The rooster crowed long before the sun rose.
In a small, crooked house at the edge of a forgotten village, the sound stirred a young mother from her shallow sleep. Her name was Mira, and her eyes—though tired—softened as they turned to the bundle sleeping beside her.
Wrapped in thin cloth, the baby did not cry.
Not once.
That was strange.
Most children wailed through the night, keeping their mothers awake with hungry screams. But not this one. Since the moment of his birth, Ji-hyeon had barely made a sound. His eyes—dark and clear—seemed too aware, too still, for a newborn.
Mira didn't know what to make of it. But she was grateful. Life was already hard enough.
Her husband, Doyun, had left before dawn to tend the neighbor's fields in exchange for a sack of barley. Their own plot of land had turned to dust months ago. The well was drying. The roof still leaked when it rained. And yet... she smiled.
Because Ji-hyeon was healthy. Small, but strong.
She touched his forehead gently, brushing a strand of hair aside.
The child blinked.
Just once.
Mira laughed softly. "Awake already, little one?"
But Ji-hyeon did not gurgle or kick like normal babies. Instead, his gaze followed the faint flicker of morning light on the wall—eyes full of thought, like someone remembering something far too old to belong in such a small body.
He had a quiet soul. Heavy. Watching.
But he said nothing. Because he could not.