The wind was strange that day.
It didn't hum like it usually did through the trees.
It didn't whistle or whisper.
It pushed.
Hard. Sharp.
Like it was searching for something.
Or delivering it.
In a wooden house by the edge of the eastern hills, sixteen children lived together, all raised by a kind, quiet man.
But today—he wasn't home.
And outside, in the soft grass near the garden wall, one of the oldest girls, Elen, was playing alone.
She liked chasing leaves through the wind.
She liked imagining it talked back.
But today, it didn't.
Today, she heard something else.
A sound.
Small.
Real.
Crying.
She froze. Head tilted.
Then followed it.
The sound led her toward the front porch.
And there—
Set carefully near the door—
A basket.
She stepped closer, heart thumping.
Inside it, wrapped in soft pale cloth—
A baby boy.
Blond hair.
Eyes like the clearest part of the sky.
Cheeks red from crying, but no tears left to fall.
He looked up at her—tiny, confused, scared.
And on the blanket stitched in soft, old thread:
Zephyrion
Elen blinked.
Then bent down and picked him up.
He was so light.
Almost weightless.
The wind suddenly stopped around them.
Like it was holding its breath.
She ran inside, clutching him carefully.
The house stirred quickly.
Children's voices echoed.
Footsteps scrambled.
Sixteen pairs of feet surrounded her.
"Who's that?!"
"Is that a real baby?!"
"He's so tiny—look at his hair!"
"Where'd he come from?!"
"Is he our new brother?!"
Elen, breathless, nodded.
"His name is Zephyrion… it says so right here."
"Can we keep him?"
"Of course we can! He's already here!"
"We've never had a baby this little!"
Zephyrion blinked again.
And then—
He cried.
Not loud.
But full of feeling.
The children panicked.
"No, no! Don't cry!"
"Quick, make a funny face!"
"Sing something!"
"Here—wiggle your ears!"
"Do babies like dancing?"
They tried everything.
Tickles. Toys. Sounds.
Then finally—he hiccupped.
His eyes focused on Elen.
She smiled at him.
And he smiled back.
Just a little.
But enough.
"He smiled!"
"He likes us!"
"He's staying! He's totally staying!"
When the foster father returned with supplies an hour later,
he found all sixteen children sitting in a circle around a sleeping baby.
Elen looked up and said softly,
"His name is Zephyrion."
The old man stepped forward.
Looked at the stitched name.
Touched the edge of the blanket.
And then said:
"The wind brought him to us…"
He looked to the sky.
"Let's hope it never takes him back."
And high above—
The wind curled once.
And settled.
As if smiling.
End of Chapter 30 – The Wind at the Door