While Lyena was learning to laugh again, far away in a colder part of the world...
A woman walked through the forest, sent not by fate, but by request.
"Go," the king had told her.
"Find the mountain herbs. My daughter's fever hasn't broken."
She obeyed.
Not because of his crown.
But because the girl had smiled at her once.
And that was enough.
It was early.
Mist kissed the roots.
The trees didn't whisper.
And then-
she smelled it.
Not herbs.
Not life.
But something heavier.
Like metal and silence and blood.
She followed it, heart cold but hands steady.
And then-
She found the clearing.
Bodies.
Dozens.
Some half-buried by earth.
Some broken beyond recognition.
And in the center...
A small basket.
She stepped forward, breath held.
Inside the basket-
A child.
Curled under a soft woven cloth, sound asleep.
He was no more than two years old.
Black hair.
Pale skin.
Scars on his arms.
Scratches across his legs.
And stitched into the blanket...
One word.
"Livar."
She blinked.
Once.
Then again.
She looked around the clearing.
No footsteps.
No signs of other survivors.
Only him.
Only death.
And silence.
She dropped to her knees beside the basket.
Touched his forehead.
Warm.
But not fevered.
Alive.
She whispered:
"Did someone protect you?"
But deep down, she knew.
There was no one else.
No other trail.
And no blood near the basket.
Because the blood was everywhere else.
He didn't wake until she lifted him into her arms.
Even then-
He didn't cry.
Didn't speak.
Didn't even blink much.
She carried him down the hill in silence.
He leaned his head against her shoulder like it was the only place in the world he trusted.
He never told her what happened.
Not with words.
Because Livar couldn't speak.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
But the scars said enough.
And the silence said the rest.
She didn't ask the king for reward.
She didn't even bring back the herbs.
Only the boy.
The one named Livar.
End of Chapter 19 - The Boy in the Basket