The battlefield was hell itself.
The ground shook as cannons thundered, smoke and ash rising to swallow the sky. Broken cries of men mixed with the clash of steel and the whistle of bullets cutting through the air. The land was littered with rubble, broken carts, and countless bodies left to rot in the mud. Among the chaos, amidst flames and corpses, a small sound struggled to be heard—
the faint, desperate cries of a child.
Beneath a half-collapsed wall, a boy no older than four sat curled in the dirt. His hair was the color of winter snow, so pale it caught even the faint glow of fire. His eyes were strange, two different colors glimmering through his tears—one as red as blood, the other a soft violet. His face was streaked with dirt and ash, and his small body trembled as the ground shook around him.
He should have been hidden. Forgotten.
But fate had other plans.
The boy whimpered, surrounded by the still bodies of men who had once been soldiers. Flames crawled closer, eating up wooden beams and dry cloth, threatening to swallow him. The air was hot, suffocating. And then, through the haze, the shadow of a man approached—armor dented, spear raised high, eyes burning with the bloodlust of war.
The child froze, too terrified even to scream.
The soldier lunged, spear ready to pierce.
But before the weapon could fall, another figure burst forward. With the force of a crashing storm, a man slammed into the soldier's side, knocking him away. The newcomer moved quickly, drawing a pistol from his belt and firing point-blank. The shot echoed sharp through the battlefield, and the attacker fell, lifeless.
Breathing hard, the rescuer bent down and scooped the boy into his arms. His armor was scratched, his face smeared with sweat and blood, but his grip on the child was steady and strong.
"How did you even manage to get here?" he muttered under his breath, glancing down at the boy who clung weakly to his chest. "No matter… we've got to get out of here."
Without waiting, he held the boy tight and began to run.
Arrows and bullets still flew overhead. From the corner of his eye, the man caught sight of a crossbow raised in his direction. A bolt shot toward him, deadly fast—but before it could strike, a tall figure stepped in. With a single powerful swing of his sword, the commander of their unit cut the bolt clean from the air.
"What are you carrying, soldier?" the commander barked, his sharp eyes narrowing.
The man stopped just long enough to answer. "Sir, it's a boy. I found him in the rubble!"
The commander's gaze lingered on the child, still crying quietly in the soldier's arms. Finally, he gave a short nod. "Take him to safety."
"Yes, sir!"
The soldier rushed the boy to the nearest camp. Blood still pounded in his ears as he crossed the barricade and reached the tents where wounded men lay groaning. He placed the child down gently on a bench before darting back out to rejoin the fight.
Medics and helpers gathered quickly. One woman knelt, brushing the child's hair back as she checked him over. "He's just a boy… no wounds, but he looks starved."
Another man frowned. "Do you think he can even talk? He's far too young."
For a while, they tended to him, gave him water, and wrapped him in a spare blanket. But as more wounded soldiers poured into the camp, their attention was pulled elsewhere. Slowly, one by one, they left.
And the boy was alone again.
He sat on the wooden bench, his small hands clutching the edge of the blanket. His tears had run dry, but the hunger gnawed at his stomach. He looked around at the strangers rushing past, and when no one met his eyes, he began to cry softly once more. Yet no one came. Eventually, exhaustion overtook fear. The boy lay down on the bench, his eyelids heavy, and soon drifted into sleep.
---
When he woke, the world was quieter. The thundering of cannons was gone, replaced by the distant murmur of soldiers talking. Blinking, he sat up slowly.
A man was seated nearby, armored chestplate resting beside him, a piece of bread in hand. His gaze was calm but sharp, carrying the weight of command.
The boy stared.
The man noticed and leaned forward, breaking off a piece of bread. He held it out. "Here. Eat."
Hesitant, the boy reached for it. The bread was dry but warm, and he devoured it hungrily.
The man—Commander Aizan—watched in silence for a moment before speaking. "Whose child is this?" he asked, his voice carrying across the tent.
The nearby soldiers glanced at one another before one finally answered, "Sir, we don't know. Some random soldier left him here."
Aizan looked back at the boy, his eyes softening ever so slightly. "So you're alone."
"Does anyone know his parents?"
Everyone shook their heads.
Silence settled over the camp. The boy, weary once again, shifted closer and without warning, curled up against Aizan's lap. The commander stiffened at first, but when the child closed his mismatched eyes and drifted back into sleep, he let out a slow breath.
"Sir," one of his men stepped forward cautiously. "Shall we take him from you?"
Aizan shook his head. "No need."
The war was ending. One by one, the soldiers began to prepare to leave the zone, relief written across their tired faces.
"Commander," a soldier asked, "where will you go now?"
Aizan looked down at the small boy sleeping peacefully against him. His lips curved into the faintest smile. "I thought I would return home alone… but it seems I now have company."
"Sir, you could just leave him with someone else."
"Yes, I could." Aizan's gaze hardened, his decision firm. "But it is better he live with me. My wife will surely love him."
And so, with the boy nestled safely in his arms, Aizan began the long walk home.
---
The journey back to the village was quiet but heavy. Smoke still rose in the distance, but here, far from the battlefield, people had already begun to rebuild. As Aizan passed, villagers stopped their work to bow their heads in thanks.
"Commander Aizan! Thank you for your efforts!"
They noticed the bundle in his arms, curiosity in their eyes.
"What is it you carry, Commander?" someone asked.
"Nothing," Aizan replied curtly, continuing his walk.
When he finally reached his home, he knocked gently on the wooden door.
The door opened to reveal a woman with kind eyes and long dark hair tied neatly behind her shoulders. Ama, his wife, gasped when she saw him. "Aizan! You're home!" Her gaze dropped to the bundle he held. "And what is that? Is this the surprise you mentioned?"
With a small smile, Aizan pulled back the blanket.
Ama's breath caught. "A child?" She reached out instantly, cradling the boy against her chest as if he were her own. Tears welled in her eyes as she hugged him tightly. "Where did you get him?"
"I found him in the rescue camp," Aizan explained. "He was alone. Nobody came to claim him. I thought it would be better if he stayed with us."
Ama looked up, eyes shining. "So… you're finally going to adopt a child?"
"I wouldn't say adopt," Aizan muttered.
"I don't care," Ama said firmly, clutching the boy tighter. "I'm keeping him."
Together, they carried him inside. The child was quiet, almost too quiet, as if afraid to breathe. Ama quickly drew him a bath, gently washing away the dirt and blood. She dressed him in clean clothes, fed him warm food, and even stitched a small tunic just his size.
Later, she turned to her husband. "Did you find a name for him yet?"
"Why change his name?" Aizan asked.
Ama raised an eyebrow. "And what is his name, then?"
"…I don't know."
"Then I'll choose one." She thought for a moment, then smiled. "How about Zaino? It suits him."
"Why Zaino?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Do you have a better name?"
Aizan sighed. "…Zaino it is."
And so the boy was given a name, and a home.
---
And his father has friend who come to his now or then,
And he made a new friend who is a elf, his name was Adam,
He would often come to zainos house, played with him,
But he didn't stay in the village his father would go to many kingdom's and there for a while, so zaino only can see 1 day every two month's
At first, Zaino did not react much. He rarely spoke, rarely cried. Ama worried constantly, but over time he began to relax. He felt safe with them. At age five, he finally spoke his first words, though no matter how they coaxed, he would not call them "mother" or "father." Still, his presence brought warmth to their home.
Two more years passed. By age eight, Zaino had grown strong and cheerful. And in that year, Ama gave him the greatest surprise of all—twin sisters.
When she first handed him one of the babies, Zaino's face lit up in wonder. "Can I hold both?" he asked eagerly.
"They're too heavy," Ama warned.
But Zaino insisted. Straining, trembling, he managed to lift both infants at once, his arms shaking but determined. Ama watched with astonishment, pride swelling in her chest.
Afterward, she pulled him close. "Zaino, promise me something. Promise you'll protect everyone you call family."
Zaino nodded. "Okay, Ama."
Her smile faltered just slightly. The only thing she still longed for was to hear him call her "mother."
---
Time passed swiftly.
At age ten, Zaino had grown into a lively boy. He played often with his baby sisters, watched carefully over them, and became well known throughout the village. He even made a new friend, a cheerful girl named Sijuka.
One afternoon, he sitting in the room playing with his sisters while Ama watched from the sofa. Suddenly, Zaino froze, then blurted, "Mom! She peed on me!"
Ama stiffened. For a heartbeat, she thought she had misheard.
But then it came again, clearer this time. "Mom!"
Her eyes filled with tears. She wanted to cry, but instead she laughed, rushing to clean the mess.
When Zaino asked, "Can I go play with Sijuka?" she could only nod, smiling wider than she had in years.
He left the house and on the way people said hi to him and a middle aged man was walking after a while zaino passed by him seeing him he rubbed zaino in the head and said kid how are doing today,
Zaino knew who the man was he said I am fine,
He asked where are going?
He said I was going to play by the river and runs off,
The shouted and said be careful,
The moment he left, she broke down, crying with joy. She tried to call Aizan, desperate to tell him the news, but the line didn't connect. Perhaps he was busy.
I can't wait for him to learn his zaino called me mom,
Meanwhile, Zaino and Sijuka were throwing rocks in ther river,
Sijuka said
Zaino I got a gift for, while blushing,
Sijuka pulled out a doll that she handed out to zaino,
Zaino has huge smile on his face, and takes the doll from her,
From the shadows, a blade flashed. Before Zaino could even turn, the sword cut clean across the air. In the blink of an eye, Sijuka's head fell off and onto the ground,
her blood spraying across his face.
.........
continues...