The elders gathered in the temple hall.
Thick incense clouded the air, disguising the fear on their faces with smoke and silence.
The High Priest stood at the center, his eyes glowing faintly gold — a sign the gods were listening. Or had been.
> "The earth wilts. The stream is dust. The wind screams at night. These are not omens," he said.
"These are warnings."
The gathered men muttered, some clutching their prayer beads, others hiding trembling hands beneath sleeves.
> "The woman... she's carrying something unnatural," someone whispered.
"A demon?"
"A curse?"
"A god's punishment…"
The High Priest raised his hand. Silence.
> "Whatever grows in her womb was not made by mortal seed. And it must not be allowed to take its first breath."
---
She sat alone in the hut, clutching her belly.
The warmth had grown. The kicks were now movements — slow, thoughtful, too deliberate.
She could feel the child... waiting.
She heard voices outside.
> "Stone the hut again."
"This time with fire."
"We warned her. We prayed. Now we purge."
She didn't move.
She looked at her belly.
> "Why are you here?" she whispered.
"What are you?"
The child didn't respond — but the crow outside cawed violently, as if in answer.
Then the wind outside stopped.
Dead still.
The voices outside paused. The villagers turned to the sky — clouds, once gray, now bled black.
A thunderclap.
But no rain.
Just silence.
Heavy, angry silence.
And in the distance — beyond the forest, past the hills — a temple bell rang.
But no one had rung it for