Chapter 1 – The Unwanted Girl in This World
The day Atha Raizar was born, silence filled the Raizar house — not joy, not laughter, just silence heavy enough to break hearts. Her grandfather, Basil Raizar, and her father, Rein, stood still, their faces set in disappointment. They had prayed for a boy, an heir to the family name. But fate had given them a girl.
Only two hearts in that home refused to break — Sarah, her grandmother, and Rhea, her mother. Against the sharp words and cold stares, they stood like shields. It was Sarah's trembling voice that first rose in protest, her anger burning brighter than Basil's pride. And it was Rhea's tears that washed over the tiny, crying child wrapped in a soft yellow cloth — the color of fragile hope.
When the time came to name her, Basil took the right for himself, as was tradition in the Raizar family. "She will be called Atha," he said flatly. In their home, no one else dared to question him. Women, after all, had no right to name a child — especially not a girl. Their family still lived in the shadow of old beliefs, untouched by the light of new thoughts.
To Basil, her birth was a disgrace. He couldn't walk through the neighborhood without feeling the weight of imagined whispers. He stopped visiting friends, stopped smiling. To him, even looking at the child felt like facing failure itself.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months.
And yet — Atha began to bloom.
Three months passed, and she grew into a healthy, radiant baby. Her cheeks glowed, her tiny fingers grasped the air with strength, and her laughter echoed through the quiet house — a sound no one could ignore for long.
One afternoon, guests arrived at the Raizar home. They had heard about the new baby and came to see her. When their eyes fell upon Atha, they paused in awe.
"She's such a beautiful child," one said softly. "So strong, so bright. You're lucky to have her."
The words hung in the air. Basil turned his gaze away, pretending not to hear. But Sarah noticed the way his hand trembled slightly against his walking stick. A crack — small but real — had formed in the wall of his pride.
Sarah's eyes glistened as she watched her granddaughter grasp her finger with surprising strength. Maybe this little girl, she thought, was meant to bring change to a house drowning in old shadows.
Rhea sat quietly beside the cradle, her eyes red from sleepless nights and unspoken pain. But when Atha smiled in her sleep, Rhea felt something warm unfurl inside her chest — hope. A small, fragile, 0.04% hope that maybe, one day, her daughter would be loved, not for being a boy or a girl, but simply for being herself.
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, its golden light fell across Atha's peaceful face. Rhea leaned close and whispered a promise:
> "No matter how cruel this world becomes… I will protect you."
Outside the room, Basil paused in the hallway. For the first time, his eyes flickered toward the cradle. He said nothing — only watched. Yet somewhere, beneath the years of false pride and old anger, something shifted ever so slightly.
Atha stirred in her sleep, her tiny hand clutching the air — as if reaching for that faint, unseen light waiting to find her...