Chapter 1: The Old Wise Man
Long before machines, before lights, before the world became loud with inventions, the land was quiet. People worked with their hands, trusted the soil, feared the sky, and respected every sound the wind carried. Life was simple, but the world was not peaceful. The rains were fading each year. Rivers dried up. Crops refused to grow. Families walked miles for a single bucket of water. Children slept hungry.
But in the oldest side of the village called SameLine, there lived a man known simply as The Wise Man. No one remembered his real name. Some said it was forgotten with age, others said he gave it away long ago so he could hear the voice of the earth better. He walked slowly, always holding a wooden staff with carvings of stars, moons, and strange shapes no one could read.
Many people feared him. Some respected him. A few whispered that he spoke with spirits.
But one thing was true: he always saw things before they happened.
One cold evening, when the sky was quiet and the moon looked thin like a sickle, the Wise Man gathered the villagers in the open field. He stood on a flat stone, breathing heavily, his eyes shining like he had seen something no human should ever see.
He raised his staff and said in a trembling voice:
"A child… a girl… will be born.
A girl who will bring rain, peace, and life.
Water will follow her steps.
Plants will obey her hands."
The villagers murmured, confused, unsure.
He continued:
"But her arrival will come with a storm.
A storm of death.
A storm that will test her before she breathes her first breath."
Silence fell.
No birds.
No wind.
Not even a cough.
The people stared at him, waiting for more. But the Wise Man, with tears in his eyes, spoke his final warning:
"Do not fear the child.
Fear the ones who will rise against her."
He lowered his staff.
His voice turned soft.
"She will be the Bringer of Life."
Some villagers laughed, saying the old man had lost his mind.
Others shook their heads, thinking death was making him speak nonsense.
But a few felt chills run through their skin, as if the land itself was listening.
That night, as he walked back to his small hut near the edge of the village, he stopped and looked at the dark sky.
The wind whispered, and he whispered back:
"She is coming."
Hours later, before sunrise, the Wise Man lay on his old straw bed, holding his staff close. His heartbeat slowed. His breath softened. And with the moon still watching over the land, he passed away quietly.
The villagers woke in the morning to the news.
Some said, "It is for the best. He was too old."
Others said, "His words were strange… too strange."
But none knew that his prophecy was already moving, already forming, already preparing…
Because far away, inside a small stone house in the corner of SameLine, a woman named Sara was crying in pain. Her husband Mike was holding her hand tightly, shaking with fear and excitement.
And the sky…
The sky was beginning to change.
Dark clouds gathered.
Winds twisted.
Thunder growled.
The prophecy had begun.
The child was arriving.