The morning sun crept through the forest canopy, spilling soft gold onto damp earth. Dew shimmered on the leaves, and the scent of wet soil filled the air.
By a quiet stream, a woman knelt beside a basket. Inside, a baby slept — wrapped in torn silk far too fine for a common child.
The woman's breath caught as she brushed dirt from his cheek. "Poor thing… left all alone in the storm."
Her husband, a broad-shouldered man with a calm face, stepped beside her. "Lakshmi, be careful. He could be from some noble house. If someone's searching for him—"
"Then let them come," she interrupted softly, holding the baby closer. "Until they do, he's ours."
The man sighed, then smiled faintly. "Then he'll need a name."
"Prithvi," she whispered. "Strong, like the earth itself."
Days turned into weeks.The villagers grew fond of the child who never cried for long, who watched everything with quiet, knowing eyes.
Unlike other infants, Prithvi would stare at things for long moments — the fluttering of birds, the flicker of the fire, the play of sunlight through the leaves. Sometimes he would reach out toward the light, as if it spoke to him.
Lakshmi often joked, "He doesn't babble like other babies — he listens."
Her husband would nod thoughtfully. "Maybe the gods gifted him that silence."
One evening, danger came.A group of bandits crept toward the village under the cover of dusk. The men were still in the fields, and most women were tending to their children.
Lakshmi was fetching water when she heard a faint whimper from Prithvi's cradle — not of fear, but warning. He was staring toward the forest's edge, eyes wide and unblinking.
Moments later, she heard rustling — footsteps.
She hid behind a tree just as the first bandit emerged. Her husband's voice rang out, rallying the men. A fight broke out — wooden sticks against steel blades.
In the chaos, a spark from a torch landed on the straw roof of their hut.
Lakshmi screamed, running to pull Prithvi from the fire. The flames caught her sleeve, but before it could spread, a sudden gust of wind — unnatural and fierce — swept through the clearing, smothering the fire completely.
Everyone froze.
The bandits fled in terror, shouting about "forest spirits" and "omens."
Lakshmi stared at her child, who lay calmly in her arms, gazing up at the sky as if nothing had happened.
Her husband approached, shaken. "Did you feel that wind?"
"Yes," she whispered. "It came… from nowhere."
They looked at the boy — small, quiet, and impossibly calm.
That night, Lakshmi held him close beneath the dim glow of their hearth."You're not an ordinary child, are you?" she murmured. "Maybe the gods have plans even we can't see."
Outside, the moonlight touched his skin, glinting faintly on something hidden just beneath it — a soft golden shimmer, like sunlight waiting to be born.