The legend of the child sent by God

The night was thick with silence, pressing down like an unseen weight. No candlelight flickered in the house, no comforting voices filled the air—only emptiness remained.

Ethan sat curled in the corner of the small wooden home, his knees drawn to his chest, his tiny hands clutching at the fabric of his clothes. His red eyes, once bright with curiosity, were now swollen and dull, heavy with unshed tears. His parents were gone. They were never coming back.

All day, he had waited. Telling himself, again and again, that everything was fine. That any moment now, they would walk through the door, smiling as if nothing had happened. But as the hours passed and the shadows stretched long, hope crumbled into dust, leaving only a hollow ache behind.

Then—

Knock. Knock.

Ethan flinched.

The sound echoed through the stillness, foreign and unwelcome. He wasn't expecting anyone. If the villagers had wanted to check on him, they would have come earlier. And at this hour… no one should be outside.

A cold shiver ran down his spine.

He hesitated, every instinct screaming at him to stay put. But despite the fear clawing at his chest, something—something unseen—pulled him forward. His small feet shuffled across the creaking floorboards, his breath shallow. He reached for the door, hesitating for just a moment longer.

Then, with a trembling hand, he turned the handle.

Creak.

Moonlight spilled into the house as the door swung open, and Ethan's breath caught in his throat.

Three figures stood before him.

They were impossibly tall, their forms draped in flowing robes that shimmered like mist beneath the silver glow of the night. Though their faces were kind, there was something otherworldly about them—an ethereal beauty that set them apart from mere men. Their eyes, glowing silver, brimmed with sorrow and knowing.

Ethan stumbled back, his legs buckling beneath him. He barely registered the cold wooden floor against his skin. His voice failed him.

Who… what were they?

One of the figures stepped forward, kneeling before him. A warmth, soft and steady like the first rays of dawn, radiated from his presence.

"There is no need to fear, Ethan." The figure's voice was gentle, like wind rustling through leaves. "We have come to take you home."

Ethan's lips parted, but no words came. His heart pounded in his chest.

Home…?

The tallest of the three—an elder, judging by the weight of wisdom in his gaze—nodded solemnly. "You were never meant to stay here forever. You are special, Ethan. There is a place where you belong—a place where you are loved. Where you are needed."

Fresh tears welled in Ethan's eyes. His throat tightened. "But my parents…" His voice cracked. "They're gone."

The guardians exchanged a sorrowful glance. They knew this pain. They had seen it before.

"We know," one of them whispered. "And we are sorry."

Silence stretched between them, thick with grief. Then, the elder placed a hand on Ethan's shoulder—a firm, steadying touch.

"You are not alone."

Ethan stared at the floor, his mind racing. How could he trust them? He didn't even know them. And what did they mean by home? This house—this empty, aching house—was his home. Even if his parents were gone, leaving felt… wrong.

His hands clenched into fists. "No," he whispered.

The guardians remained still, waiting.

"I… I can't go," he said again, stronger this time. He took a shaky step back. "What if they come back?" His voice wavered, clinging to a desperate, impossible hope. "What if—what if it's all a mistake? Maybe they're just lost, and they're looking for me right now!"

The words spilled out, but even as he said them, a part of him knew they weren't true.

The guardians' gazes softened, but they did not lie to him.

"They are not coming back, Ethan."

His breath hitched. A sharp pain twisted deep inside him, unbearable and raw. He gritted his teeth, shaking his head violently.

"No! You don't know that! You—you're wrong!" His voice cracked, breaking apart like shattered glass. "They wouldn't leave me alone!"

Tears streamed down his face. His body trembled, wracked with grief, anger, fear—all crashing over him at once. The guardians let him cry. Let him fight against the truth. They did not force him, nor did they rush him. They simply waited.

And as the night wore on, as exhaustion sank deep into his small frame, Ethan's sobs grew quieter. His legs felt weak, his head heavy. The emptiness—the loneliness—threatened to swallow him whole.

A gentle hand brushed against his hair. "You don't have to suffer alone, Ethan," the elder said softly.

Ethan sniffled, lifting his gaze. The guardians' silver eyes held no deception, only patience. They had given him time—to grieve, to fight, to choose.

And in that quiet, hollow space where his heart ached, Ethan made his decision.

His voice was barely above a whisper. "…Where are we going?"

The elder smiled, a sorrowful but warm expression. "To where you belong."

Ethan hesitated one last time, glancing back at the house. The only home he had ever known. The last traces of the life he once had.

Then, with a deep breath, he stepped forward.

The moment they left the village, the world itself seemed to change.

The air grew lighter, charged with something unseen. The trees, impossibly tall and ancient, whispered in a language Ethan didn't understand. Fireflies drifted like stars through the night, and the wind carried a melody that soothed the ache in his chest.

For the first time since his parents' passing, the loneliness began to fade.

When they arrived, the forest rejoiced.

Strange, beautiful creatures emerged from the shadows—beasts with fur like silver, birds with wings that shimmered like glass, spirits that glowed like moonlight. They knew him. They welcomed him with unspoken joy, their eyes alight with recognition.

Ethan could only stand there, wide-eyed, his breath stolen from him.

And for the first time, he felt it.

The truth behind the guardians' words.

He was home.