Dip Dip Dip
Rain poured heavily over the quiet village. Not a single soul was in sight—just darkness and silence everywhere.
The downpour had continued for hours, driving people indoors. Villagers huddled in the warmth of their homes, children trading playtime for bedtime stories.
Through the heavy rain, a figure emerged—calm and steady, holding a baby wrapped tightly in a soft blanket.
He looked around the silent village, sighed, and gently walked up to a modest-looking house—not rich, not poor, but sturdy and quiet.
He placed the sleeping baby just outside the door, under the shelter where the rain couldn't reach. After a quiet moment, he leaned down and kissed the baby's forehead.
Then, without a word or a glance back, he vanished into the rain—like a shadow, leaving no trace.
The rain kept falling…
Hours passed, and the first light of dawn touched the village. One by one, houses came to life. Chimneys smoked as breakfast fires were lit.
Suddenly, a baby's cry broke the morning calm.
Inside the house where the baby had been left, a man in his late thirties and a little girl, no older than seven, opened the door.
Wrapped in a blanket, the baby lay crying.
"Dad, look," the girl whispered, "someone left a baby in front of our house."
The man gently picked up the baby. "Elenor," he said, "go upstairs and bring a towel and a warm blanket. Let's settle him, feed him, and then I'll inform the village chief."
"Okay, Dad! I'll be back soon!" she replied.
She returned quickly with the towel and blanket. Together, they cleaned and fed the baby.
Then the man stepped outside to speak with the village chief.
**~ 6 Years Later**
The village had changed little in six years. The same cobbled streets, the same wooden homes, the same morning mist that rolled over the hills like a blanket. Yet inside one of those homes, everything had changed—for one family, and for one boy.
The boy, now named Kael, grew strong and curious. His dark hair had grown into soft curls, and his eyes held a shimmer of gold that wasn't quite natural. People noticed it, but no one spoke of it—not directly. Some villagers said he was blessed by the spirits of rain. Others whispered old tales of children brought by the storm.
But to Elenor, now thirteen, and her father, Kael was just family.
Kael ran barefoot through the wet grass that morning, laughing as Elenor chased him with a bucket full of fresh rainwater.
"Kael! You're going to get sick!" she shouted, trying not to laugh.
He darted behind the trees, jumping over roots with an agility that didn't match his age. His reflexes were sharp, almost unnatural. Even the animals of the woods—birds, squirrels, even wild foxes—seemed strangely unafraid of him.
Their father, Thomelin, watched from the porch with quiet eyes. He had seen too many signs to ignore. The boy's strength, his glowing eyes at dusk, and the way the wind sometimes changed when Kael was angry.
There was something different about him.
That evening, Thomelin sat Kael down by the hearth, the flames dancing in his eyes.
"Kael," he said softly, "do you ever feel… strange? Like something is calling to you?"
Kael blinked, then nodded slowly.
"Sometimes when I sleep," Kael said, "I hear a voice. It says my name. But it's not scary. It sounds like it's waiting for me."
Thomelin's expression hardened.
He stood, pulled a worn chest from under the floorboards, and opened it. Inside were old scrolls, a silver pendant, and a stone wrapped in red cloth that hummed faintly in Kael's presence.
"You were not left at our door by accident," Thomelin said. "You came with a purpose, and soon… you'll need to discover what that is."
As the fire crackled and the wind howled outside, Kael looked at the chest, then at his father. The glow in his eyes brightened—just a little.