CHAPTER NO 1
The Cry of a Newborn
Rain poured over the small wooden house at the edge of the village, its roof leaking like a cracked shell. Inside, the air was thick with the sharp scent of blood and smoke. A woman lay on a rough bed, her breaths ragged, her face pale with exhaustion. In her trembling arms, a newborn cried — a thin, desperate sound that echoed through the storm.
The baby's cry was not met with joy.
The man standing at the foot of the bed crossed his arms, his face shadowed. "A girl," he muttered bitterly. "After all these prayers… a useless girl."
His wife looked up, tears clinging to her lashes. "She's our child," she whispered weakly. "She's crying for us."
But the man didn't listen. He turned his back and kicked aside the broken stool near the wall. The woman flinched as thunder rattled the shutters.
"She'll only bring us bad luck," he said coldly. "Girls don't feed families. They ruin them."
The baby wailed louder, tiny fists trembling. The mother tried to hush her, pressing the child to her chest. "Don't say that, please," she begged. "She's beautiful."
But he was already walking toward the door. "Name her whatever you want. She'll get nothing from me."
When the door slammed shut, the woman broke. Her sobs shook her frail body, but even through her tears, she looked down at the infant — a fragile little girl with wide, wet eyes and hair dark as night. Despite everything, she smiled faintly and whispered, "Lina… your name is Lina."
Outside, lightning flashed across the sky.
Hours later, the mother slept, exhausted. The father had not returned. The house was silent except for the rain.
Only one person moved — the maid, a middle-aged woman with tired hands and kind eyes. Her name was Marla, and she'd served the family since before Lina's parents were married. She stood beside the bed, watching the tiny girl sleep. A faint smile softened her weathered face.
"Poor thing," she murmured. "You didn't ask to be born into this house."
She reached down, brushing a finger across Lina's small hand. The baby grasped it tightly, as if clinging to life itself. That small touch pierced Marla's heart.
From that night onward, she made a silent promise — if no one else would protect the girl, she would.
Morning came. The father returned, the smell of cheap ale clinging to his clothes. When he saw Marla cradling the child, he scowled.
"Why are you still holding her?" he snapped. "Put her down. Let her cry — she'll get used to being ignored."
Marla stiffened but obeyed. She placed Lina gently in the wooden crib by the wall. "Yes, sir," she said softly.
But as soon as the man left again, she whispered to the child, "I'll never let you cry alone, little one. Not while I'm here."
And so, the days began — cruel, silent, and gray. The father's temper ruled the house. The mother's spirit faded a little more with each sunrise. The baby grew slowly, her small cries filling the night.
Every time Lina reached out, no one came — except Marla.
She would sneak into the room after everyone slept, humming lullabies in the dark, her hands warm against Lina's cold cheeks. The storm outside would fade, replaced by the rhythm of a soft, loving voice.
"You are not unwanted, Lina," Marla would whisper. "You just haven't found where you belong yet."
And though the baby could not understand the words, her cries would always stop. Her tiny hand would curl around Marla's finger, just as it had the night she was born.
Years later, that would be the only memory Lina carried — a hand she could trust, a voice that made her believe she mattered.
Because even before she could walk or speak, she already knew what loneliness felt like.
And even then, far beyond the storm clouds, someone else — somewhere — had felt her first cry and reached out across worlds.
A faint shimmer flickered in the dark corner of the room. A soft light, unseen by human eyes, reached through the air for just a moment — the shape of two glowing hands, suspended in silence — and then vanished like mist.
The storm ended. The newborn slept peacefully for the first time.
The story of fate had already begun.