The legend of the child sent by God

The woman hesitated for only a moment before stepping outside, the cool night air wrapping around her like a ghostly embrace. She crouched down and carefully lifted the small basket. Inside, wrapped in a delicate white fabric, lay a baby—his tiny fists clenched, his flushed cheeks damp with tears. His red eyes, shimmering in the dim light, gazed up at her with a quiet plea, his cries softening as if sensing her kindness.

She glanced around, searching for any sign of who had left him here. But the night was still. No footprints in the dirt. No lingering presence in the shadows. Only the hush of the wind rustling through the trees, whispering secrets she would never hear.

Her heart clenched. Who would leave a child out in the cold like this?

Carefully, she lifted him from the basket, cradling him close. His small body trembled for a moment before settling against her warmth, his breathing becoming slow and steady.

With a soft sigh, she turned and carried him inside the house, closing the door gently behind her. The warm glow of candlelight flickered across the modest room as she made her way down the hall. The wooden floors creaked beneath her steps, but the baby remained calm, nestled against her as if he already belonged there.

Reaching her bedroom, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. Her husband lay sprawled across the bed, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep.

"Dear, I found this baby at the door," she said, her voice laced with both wonder and concern as she nudged his shoulder.

Her husband stirred with a groggy groan, blinking up at her in confusion. "A baby…?" His voice was thick with sleep as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. When he finally noticed the small bundle in her arms, his drowsiness faded.

"Where did he come from?" he asked, his brows furrowing.

She shook her head. "I don't know. There was no note, no sign of anyone nearby. Just him… alone in the night."

Her husband reached out, his large hands gentle as he brushed a finger over the baby's tiny hand. The infant instinctively grasped it, his fingers curling around the rough skin. A deep sigh left the man's lips as he exchanged a glance with his wife.

"We can't leave him," she whispered. "He was left at our doorstep for a reason."

Her husband nodded slowly, then glanced at the baby again. "He needs a name."

She looked down at the child in her arms. His tiny chest rose and fell peacefully now, his warmth seeping into her own heart. A name surfaced in her mind—one that felt right, as if it had already belonged to him.

"Ethan," she murmured.

Her husband smiled, the last traces of sleep leaving his face. "Ethan," he repeated, testing the name on his tongue. He gave a firm nod. "Then Ethan it is."

The woman smiled softly, rocking the baby in her arms. The night may have begun with mystery, but now, under the warmth of the candlelight, she knew one thing for certain—this child had found his home.

That night, after naming him Ethan, the couple gently laid him in the middle of their bed. The warmth of his small body nestled between them filled their hearts with an unfamiliar yet comforting sense of belonging. They shared a quiet glance, a silent promise passing between them—they would raise him as their own.

They tucked the thick blanket over all three of them, their breaths evening out as sleep gradually pulled them under.

That night, without knowing it, they had become parents.

From that moment on, Ethan became the light of their home. He was a bright and lively child, filling their days with laughter and endless questions about the world. As he grew, he followed his father around the house, watching him repair things, and helped his mother in the kitchen—though he often made more of a mess than anything.

They fed him, clothed him, and taught him everything he needed to know. He was theirs, and they were his.

But peace is a fragile thing.

On the morning of Ethan's seventh birthday, the house buzzed with excitement. His parents had promised to buy a cake from the town's market, leaving him to wait eagerly at home.

Ethan spent the day playing outside, his red eyes gleaming with anticipation. He could already imagine the sweet taste of cake, the warm hugs from his parents, and the way their laughter would fill the air when he made his birthday wish.

But as the sun dipped below the horizon, unease crept into his heart.

His parents still hadn't returned.

Ethan sat on the porch, his legs swinging idly as he stared at the empty road. He tried to reassure himself. Maybe they got caught up talking to someone. Maybe they just needed more time.

But deep down, a strange, cold feeling settled in his chest.

Then, a stranger arrived.

A man, bloodied and trembling, staggered into the village. His face was pale with fear, and his hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"The market…" His voice cracked. "A monster… A monster attacked…"

The villagers gasped, but Ethan barely heard them.

His mind raced. His heartbeat pounded in his ears.

"Everyone… everyone was slaughtered."

His vision blurred. His small hands clenched into fists. His breath quickened.

"No…" The word left his lips in a whisper. Not them.

But no one denied it.

His parents weren't coming home.

_______

Deep within the sacred forest, the guardians stirred. For seven years, they had kept their distance, watching over Ethan from afar. They had hoped he would live a peaceful life among humans, growing up without the burdens of his true destiny.

But the attack changed everything.

A dark force—one controlled by sinister magic—had struck, and they could no longer ignore the danger surrounding him.

"The child is alone," one guardian spoke, his voice laced with regret.

"We waited too long," another whispered.

The elder stepped forward, his face shadowed with sorrow. "It is time to bring him home."

With that, the guardians moved as one, disappearing into the night like silver ghosts.

By sunrise, Ethan's life would change forever.