Date: March 3, 2036
Location: Kingdom of Veyra – Elowen Village, Northern Region
Age: Altan Yüce – 3 months old
The wind whispered softly over the gentle hills of Elowen, carrying with it the scent of freshly plowed soil and blooming wildflowers. The boundless, unblemished sky stretched out like a pale blue canvas on the horizon. In the distance, the silhouettes of snow-capped mountains rose as ancient and steadfast as time itself.
Elowen was a quiet village located in the northern part 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 engulfed distant lands. Yet beneath this peace, fate had begun to stir.
In a small cabin made of river stone and oak wood, a child had been born exactly three months ago. His name was Altan Yüce.
Altan lay wrapped in a woolen blanket in a wooden cradle beside the fireplace; the flames cast trembling shadows on his pale skin and snow-white hair. His deep, curious emerald eyes blinked slowly toward the shifting light.
He did not speak. He could not form words. He couldn’t walk. But he watched.
Unlike other newborns, Altan’s gaze lingered longer than it should have. He didn’t cry unless he was truly uncomfortable. He followed faint sounds like the creak of floorboards or the distant call of a crow. There was something timeless in his eyes.
Mother and Silence
His mother, Elara, moved slowly inside the cabin. In her late twenties, with chestnut hair and soft green eyes, she was a strong woman. She carried the calmness of someone who had faced hardships with quiet strength. Her husband, Doran, was often away tending to the fields outside, leaving her alone with the baby for long days.
She hummed songs while crushing herbs or washing clothes. She often spoke to Altan—of course, she didn't expect an answer—but her words always found a listener.
“Your father says you have your great-grandfather's eyes,” she whispered, rocking the cradle.
“He was a soldier once... long before peace came to these lands.”
When Altan heard her voice, he would slowly blink his eyes and wrap his tiny fingers around the edge of the blanket.
“There's something strange about you,” she had said once. “It's as if... you remember things you shouldn't.”
A Village with Silent Eyes
The villagers of Elowen were kind and practical people. They grew their own food, hunted deer and wild boar, and celebrated seasonal festivals with dancing and laughter. They believed in hard work and clean hands. Though they welcomed Elara's newborn son with smiles and prayers, many noticed that the baby in the cradle looked at them twice.
“When I hold him, he doesn't even blink,” the baker's wife said one day.
“When you look at him, he doesn't look away,” the village priest murmured.
It wasn't fear that enveloped them. It was unease. The feeling that something ancient had reopened its eyes in the form of a child.
But Altan did nothing to confirm the whispers. He lay in his cradle, burping softly, dozing under the window illuminated by sunlight.
And he watched.
The Passing Months
At the end of the first month, Altan began to recognize sounds. He would turn his head toward the sound of Doran's boots scraping against the pebbles or the laughter of children in the distance.
By the second month, he began to show signs of early strengthening; his small hands gripped more tightly than expected, and his attempts to sit up became more persistent. Elara would laugh and say, “You'll run before you crawl.”
By the third month, strange things began to happen. Birds perched on the windowsill longer than usual, as if watching him. The dogs in the village barked as he passed by; then, when he looked at them, they fell silent.
At night, when the moon rose and the village slept, Altan would gaze at the beams. His eyes were wide and thoughtful. It was as if the stars beyond the wooden ceiling were speaking 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 his neighbors, celebrating the end of the winter frosts. He kissed Elara's cheek, took off his boots, and sat down by the fire.
“I had a strange dream last night,” he said, his voice low.
“There was a great army. And a child... standing alone before it. His eyes were like emerald fire.”
Elara froze. She looked at the cradle.
> “Was that our son?”
Doran did not answer. He just shook his head and slowly rubbed his beard with his fingers.
> “He didn't speak,” said Doran. “But when I looked at him, I felt as if I had somehow disappointed him.”
They said nothing else. But the fire burned late into the night.
An Unexpected Visit
On the first day of the fourth month, a traveler came to Elowen. Dressed in gray, carrying a long staff and wearing a hood that covered his face, the stranger passed silently through the village.
He did not speak. He did not linger. But he stopped as he passed by the hut.
Altan had turned his head in his cradle. Their eyes met through the open window; the child and the traveler.
Closing Thoughts
The village would not remember the stranger. Nor would it remember the strange wind that followed him. But a spark had ignited in Altan's chest.
He would not remember that day. He would not remember the traveler's presence.
But his journey had already begun.
And the world had begun to watch him.
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