I made it back to my church and settled the baby down in a makeshift crib I had fashioned from a spare dresser drawer and some blankets. The infant looked up at me with its one good eye, and I couldn't help but feel a wave of protectiveness wash over me.

I sat down in the pew, gazing at the sleeping child and contemplating what I should do next. The baby's markings were unlike anything I had ever seen before, and I couldn't help but feel that there was some deeper meaning to them. Special or not, I am going to raise this child right, no matter what.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. The baby, now a few months old, had become a regular part of my life. I would take care of it during the day and attend to my religious duties in the evenings.

As the infant grew, I noticed that it was developing rapidly. It was able to crawl and even stand on its own at just a few months old. Its missing eye didn't seem to affect it in any way, and it was otherwise a healthy and happy baby.

But the baby's mysterious markings continued to nag at me. I knew that I needed to find out more about them to understand their significance.

One evening, as I was reading through ancient religious texts, I came across a passage that mentioned similar symbols. It spoke of a legendary figure, a prophet who was born with strange markings and was the only person to ever stand at the goddess's side.

From what I could tell from my research, the prophet was given his markings directly from the goddess as a reward for his pilgrimage to somewhere called the lower realm. Upon receiving the marks, his hair was turned from a dull grey color to a radiant blonde. There are no records of exactly what his mark looked like either, just accounts that refer to it as strange. Could the baby be a prophet?

The child had already begun to feel like my own. The thought of him being a legendary figure made me proud. That thought was quickly put to rest when the child's hair grew as black as the night sky. The goddesses chosen are all born with hair varying from white to blonde. A baby being born in the sacred land of Karthren with black hair was unheard of. Perhaps it was just a coincidence, but it added to the mystery surrounding the baby's origin.

I continued to care for and raise the child, determined to keep it safe and provide it with the best life possible. But as time went on, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this story than what I knew. One day, a woman came to my church, asking to see the baby. She had a strange look in her eyes, and I immediately felt uneasy.

"Who are you?" I asked, my hand resting protectively on the baby's crib.

"I am the baby's mother," she replied, her voice cold and distant. "I wanted to see my child in the flesh."

The woman wore a shabby black robe that obscured her face from view, but her hair was almost radiant, cascading from within the robe.

My heart raced as I looked at the woman, unsure of what to do. If she truly was the baby's mother, then I couldn't deny her the chance to see her child. But her strange demeanor made me feel uneasy.

I hesitated for a moment before nodding, and the woman stepped forward to look at the baby. As she peered into the crib, her expression softened slightly, and she reached out a hand to touch the child's forehead.

"It's been so long," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I never thought I would see you again."