The wind carried the stench of blood and burnt steel.
Ravi trudged through the charred remains of what had once been a fertile stretch of land, now reduced to a silent graveyard. Crows circled above, and the sky wore a dull grey, as if mourning with the earth. Mrudhula followed quietly behind him, her shawl pressed tightly over her mouth and nose. The two had come not to scavenge, but to understand—why the skies had burned last night, and whether the land they tilled would ever recover.
Broken weapons littered the ground, some still warm. Soot clung to their feet as they moved past blackened trees and the collapsed remnants of tents.
And then they heard it—a sound far too soft for a place like this.
A cry.
Thin, sharp, and desperate.
Ravi froze.
"That's a baby…" Mrudhula whispered, her eyes wide.
They followed the sound, careful, unsure of what they might find. It led them to a small hill of scorched earth and shattered stones—and at its base, knelt in eternal stillness, was a woman.
Her body was slumped forward, arms wrapped tightly around something. Her robes were torn, her hair loose and matted with ash. One knee was dug into the dirt, as if she had made a final plea before the end.
Between her arms, a newborn—alive, wailing, untouched by the fire that had swallowed everything else.
Mrudhula dropped to her knees, heart pounding. "She… shielded him. She died protecting him."
Ravi slowly knelt beside her, eyes scanning the woman's face. Peaceful now. But there had been pain—so much pain. He looked at the child, who blinked up at the sky with bright, storm-gray eyes. Not a mark on him. No burns. No wounds. Just… warmth. As if the fire had passed him by entirely.
"This doesn't make sense," Ravi muttered.
Mrudhula didn't respond. Her hands had already moved to lift the child gently out of the mother's arms. The baby quieted in her touch, curling slightly into her warmth, as if recognizing safety again.
"We can't leave him here," she said, voice trembling.
"We don't even know who he belongs to—"
"He belongs to us now," she said firmly. "He's a blessing. No child survives this… not by chance. He's here for a reason."
Ravi looked back at the kneeling mother. She had made a final stand, not with sword or spell—but with love. A shield stronger than any armor.
He nodded.
"Then we raise him," he said. "As our own. No one needs to know where he came from."
They wrapped the child in a shawl and began the slow walk back through the ashes. The battlefield remained silent behind them—but far above, the wind stirred, and for a fleeting moment, it carried warmth.
Something ancient had just begun to awaken.