On the night of night, as the stars disappeared behind their disparate bodies, refusing to see what was to come, Saka was born in a small human village on the edge of the world. The winds were blowing madly, and the magnificent trees seemed to be trying to escape something they could not yet succeed in. Even the ground beneath her feet, with a strange shudder, felt the arrival of a different person.
The mother screamed louder in the pain of labor, which had dragged on for too long, her voice almost drowned out by the thunder that suddenly erupted with the child's birth. But his first cry was unlike the screams of other children—it was urgent, like a small, monstrous roar, finally breaking free from the depths of darkness. That cry formed a natural formula on the ground, and tears froze on the elderly grandmother's cheeks, as the last candlelight trickled from the doctor who was trying to reduce the dosage.
No one in the room knew that something was amiss. Ahhhh.
As they embodied the child's small body, protruding from his chest, his head like a cheesy inkwell, he took the form of a half-demon face, with one eye blazing a classic red. The brand breathed with him, contracting and expanding with each breath as it held him back, as if a living being were inside him.
Everyone in the room trembled. One of the men quickly crossed himself, and one of them whispered:
— "A half-demon was born among us."
His mother, already under the weight of childbirth and enduring the sight of her child for the first time, The long journey had taken its toll, and then she whispered her final words:
— "Forgive me... I didn't know he would be born like this."
Then her hands died, and she stopped breathing.
Saka had no father.
His mother had never mentioned the name of the day she gave birth to him, not even before she died, placing him in the hands of this cold world. All that mattered to her was her name—Saka—and a single word whispered to her by an unknown visitor at night:
"If the day comes when you see the mark, do not let it be left among humans, for it will not be safe for them, nor for their existence."
But I didn't understand, or perhaps I didn't. It existed within her, and she carried Saka in her womb, unaware that she carried neither a beginning nor an end.
From that moment, Saka began to live.
He wasn't just a child born with a strange mark—he was a monster to humans, a stranger even among monsters.
In a world long ago divided into two halves:
The human half: an advanced world, with modern technology, giant cities, and laws that control humans. Here, humans live in artificial peace, but fear the other side.
The Middle East: an unknown region, filled with towering mountains and forests, the invisible defining features of which are beyond human comprehension. Does this world possess creatures beyond the human mind's comprehension, and is it said that the oldest part of it has existed since its inception?
But Saka didn't have anything left of that half.
Unlike Kahn, in the middle of the mined border, where no one was a stranger, and no one trusted creatures unlike him.
Saka grew up in a small village on the outskirts of the human world, where everyone called him "Shammir" or "Children's Heads." He couldn't enter the larger cities, because the new human law forbade any "non-human" being from living among humans.
His only school was life itself. He learned how to defend himself against those who tried to harm him, and why he toiled in the dark when pursued by armed creators hunting down the "damned."
But every time he was expelled, every time he was seen as a monster, he asked himself:
"Why was I born this way? And who was I before I became Saka?"
I couldn't believe that anyone knew the answer.
Inside the beast world, there were those who tracked his existence, and then extracted the appropriate time for him to come and take the oath.
On the other hand, in the heart of the human capital, there are those who believe there is a threat to world peace, and they always put the room in its place before it truly becomes reality.
But Saka knew nothing of this yet.
He was still a child, tempered by an inextinguishable intensity, an indelible mark.
And the future ahead of him would be as dark as the night he was born.