Thunder roared across the midnight sky, its echo swallowed by the relentless downpour that drenched the world below. Beneath the veil of shadows, two cloaked figures trudged through the storm-soaked cobblestone path, their forms obscured by mist and darkness. One of them held something close to their chest—fragile, small, precious.
A towering, old church stood at the end of the path, its bell long silent, its cross barely visible through the curtain of rain. The two figures approached its worn wooden doors and stopped. For a moment, there was only the sound of rain hitting stone and the distant rumble of the heavens.
Cradled in the arms of the taller figure was a baby, sleeping peacefully despite the chaos around. He was wrapped in a deep red cloth, warm and dry—as if the storm dared not touch him.
The church doors creaked open, revealing a gentle-faced nun, her white robes illuminated faintly by the flickering light of the sanctuary behind her. Her eyes widened at the sight of the baby.
"Please," the male figure said in a quiet, strained voice, "Take care of this boy... until the time comes for him to find a new family."
The nun looked between the baby and the cloaked strangers, then nodded silently, arms reaching out to accept the child.
Before the baby left their hands, the female figure knelt, brushing a soft hand across the boy's forehead. Her voice trembled with sorrow and hope.
"One day," she whispered, "you will awaken to the truth of who you are... and what lies ahead. Until then, sleep peacefully. Wait for that moment."
She paused, then added gently, "His name… Please call him Elijah Everheart."
The nun repeated the name softly, holding the child close. The figures exchanged one final look with the baby, then turned away, vanishing into the storm without another word.
The baby did not stir.
As lightning split the sky above, the church doors slowly closed, and the boy's fate—woven by hands unknown—began to unfold.