Date: March 3, 2036
Location: Kingdom of Veyra – Elowen Village, Northern Province
Age: Altan Yüce – 3 months old
The wind whispered softly over the gentle hills of Elowen, carrying with it the scent of freshly tilled earth and blooming wildflowers. The sky, vast and unblemished, stretched across the horizon in a pale blue canvas. Far in the distance, the silhouette of snow-tipped mountains loomed, as ancient and steady as time itself.
Elowen was a quiet village nestled in the northern reaches of the Kingdom of Veyra. Surrounded by forests, rivers, and fertile lands, it was a place untouched by war or politics—a sanctuary carved out of the chaos that often plagued distant lands. But beneath that peace, fate had begun to stir.
In a small cottage built from river stone and oak wood, a child had been born just three moons ago. His name was Altan Yüce.
Wrapped in a woolen blanket, Altan lay in a wooden crib by the hearth, the flames casting flickering shadows across his pale skin and snow-white hair. His emerald eyes, deep and curious, blinked slowly as he gazed toward the shifting light.
He did not speak. He could not form words. He could not walk. But he watched.
Unlike other newborns, Altan's gaze lingered longer than it should have. He did not cry unless truly in discomfort. He followed sounds—subtle ones—like the creak of floorboards, or the distant call of a raven. His eyes carried something… timeless.
---
The Mother and the Silence
Elara, his mother, moved gently around the cottage. A strong woman in her late twenties, with chestnut hair and soft green eyes, she wore the calm of someone who had faced hardship with quiet strength. Her husband, Doran, was often away tending to the outer fields, leaving her alone with the baby during the long days.
She would hum songs while mashing herbs or cleaning linen. She often spoke to Altan—not expecting replies, of course—but her words always found a listener.
> "Your father says you have your great-grandfather's stare," she would whisper, rocking the cradle.
"He was a soldier once… long before peace came to this land."
Altan would blink slowly at her voice, his tiny fingers curling around the edge of the blanket.
> "There's something about you," she said once. "Like you're… remembering things you shouldn't be able to."
---
A Village with Quiet Eyes
The villagers of Elowen were kind, practical folk. They grew their food, hunted deer and wild boar, and celebrated seasonal festivals with dancing and laughter. They believed in hard work and clean hands. And though they welcomed Elara's newborn son with smiles and blessings, many found themselves glancing twice at the baby in the cradle.
> "He doesn't blink when I hold him," said the baker's wife one day.
"He doesn't look away when you stare back," murmured the village priest.
It wasn't fear that gripped them. It was unease. A sense that something ancient had opened its eyes again, in the form of a child.
But Altan did nothing to confirm their whispers. He lay in his cradle, he gurgled softly, he napped beneath the sunlit window.
And he watched.
---
The Passing Moons
By the end of the first month, Altan began to recognize voices. He would turn his head toward the sound of Doran's boots on gravel, or the laughter of distant children.
By the second month, he began to show signs of early strength—his small hands gripping with more firmness than expected, his attempts to sit up more insistent. Elara would laugh and say, "You'll be running before you crawl."
By the third month, strange things began to occur. Birds perched on the windowsill longer than usual, as if watching him. Dogs in the village barked when he passed by—then grew silent as he looked their way.
At night, when the moon was high and the village slept, Altan would stare toward the rafters. His eyes wide, reflective. As if the stars beyond the wooden ceiling spoke to him in a language no one else could hear.
---
The Farmer's Dream
One night, Doran came home late. He had been drinking with neighbors, celebrating the end of the winter frost. He kissed Elara's cheek, took off his boots, and sat by the fire.
> "I had a strange dream last night," he said, his voice low.
"There was a great army. And a boy… standing alone before it. His eyes were like emerald fire."
Elara went still. She glanced at the crib.
> "Was he… our boy?"
Doran didn't answer. He simply nodded, rubbing his beard with slow fingers.
> "He didn't speak," Doran said. "But when I looked at him, I felt like I had already failed him somehow."
They said nothing more. But the fire burned late into the night.
---
An Unexpected Visit
On the first day of the fourth moon, a traveler arrived in Elowen. Cloaked in gray, with a long staff and a hood that covered his face, the stranger passed silently through the village.
He didn't speak. He didn't linger. But as he passed by the cottage, he paused.
Altan, in his crib, had turned his head. Their eyes met through the open window—child and wanderer.
And in that breathless moment, something old stirred.
Then the traveler walked on.
---
Closing Thoughts
The village would not remember the stranger. Nor the odd wind that followed him. But within Altan's chest, a spark had lit.
He would not remember this day. He would not recall the traveler's presence.
But his journey had already begun.
And the world had begun to watch him back.