The sky darkened with thick clouds, and cold rain began to fall, soaking the cracked ground around the hut.
Inside, the woman paced back and forth. Her steps echoed softly on the wooden floor, matching the steady pulse she felt deep inside her belly.
The child moved more now—strong and sure, like it was testing the limits.
She looked out through the small window. Figures stood just beyond the trees, watching, waiting.
The ground trembled slightly, a low vibration that made the walls creak.
The crow stirred, its feathers bristling.
Suddenly, a nearby tree cracked and crashed down, shaking the earth beneath her feet.
She pressed a hand to her stomach, steadying herself.
The whisper returned, cold and clear.
"It is time."
Her jaw tightened. Fear and determination mixed inside her.
Outside, the storm grew louder. Thunder rolled across the sky.
Inside, the child moved with a strong, steady beat — a signal that something was coming.The sun hung low in the sky, its pale light stretched thin beneath heavy clouds. The village, usually alive with clatter and chatter, was cloaked in a strange, uneasy silence. Even the children stayed close to their homes, eyes darting nervously toward the edge of the forest where shadows gathered like a gathering storm.
A small group of strangers had arrived — figures wrapped in dark cloaks, faces hidden beneath hoods. Their presence was like a cold wind cutting through the village's uneasy calm. The villagers whispered behind shuttered windows and behind trembling hands, unsure whether to fear or hope.
From the edge of the trees, the woman watched them. The child inside her stirred sharply, as if sensing the weight of their arrival. Her hands instinctively moved to her belly, a protective gesture that felt both instinctual and desperate.
The crow soared high above, circling with an urgency that sent a shiver through the night air. Its sharp cry sliced through the silence, a warning or perhaps a call to arms.
Inside the hut, the air felt thick and heavy, as if the walls themselves held their breath. A low hum vibrated through the wooden beams — not quite sound, but a pressure that pressed against her skin and seeped into her bones.
The woman sank to her knees, clutching the rough floorboards as visions flickered behind her closed eyes. Twisted temples swallowed by shadows, ancient gods awakening from forgotten dreams, and a fate tangled like dark threads binding her and the child to a destiny neither had chosen.
Outside, the voices of the strangers drifted on the wind — a language older than the village, filled with cryptic words of hope and dread. They spoke of balance, of power lost and found, and of a coming storm that would change everything.
The villagers held their breath. The wind shifted and carried a distant rumble — the promise of a storm, growing closer with every heartbeat.
The woman opened her eyes, the cold weight of certainty settling over her like a shroud.
The storm was coming. And no one suspect it