The world was quiet that night. Too quiet for a storm.
Snow fell like ash—slow, soft, and endless. The mountain winds whispered through the broken ribs of an ancient temple, long swallowed by frost and time. Its stones cracked and half-forgotten, a place where even echoes seemed afraid to return.
But something… was crying.
A monk named Eshun, old and worn like the temple itself, led the silent walk. He had walked these paths for 40 winters—through peace, through war, through visions. But tonight, his breath caught in his chest—not from the cold, but from something else.
The other monks paused behind him. They heard it too.
A child.
Not birds. Not wind. A voice—soft, sharp, shivering. It came from beneath a collapsed altar, where a strange glow pulsed beneath stone and snow.
Eshun knelt and swept the snow away. Beneath it: a baby, wrapped in cloth that smoked but didn't burn.
His eyes weren't crying anymore.
He was staring.
Eyes not red or blue—but silver, glowing with a calm too old for something so small.
Eshun didn't speak. His hand trembled as he reached out. The baby didn't flinch. He just stared, as if recognizing something the world hadn't seen yet.
And then... he smiled.
The monks should have feared him. The cloth bore symbols no human dared to speak—marks of flame, chaos, the number 8 etched in ancient language that hadn't existed on Earth in thousands of years.
But they didn't run.
They took him in.
They gave him fire, warmth, and a name:
> Lucen. The light that survives winter.
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Years Later...
Lucen grew in the mountain temple, surrounded by peace and discipline. He ran through the gardens, trained under waterfalls, and meditated beside stone lanterns. But there was always… something off.
The monks said he was gifted. Fast. Strong. Too strong.
Sometimes when he was angry, things cracked. Mirrors shattered. Shadows moved on their own. And when he slept—he whispered in languages no one taught him.
Eshun knew. He saw it in the boy's eyes.
This was no ordinary child. This was something placed on Earth.
But Lucen?
He only wanted to help.
He looked at the world below the mountain—the broken cities, the people in pain—and he said something again and again:
> "I was born for something greater."
Sometimes that scared the monks. Sometimes it even scared Lucen himself.
But no one—not even him—knew just how true that would become.
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Next Chapter :- CHAPTER 2: THE HORNED LAMB 🐑