The cloaked strangers settled near the temple's edge, their faces still hidden beneath heavy hoods. Their presence sent a ripple through the village, unsettling the already fragile balance of fear and suspicion.
The woman watched from the shadows, her breath shallow, every muscle taut with silent tension. The child inside her throbbed with growing strength, a steady pulse that seemed to echo the whispered secrets of the strangers.
At dusk, the strangers gathered around a small fire, their voices low and urgent. Words spilled in an ancient tongue—soft, deliberate, and heavy with meaning. Though she couldn't understand, the woman felt their power like a distant storm rolling in.
One of them stepped forward—a figure draped in worn robes, eyes sharp and filled with a strange light. He glanced toward the woman's hut, then back to his companions, nodding once.
Inside her home, the woman knelt, her hands pressed to the worn floorboards. The warmth inside her grew hotter, a slow blaze consuming her from within.
Visions flooded her mind—fragments of a past she never lived: rituals beneath blood-red moons, chants in forgotten temples, the rise and fall of gods no one remembered.
Her breath caught. The child moved, sharper and more insistent than ever, as if trying to break free.
The crow's caws echoed outside, sharp and warning.
Suddenly, a sharp knock at the door shattered the stillness.
The woman's heart leapt.
She rose slowly, her eyes wary but steady.
Outside, the figure in robes waited, shadowed by the dying light.
"I come with knowledge," he said, voice low but clear. "And a warning."