A thunderous roar cracked across the land of Tharion, echoing like a wrathful god’s cry. The air reeked of scorched earth, each breath thick with smoke and iron. Chaos erupted through the streets—screams, fire, the relentless downpour of blood that only deepened in hue and fury. And amidst it all, Anaki clenched her teeth, determined not to give birth right there on the crimson-soaked stone.

  However, fate had other plans for her.

  Amid the fury and screams, the blood-slicked ground beneath her, Anaki felt the undeniable force of life breaking through. A small head crowned, and she knew she wouldn’t make it to shelter. But what shelter remained? The world was unraveling, the Blood Rain foretold by prophecy falling heavier, thicker—marking the end. Her child would be born into ruin, destined to draw its first breath of only chaos and ash and then drown in blood.

  For a heartbeat, Anaki felt the weight of despair. Maybe she should surrender. Let the Blood Rain swallow her and the child whole. What future was left to fight for?

  But something deep within her refused. Maybe it was instinct, maybe madness—or maybe fate wasn’t done with her yet.

  With one final cry, she pushed her child into the world and clutched the newborn to her chest, shielding it from the storm. A newborn’s wail was thin and defiant, as if the storm itself had drawn breath and wept. And then, through the howling wind, the squall of blood, she heard footsteps approaching.

  They were slow and deliberate. Not the frantic scurry of a survivor, nor the erratic shuffle of the dying. These steps had purpose. Anaki’s breath caught in her throat. Her arms tightened around the baby, instinct surging again, heart beating like a war drum.

  Out of the veil of crimson rain, a figure emerged, cloaked in shadows and silver. The Blood Rain didn’t seem to touch them—it parted around them like an invisible shield. A soft glow pulsed from the stranger’s palm, steady and pale like moonlight, illuminating the devastation in flashes of eerie calm.

  “Give me the child,” the voice said—neither kind nor cruel, but ancient as the world itself.

  Anaki shook her head slowly. “Who are you?”

  The figure knelt, lifting the hood just enough for her to see a pair of eyes—one silver, one black. “I’m the one fate forgot. But your child… your child is the one who remembered.”

  Lightning cracked the sky, and behind the stranger, the rain began to slow.