Gray skies enveloped all of Troy, as if the night itself welcomed impending doom.
In the palace of Troy, the atmosphere suddenly grew tense. A man paced back and forth outside a chamber.
Inside the room, a woman, who was also a mother, struggled through labor to give birth to her child.
Palace servants rushed in and out of the birthing chamber, while on the other side, the palace physician prayed to their gods and goddesses, beseeching them for a smooth delivery.
Outside, thunder roared wildly, as if the gods and goddesses were heralding the arrival of one who would one day bring a catastrophe that would destroy his own people.
Back in the woman's chamber, the cry of a newborn baby echoed out into the hall.
The physician now cradled a male infant. "Your Highness the Queen, your son has been born safely, but..." he said, his words trailing off.
"But what? Why is your face so pale?" asked the woman, the mother of the baby and, as it turned out, the Queen, in a measured tone.
The physician bowed his head, as if afraid to meet his Queen's gaze. "The birds stopped singing when he emerged. And look at the sky... this storm came out of nowhere," he replied, glancing at the little prince, who for some reason had stopped crying and was smiling at him.
Meanwhile, a voice filled the tiny baby's mind.
"This can't be possible. Reincarnation? I don't believe in things like that. But why can I remember everything? Why can I understand their language? And why... why do I know the name 'Paris' before they even say it?"
From afar, the Queen gazed at her baby, who was being held by the palace physician.
"Summon my husband. Tell him his son has been born," the Queen said to a female servant beside her.
The servant nodded lightly. "Very well, Your Highness Queen Hecuba," she said, then stepped out of the room.
At the same time, a man who had been pacing anxiously outside the chamber was now being calmed by an elderly man.
"Your Highness the King, please try to relax," the old man said.
The King paused in his steps for a moment. "Relax? What do you mean by relax, Agealus? There's thunder rumbling outside, and this is the dry season," he said, his face pale and sweat streaming down.
"Forgive me, Your Highness," Agealus replied in a low tone. "I meant no offense. I only wanted to soothe you."
Before the King could respond to Agealus's words, a female servant approached them from the direction of the chamber.
"Greetings, Your Highness the King," the female servant said with deep respect.
The King turned his head toward the voice. "What is it? How is my wife? What about the baby?" he asked hurriedly.
"Her Highness the Queen requests your presence inside," the female servant replied softly.
The King nodded lightly. "Very well, wait here, Agealus," he said, then strode quickly into the room.
His eyes now somewhat calmer, he beheld his wife healthy and the tiny baby cradled by the palace physician.
"Praise the gods, you have delivered our child safely, Hecuba," the King said, approaching his wife.
With great care, he touched her shoulder and kissed her forehead.
"Here, hold your son, Priam," his wife said softly.
Priam nodded gently to Hecuba, and the palace physician approached them.
"Please, Your Highness," the physician said, handing the baby to the King's hands.
Priam received his baby gently but firmly. In his arms, the infant's beautiful dark eyes stared into Priam's.
The King's heart raced, as if he felt an unease he had never known before.
"My handsome son..." the King praised, rocking his baby gently.
At the same time, in Queen Hecuba's mind, she recalled the dream from the night before.
In it, she had given birth to a torch that burned endlessly in Troy, but she hadn't yet dared to tell anyone, not even her husband, King Priam.
After holding his baby for a while, Priam handed him back to Hecuba, whose strength was gradually returning.
"Take it slow, my love," Priam said as he passed the child to Hecuba.
Hecuba smiled faintly. "Don't worry, my husband," she said, then received their little baby.
Hecuba kissed her baby with a mother's affection. "Welcome to Troy, my son," she said tenderly.
The tiny baby finally drifted off to sleep in his mother's warm embrace, but the soul within him remained wide awake.
He heard faint whispers amid the night's wind.
"The Queen's nightmare," "This is a sign from the gods," "We must consult the royal oracle."
Meanwhile, far from the gray skies of Troy, a clear sky welcomed a pair of eggs laid by a woman.
One egg would hatch Helen and Pollux, who were also children of Zeus, the King of the Gods from Mount Olympus.
The other egg would hatch Castor and Clytemnestra, children of the King of Sparta, Tyndareus.
The woman was Leda, the Queen of Sparta and wife of King Tyndareus of Sparta.
A different tale came from Mycenae, where two brothers fled from pursuit by their uncle.
They ran with all their might after their father was slain by their uncle for the throne of Mycenae.
"We must escape from here, Menelaus," the elder brother said, gasping for breath.
The younger brother nodded wearily. "Yes, Brother Agamemnon," he replied to his elder.
They continued running swiftly toward Sicyon, praying to the gods in their hearts for safe passage to their destination.
At the same time, on Olympus, seventeen gods and goddesses gathered at their thrones.
"Fate is shifting," said Zeus, the King of the Gods. "The child who was meant to be the beginning of Troy's destruction will now devour the entire sky."
Hades smiled slyly at his brother's unease, while the other gods and goddesses merely looked to their King.
"Should we intervene, Zeus?" asked Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love, with words as smooth as they were world-altering.
Zeus's eyes pierced toward Aphrodite. "No, Aphrodite. We will watch first," Zeus said firmly.
Poseidon, the God who ruled rivers, lakes, and seas, snorted softly. "You can't always be like this, Zeus. You once wrote fate that Troy would fall, but what now? You've even made the Queen of Sparta bear your children," Poseidon teased his younger brother subtly.
"Silence, Poseidon," Zeus gripped his throne tightly. "You have no right to speak that way, for you are no different from me."
Poseidon laughed heartily, his laughter echoing like crashing waves in the ocean, while the other gods and goddesses watched the brothers' antics.
Meanwhile, on the southern side of the island of Java, a woman with a crown of green jewels gazed far at a massive hammer, her handmaidens merely observing their queen.
Back in Troy, a young man trained with a sword under the moonlight, sweat pouring profusely.
"You call yourself a man, Hector!?" an elderly warrior bellowed. "Raise your sword once more if you wish to protect this land."
Hector's hands, still trembling, gripped the sword hilt again.
With a spirited shout, he resumed his sword practice.
In the distant future, he would be remembered as Troy's greatest hero.
But tonight, he was merely the crown prince of Troy, still needing to train.
Several days later, or more precisely, seven days after the birth of Troy's little prince.
The King and Queen of Troy carried their son to the oracle of the Temple of Apollo, accompanied by servants and palace guards.
The baby gazed at everything he could see. "The architecture of this world is truly astonishing. How was a palace this grand built without modern construction tools, and how does it withstand all terrains?" thought the adult soul in the tiny body.
Marble columns, reliefs of gods and goddesses adorned it, the air filled with the scent of incense.
All of this felt real, not a dream or mere hallucination, thought the little one deeply, held tightly by his mother.
Priam greeted the oracle, Pythia. "Pythia, we come seeking answers. My wife's dream..." he said after Hecuba honestly shared her dream before the birth of their second child.
The wrinkled-faced woman before him, Pythia, remained calm, as if she saw everything. "I already know why you have come, King Priam. The gods and goddesses have whispered to me."
"Then what is the meaning of my wife's dream?" Priam said, raising an eyebrow slightly. "Tell us, Pythia."
The oracle raised her hand upward, halting Priam's words.
Then silence filled the room as the ritual began. Pythia burned laurel leaves and prepared for her trance.
Priam's son observed with fascination, he had read about this in history books that accompanied his school days long ago.
But seeing it firsthand was different. "Books only describe it, but right before me now, they are doing what modern people call magic," said the little one from Troy.
"It's like a National Geographic documentary come to life. But wait... if this is real, and I truly am Paris, then... oh no. I know how this story ends," he continued.
The prophecy had concluded, and the oracle's awareness returned.
In her trance, Pythia delivered the prophecy: "The son you cradle will bring fire to Troy. His beauty will captivate, but destruction will follow. If he lives, these high walls will crumble. If he dies, Troy will endure for more than a thousand years," she said in a high tone, as if issuing a warning.
Hecuba's body suddenly lost its strength upon hearing Pythia's prophecy; her legs weakened, but her hands still clutched her baby tightly.
Meanwhile, Priam's face turned ashen, sweat pouring profusely, his hands trembling violently as if unable to accept the prophecy.
"This cannot be," Priam said, his eyes fixed on his son. "Our child will..."
The servants behind them murmured in fear of Pythia's prophecy of Troy's destruction.
Hecuba's little son then realized in his mind, "The Trojan War. Helen of Troy. I... I am the cause of the war that destroys an entire civilization. No, this cannot happen. I must change history this time."
Meanwhile, in a forest full of pine trees, the God of Music smiled softly, as if everything was unfolding according to his will.
"Why are you smiling like that, Brother?" asked a female figure with a bear resting in her lap.
The God of Music merely shook his head lightly while plucking his lyre. "Nothing at all, dear Sister," he said in a gentle tone.
But the woman stared sharply, as if disbelieving her brother's answer.
"If Father doesn't want to play, then it will be just the two of us who must play, Sister," the God of Music said arrogantly. "You agree with me, don't you?"
The woman merely snorted. "Do as you wish," she said.
The north wind tried to leave the two siblings, attempting to return to Troy.
"So, what must we do now, Pythia?" Priam asked in a weak voice.
Hecuba looked at her husband, holding her baby tightly as if unwilling to let go.
Pythia gazed toward the night sky. "You must kill the child so that what you have built does not crumble," she said, staring sharply at the baby.
"Is there no other way?" Priam asked, seeking a glimmer of hope. "The gods wouldn't be that cruel to an infant, would they?"
The oracle merely shook her head, as if killing was the only path.
"Very well, I understand," Priam said. "In that case, we take our leave."
Pythia bowed respectfully. "Safe travels, King. May the gods bless you and your family," she added.
Priam and his entourage left the Temple of Apollo, carrying profound sorrow.
Priam paced in his chamber. Hecuba wept while embracing Paris. The baby did not cry—as if he understood the gravity of the situation.
Hecuba let out a sound. "He is our son, Priam. Blood of our blood. How can we..." Her voice shattered the tense atmosphere.
Priam nodded in agreement. "But if the prophecy is true... the entire people of Troy will die because of it."
Hecuba's body trembled softly. "Prophecies can be wrong. The gods sometimes speak in riddles."
"I hope so, my wife," Priam said, trying to comfort her. "Yet they have never been wrong until this day."
The atmosphere in their chamber fell silent once more.
The baby in Hecuba's arms gazed at the two adults who had just spoken.
He heard the entire conversation. As someone versed in business, he understood Priam's logic: sacrifice one to save the many.
But as... himself, he did not want to die again.
"I just died and was reborn. I haven't even had a chance to understand what's happening. And now they want to kill me again? No. I must survive. I must find a way to change this fate."
Hecuba refused to hand over her child. "I will not surrender him, Priam. If he must die, then I must go with him," she said, declaring she would take her own life if Priam killed Paris.
Priam's body shuddered; he was forced to seek another solution. "Very well, my wife. I will find a different path."
The King then stepped out, leaving his wife and summoning Agealus alone, as if he wanted no one else in the palace to know of this night's turmoil.
He met Agealus, who was standing alone, gazing at the crescent moon.
"Agealus, come here," Priam said in a low tone.
Agealus nodded and approached. "What is it, Your Highness?"
"Come with me now," Priam said firmly.
Agealus followed the King without further questions.
Priam and Agealus entered Hecuba's chamber, but Hecuba's sharp gaze made the atmosphere even tenser.
Agealus offered them advice. "I have a suggestion, Your Highnesses. But it requires your approval," he said.
"What suggestion is that, Agealus?" Hecuba asked, staring at the old servant.
"My suggestion is that we abandon him on the mountain. If he survives, it means the goddesses will him to live. If he dies, Troy will be saved," Agealus said steadily.
Priam looked at Hecuba, and she at him.
They gazed at each other for some time, then nodded in unison.
"Very well, I agree with your suggestion, Agealus," Hecuba said in profound sadness.
Agealus bowed respectfully. "Thank you, Your Highnesses, for accepting the advice of this old servant," he said.
The loyal old servant offered to take the baby himself to the mountain as a solution for abandoning the second prince, letting nature decide.
Priam nodded in agreement with Agealus's plan.
"Tomorrow, officially, the child will be announced as having died from illness," Priam said, accompanied by his wife's sobs.
Only three people knew the truth about the second prince: King Priam, Queen Hecuba, and Agealus the old servant.
Tonight was the last time the second prince would be in the palace of Troy. Hecuba nursed him while singing a farewell lullaby from Troy.
"Forgive Mother, my love," she said, tears wetting her son's face. "Mother doesn't want you to die, but she can't bear to let Troy fall into ruin."
Hecuba's little son felt a love he had never known in his previous life.
For the first time, he questioned whether mere survival was the right goal. Or perhaps there was something else that could become his new purpose in this life?
The night sky over the palace of Troy was clear, the moon gazing down on two figures.
"Agealus, take this child to Mount Ida," Priam said firmly. "Let him die there."
The King then handed the baby to Agealus, his old servant.
Agealus merely nodded, then walked away from Priam.
"Forgive me, my son," the King said, watching Agealus's shadow fade into the dark night. "The gods have made their decision."
He stepped back into the palace, his heart a tumult of grief and sorrow for his son's fate.
Meanwhile, Hecuba watched her son's departure with unending tears.
Far from the eventful Troy this night, a woman under the moonlight whispered something to a female bear asleep in her lap.
The bear rose and walked away from the woman.
A man with a bow and arrow watched from behind the bear. "What are you planning, Sister?" he asked, turning his face.
"Nothing, Brother," said the woman with flowers in her beautiful hair. "I'm just doing what I always do."
The man with the bow snorted softly. "You've never been like this before, Sister," he said with an eagle-sharp gaze.
The woman with flowers in her hair shook her head. "I've always been this way, Brother. Never changed since the beginning," she said, hiding a smile.
"Do as you please," the man said. "Then I shall play in this game as well."
The story now shifts back. Agealus, King Priam's old servant, carried the tiny baby wrapped in wool.
He walked in silence, the only sounds his footsteps and the mountain night's breeze.
Agealus whispered in the baby's ear, "Forgive us, little prince. This is no easy choice."
Mount Ida loomed close.
"Mount Ida... I remember reading about this. It's where Paris chooses between three goddesses. The Judgment of Paris. The moment that starts the Trojan War. Ironic that I'll be abandoned in the same place where I'll make the decision that changes history," thought the adult soul in the baby's body.
"As long as I can survive," he continued.
As they began climbing the mountain, the baby saw Troy from afar, the palace lights like stars growing distant.
Like a slow farewell to the luxurious life he would never feel again.
A beautiful clearing with a view toward the valley.
A spot sheltered enough from predators, scavengers, or wild beasts. Near a water source, but far from usual human paths.
Agealus placed the baby on a white linen cloth, leaving provisions like honey, milk in a small vessel, and an amulet given by Hecuba at the palace.
Agealus said softly, "May the goddesses protect you, little prince. If you are fated to live, someone will find you."
But in his heart, "Or perhaps I'll return in a few days to check on you... without the king's knowledge?"
Then Agelaus walked away heavily, leaving the baby alone in the silent forest.
This was true wilderness survival.
All his past business savvy was useless here.
He was just a baby in need of help, dependent on miracle or luck.
"This is insane. I can't survive as a baby in the wild. I can't scream for help, can't walk, can't do anything. What should I do?" thought the adult soul in the baby's body.
After Agealus, Priam's servant, left, the baby began to feel the mountain air's chill.
"What now?" he wondered. "I can't do anything in this tiny body."
"Help, anyone!!!" he thought, but the sound that emerged was only a baby's cry, not the voice in his head.
He cried loudly, not from infant reflex, but from a natural fear he had never felt before.
His cries echoed among the trees of Mount Ida's forest.
The cries attracted a large shadow approaching the source.
The baby saw the large shadow nearing, its teeth sharp with drooling saliva, as if a tasty meal lay before it.
In panic, he tried to scream, but only a baby's cry emerged. "No... don't eat me..." his soul screamed loudly, but only a wail spread everywhere.
Suddenly from another direction, "Back off, beast!" a loud, warning voice, seemingly from a shepherd, rang out from afar.
The large shadow retreated in the opposite direction from the voice.
The baby heard footsteps approaching, like those of a human.
"Thank goodness that creature is gone," the soul thought.
The man appeared: a middle-aged fellow, weathered by mountain life, but with kind eyes.
He had been searching for a lost sheep when he heard the baby's cries.
The shepherd paused in thought. "My goodness... who would abandon a baby in a place like this?" he said, his hands trembling slightly.
He saw the expensive linen cloth. "This isn't ordinary cloth. Whose child is this?"
He looked left and right, ensuring no humans were around.
Finally, steeling his resolve, he decided to take the baby.
But he also realized the irony of being saved by someone he barely knew in this life.
"What a strange coincidence. Or perhaps this is fate? Two different people in my life just now. One abandoned me, the other saved me. Symbolism too perfect for mere chance," he mused.
He saw the amulet left with the baby, a royal emblem he recognized.
He realized this was a noble's child, perhaps even royal blood.
But he decided not to investigate further, as it wasn't his place.
Agealus: "Whoever left you, they must have had a reason. But I won't let you die here."
Seeing Paris's unusually alert eyes, "Your eyes... like they've seen much. Strange for a baby," he said.
The shepherd gave the baby warm goat's milk.
"Drink calmly, child," the shepherd said in a gentle tone.
For the first time since this reincarnation, the adult soul in the baby's body felt safe.
There was something different about facing the simplicity of a shepherd's life.
The shepherd decided to take the baby home.
He would tell his wife he found an abandoned infant, without mentioning the royal amulet.
"Come meet your new mother, child," the shepherd said to the baby in his arms. "She'll be shocked when she sees you."
On the way home, the shepherd recounted his entire life, from being a shepherd boy to now being a husband.
Time passed quickly; they arrived at the shepherd's simple home.
"Welcome, child," he said with a broad smile. "May you be comfortable here."
A simple wooden house with a stunning view of the valley ahead, its roof neatly thatched with straw.
Simple furnishings, a warming hearth, the aroma of warm bread and herbs.
A stark contrast to the naked luxury of palace life.
The shepherd's wife was suddenly startled, but maternal instinct surged.
They had lost a child before, so the baby's presence answered their long-standing prayers.
"Where did this child come from, Agealus?" the shepherd's wife asked her husband.
Agealus replied, gazing at the woman before him. "I found him abandoned on the mountain. No one else was around, Thalia."
Thalia nodded, as if not doubting her husband. "His clothes are expensive... but he's thin. How long has he been alone?" she asked, smiling at the baby.
Agealus shook his head lightly. "I don't know. But now he's our son," he said firmly.
"You're right, Agealus," Thalia said, then kissed the baby's forehead. "Welcome to our family."
He began observing the shepherd's life from Agealus.
A simple routine, wake at dawn, tend the sheep, eat together, sleep early.
No stress, no deadlines, no corporate politics, just simple living.
"This is a life I never imagined. In my previous life, I always chased more money, success, and recognition for my company," he mused inwardly.
"But here... it's all about survival and family. Perhaps there's wisdom in simplicity," he continued.
The baby slept in a wooden cradle made by Agealus.
He heard the whispering mountain wind, hooting owls, and shifting sheep.
A symphony of sounds utterly different from the city bustle he knew.
Before sleep, Agealus looked at the royal amulet he had hidden.
He knew one day the truth about the baby would come out.
"Rest easy, my son. You will be safe," Agealus said calmly.
But for now, he would guard this secret.
The baby slept peacefully for the first time since reincarnating, as if the simple room was the most comfortable place for him.
In his dream, he saw two fates: one leading to a grand palace ending in fire, the other to a simple mountain life ending in peace.
He didn't know which fate he would choose, but one thing was certain: he would not repeat the same mistakes.
Shepherds on the slopes of Ida, like Agealus, rose before dawn, when the sky was still gray and the air of Mount Ida slipped coldly through the cracks in their wooden home.
They lived in a simple hut of pine and earth, with a thatched roof that leaked during heavy rains.
Each morning began by kindling a fire in the small hearth, where Thalia warmed goat's milk or baked bread from coarse flour they ground themselves.
The aroma of wood smoke and wild herbs like thyme filled the air, creating a warm atmosphere contrasting the harsh outer world.
Agealus herded their sheep on the slopes of Mount Ida, relying on his old wooden staff and a loyal sheepdog to guard the flock from wolves or occasional bears.
The work demanded endurance: hours of walking rocky terrain, facing sharp winds, and sometimes sleeping under the stars if sheep strayed among the slopes.
Thalia, meanwhile, tended the home, milked the goats, and gathered firewood or wild roots for food while providing the baby a comfortable life.
They lived off what nature provided: goat cheese, honey from wild hives, and occasionally slaughtered lamb meat.
But their lives began to change with the arrival of the baby Agelaus brought.
As shepherds, Agealus and Thalia relied heavily on natural signs and faith in the gods they worshiped.
They always left small offerings, a bundle of grass or spilled milk, at a simple stone altar for Pan, the god of shepherds, or Nyx, the goddess of night, beseeching their protection.
Sudden storms came uninvited, healthy lamb births seen as blessings or divine warnings.
The baby, with his modern soul, began observing these rituals with awe or skepticism, trying to understand the logic behind their beliefs so different from the palace's.
Life as a shepherd was harsh enough.
Extreme weather, predators, and sheep diseases threatened daily.
Agealus might have lost part of his flock in a winter storm, leaving emotional scars that made him more protective of his adopted child.
Thalia, who had lost a child before, found new meaning in caring for the baby her husband found, though his fine clothes raised questions they avoided.
They lived with resolve, relying on a small community of other shepherds for mutual aid during harvests or festivals.
For the adult soul in the baby's body, this life was a revelation, far from modern city's hustle or business pressures. He might ponder this simplicity, comparing it to the "deadlines" and "corporate politics" that once haunted him.
The night's whispering wind, scent of firewood, and steady routine could be new lessons for him: that true wealth might lie in family bonds and harmony with nature, not ambition.
The wind howled wildly among the peaks of Mount Ida, its voice like the earth's tormented screams in the third night storm since Agealus brought the abandoned baby from the open meadow.
Their wooden hut shook, its pine walls creaking under the wind's pressure, while the thatched roof rattled as if about to tear free.
Inside, a small fire flickered in the stone hearth, its soft yet hopeful light illuminating Agelaus and Thalia's faces as they knelt beside the woven reed cradle.
The baby lay there, wrapped in fine linen cloth contrasting the room's simplicity, his dark eyes staring with an eerie clarity, as if holding unspoken secrets.
Thalia gripped the cradle's edge, her fingers trembling as they brushed the cloth hiding the royal amulet, proof of the child's origins they chose to conceal.
Her breath caught, memories of their lost son to fever flooding her mind, tears slowly tracing her cheeks.
"He is a gift, Agealus," she whispered, her voice breaking with mingled awe and fear.
"But a gift shadowed. Look at his eyes, not ordinary for a baby."
Agealus nodded slowly, his rugged face carved by years facing the mountain's harshness. He had seen nature's signs: eagles circling dying flocks, silence before a wolf attack, but never a burden like this.
The storm outside rocked the hut, lightning striking with thunder echoing through the valley, as if nature itself spoke.
"The mountain saved him," he murmured, his voice deep with awe.
"This linen, this amulet, they speak of Trojan blood. But who left him? And what name suits him?"
Thalia rose, her steps slow but resolute, her silhouette dancing in the firelight like a determined mother's shadow. She walked to the stone altar in the room's corner, a simple monument to Pan, the god of the wild, adorned with pine branches and remnants of old offerings.
Carefully, she poured a bit of goat's milk from a clay jug onto the stone, the liquid dripping slowly to the earth, followed by a pinch of dried herbs from her pouch.
"We must seek guidance from the mountain spirits," she said, her voice soft yet authoritative. "This is not our decision alone."
The air in the hut grew heavy, the scent of milk and herbs mingling with woodsmoke and wild wind seeping through wall cracks.
Agealus joined her, setting his worn staff beside the altar, then kneeling with open hands, as if surrendering to nature's will.
The baby followed their movements with a gaze unusual for his age, his chest rising and falling in sync with distant thunder rumbles.
Suddenly, Thalia fell silent, a flash in her mind: visions of burning golden towers, distant laughter, and a name echoing: 'Paris'. She drew a deep breath, her hand clutching the altar's edge.
"Paris," she uttered, the word heavy on her tongue, laden with unspoken meaning.
"I saw it in my mind, a name tied to fire and glory. Perhaps that's his fate."
Agealus stared at her, brow furrowed as he absorbed the word.
"Paris," he repeated, his voice echoing in the small room, testing its weight.
"A beautiful name, but full of mystery. Are we raising hope, Thalia? Or a burden too heavy?"
He turned to the cradle, lifting the baby carefully, his rough hands contrasting his gentle motion.
The baby's tiny fingers gripped his, the hold strong despite the fragile body, and Agealus felt warmth seep into his chest, an bond born of choice, not blood.
Thalia approached, her tears glistening in the dim light, reflecting the nearly dying fire.
"He is ours now, whatever awaits," she said, her voice strengthening with a mother's love.
"We will name him Paris, child of the mountain chosen by nature. May Pan bless him, and may the winds bring him goodness."
She leaned down, kissing the baby's forehead tenderly, her lips trembling as if sealing an unspoken vow.
The storm outside seemed to ease momentarily, thunder rolling softly, as if nature approved their choice.
But the calm shattered when a strange sound echoed outside the hut, a heavy tread on rocks, followed by unnatural wood creaking.
Agealus sprang to his feet, grabbing his staff with steady hands, eyes sharp toward the door.
Thalia clutched Paris tighter, her breath quickening as the hidden amulet slipped and glowed faintly in the cloth folds, catching the dying firelight.
"Something's outside," she whispered, her voice tense.
Agealus stepped to the door, heart pounding, and cracked it open.
Cold wind swept his face, carrying the scent of wet earth and something alien, like metal or blood.
In the darkness, he saw a large shadow moving among the pines, its silhouette vague yet menacing, larger than an ordinary wolf.
"Stay inside," he commanded Thalia, his voice firm though fear lingered in his eyes.
He stepped out, staff ready, and closed the door behind him.
Inside the hut, Thalia rocked Paris, trying to soothe him though his cries began to break.
"Don't be afraid, my child," she whispered, but her voice trembled. The amulet in her hand quivered, its light fading then flaring, as if responding to something outside.
Outside, the creaking turned to hissing, followed by a deeper hiss, like flowing blood or a giant beast's breath.
Agealus shouted, his voice cut off by a loud thud, and the hut shook as if struck.
Thalia rushed to the door, forcing it open, and froze.
Agelaus lay on the ground, his staff broken beside him, while the large shadow retreated into the forest, leaving deep claw marks in the mud.
Blood dripped from Agealus's arm, but he still breathed, eyes full of confusion.
"Go… take Paris…" he gasped weakly.
Thalia drew a panicked breath, pulling her husband and child inside, then barricading the door with trembling hands.
The hearth fire nearly extinguished, its light leaving only shadows on the walls.
Paris wailed loudly, his cries echoing with an unusual fear for a baby, as if he understood the lurking danger. Thalia held him close, the amulet in her hand now cold, its glow vanished completely.
Outside, the hiss returned, closer, followed by a low laugh carried on the wind. The door rattled, and a massive claw scratched the wood from beyond, leaving deep gouges that shattered the night's silence.
Agealus struggled to rise but collapsed with a groan.
"What have we awakened?" he whispered, eyes fixed on Paris with mingled hope and fear.
Thalia stared at the door, then her child, heart pounding.
The name Paris echoed in her mind, a promise and a threat, while the sounds outside drew nearer, ready to unveil mysteries they had yet to know.
To be continued.