steral:born of the tree

 The sky wept smoke. Blood painted the trees. The war between the elven dominion of El'Renar and the human coalition had dragged on for nine years, spilling into forests that once whispered only songs of peace. Now, the songs had changed — replaced by screams and steel. A human soldier crouched behind a shattered boulder, his eyes locked on a group of elven archers up the ridge. He whispered a spell of light — but it bent unnaturally. Not to blind, but to deceive. The air shimmered. An illusion of a second human — identical to him — sprinted across the clearing as bait. One of the elves turned, tracking it. That was all the opening he needed. The real soldier dashed from the undergrowth, teeth clenched. His blade glinted only once — before piercing clean through the elf's skull. No honor. No mercy. Just war. And in the silence that followed, a strange thing drifted through the air. Not smoke. Not ash. Just A bird — with no feet,It glided silently above the battlefield, untouched by the chaos below. Wings glowed like woven starlight. Eyes deep as forgotten skies. It passed soldiers dying. Horses thrashing. Elven scouts whispering curses. None of them saw it. It wasn't flying north to the capital. Neither was it flying south to retreat. It was headed to an island no one remembered. To a cretain house where an important figure in the grand flow of history was about to be born.The house smelled of salt, blood, and firewood. The woman on the bed gasped one last time before collapsing into exhausted silence. The midwife nodded, gently swaddling the newborn boy in soft cloth and placing him into the simple wooden crib beside her. He didn't cry. He just breathed — slow, even. As if waiting. His mother's chest rose and fell faintly as she slipped into sleep. Outside, the waves lapped against the rocks. Inside, the child stared at the shadows with wide, empty eyes. And then — the bird came.It slipped through the open window like it belonged there. Its body shimmered with energy not of this world — its feathers glowing in rhythms that pulsed like a heartbeat. It hovered above the crib, casting strange lights over the sleeping child. Then — it descended. No feet touched the boy's chest. It simply rested there in defiance of all things natural. The crib creaked. A hum filled the room. The bird released a single, silent pulse of energy — invisible, yet overwhelming. Something ancient, something older than magic itself crashed into the boy's soul like a lightning bolt made of thought and color. His eyes opened — and they glowed, brighter than any human's ever had. Sapphire green. Shining with an unnatural depth. The bird trembled. And then, for the first time, its legs formed — glowing, spectral limbs fusing from energy and divine intent. Its mission complete, it gave a single, low trill, and vanished, lifting into the night sky like mist on the tide.The door swung open with a thud. A broad man stumbled in, sword still at his side, eyes hazy from celebration and drink. He stopped dead when he saw the sleeping child in the crib, the soft rise and fall of the blankets. A slow grin broke across his weathered face. "My son," he breathed, stepping closer. "By the gods…" His wife stirred but didn't wake. The man dropped to one knee, brushing a finger across the boy's cheek. "I'll raise you strong," he whispered, voice catching in his throat. "Stronger than I ever was. You'll be a swordsman. A warrior. A man people remember." The baby stared at him — green eyes still glowing faintly, watching, absorbing. But he said nothing. Because the story hadn't started yet.