"Stop running," a man growled.
The woman collapsed to her knees.
Tears streamed down her face as her body trembled violently. Her strength was gone—her legs refused to carry her any farther. The cold stone floor scraped her skin as she clutched her child tightly against her chest.
Beside her, the small baby finally cried.
The sound was weak, desperate, and echoed painfully through the abandoned building.
"Please…" her voice broke as she lifted her face toward the three men standing before her. "Please don't hurt my child. Take anything you want. I beg you."
Moonlight poured through the broken roof, revealing her tear-stained face, her shaking hands, and the fear written clearly in her eyes. The baby—no more than three months old—wailed softly, his tiny fingers curling into her clothes as if sensing danger.
Three men stepped closer.
They were tall, armed, and cold.
Their faces were uncovered.
One of them scoffed. "You really think this is about money?"
Another circled her slowly, his boots scraping against the stone. "You should never have hidden the Enigma."
"I don't have it," she cried. "I swear. I don't even know what you're talking about."
The third man crouched down in front of her, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the baby.
The child's crying stopped.
The baby stared back at him.
Not blinking.
Not afraid.
The man frowned. "This child…"
"He's just a baby," the woman sobbed. "Please."
The first man lost his patience. "Enough."
Steel flashed.
The woman gasped.
Her body stiffened, and the baby slipped from her weakening arms onto the cold floor. Blood spread quickly beneath her as she collapsed, her eyes still open—still looking at her son.
The baby did not scream.
He stared.
His small eyes locked onto the three men, engraving their faces into his mind.
One of the men stepped back uneasily. "Why is it looking at us like that?"
The baby's lips trembled.
Then, from his tiny chest, a low sound escaped.
A growl.
Deep.
Unnatural.
The men froze.
"What the hell—"
Fear crept into their voices.
"This isn't normal."
"Forget it," one of them snapped. "Let's go."
They turned and ran, leaving the building swallowed by silence… and blood.
The baby lay beside his mother's lifeless body, his small hands twitching, his eyes still open.
Minutes passed.
Then, slowly, painfully, the baby began to crawl.
Over blood.
Over broken stone.
Out of the building.
Into the waiting dark of the forest.
His cries filled the night—weak, endless, helpless.
Until something answered.
From between the trees, two glowing eyes opened.
A small creature stepped forward, scales catching the moonlight.
A dragon.
It lowered its head, sniffed the child, then gently lifted him with care no human had shown that night.
With a soft growl, the dragon spread its wings and disappeared into the forest.
By dawn, the child was laid gently at the doorstep of a lonely hut.
A woman opened the door.
She gasped.
A baby.
Alive.
Crying.
And fate changed forever.