On a snowy, quiet night—an ordinary night by most accounts—a figure is seen darting through a forest. A woman. She runs with lightning speed, weaving between trees and brush, driven by something unseen. We don't know what pursues her—only that she runs as if her life, or something far more precious, depends on it.
Clutched tightly in her arms is a bundle. At first glance, it appears to be nothing more than layers of woolen blankets. But the way she holds it—cradled close to her chest, protected as if it were her very soul—tells us it's far more than that.
Her black cloak flutters wildly behind her, the hood drawn up to conceal her face. Still, her urgency, her fear, is unmistakable. Up ahead, through the trees, the forest begins to thin. A clearing.
She stops abruptly at the forest's edge, her breath fogging in the cold night air. Before her lies a small, modest town—still under construction, with a wall rising at its borders, separating the human world from the wild, mysterious woods behind her.
For a moment, she hesitates. Her body shakes, not from the cold, but from uncertainty. She seems torn—calculated, cautious. Then, with a final breath, she dashes across the clearing and slips through a gap in the unfinished wall.
At the edge of town stands a small house with a modest shop front. She reaches the door, nearly collapsing from exertion. Still catching her breath, she gazes down at the bundle in her arms. Her expression softens—love, regret, and sorrow written in every line of her face.
The bundle stirs.
She presses a gentle kiss to its forehead, her lips trembling. From her pocket, she pulls out an envelope and places it atop the bundle—then removes a delicate necklace from around her neck. A faintly glowing emerald crystal dangles from its chain, and she lays it reverently on top.
With one final glance—one that says everything she cannot—she straightens up and knocks hard on the door.
The sound echoes into the night.
The baby stirs, then begins to cry.
Without another moment's pause, the woman turns and runs. She vanishes back toward the forest, but not the way she came. She stops just once at the tree line, turning back as lights flicker on in the little house behind her.
Tears glisten in her eyes—clear, glowing, emerald green.
Softly, almost inaudibly, she whispers into the night,
"Live well, my little starlight… until we meet again."
Then she disappears into the shadows of the trees, never to be seen again by the townspeople.
Moments later, the door of the house creaks open. A man and woman peer out, startled by the knock and the sound of crying. Their eyes widen in shock as they look down—and gasp.
There, on their doorstep, lies a baby.