all the same.
The warmth he truly wanted was gone.
And somewhere in the distance, unseen, unheard, the wind howled.