The Earth was no longer a home—it was a battlefield. Forests were reduced to charcoal. Rivers carried poison instead of life. The skies no longer held clouds but carried smoke, ash, and satellite shadows.
Animals suffered in silence. They had no voice in the affairs of the so-called dominant species—humans. That silence was finally broken the day Ekvidharna was born.
He was not born of a woman, but from the soul of the Earth itself. Beneath the oldest banyan tree, the roots stirred and out emerged a boy—skin kissed by moss, hair woven with leaves, and eyes that reflected the sky and soil. The animals named him Ekvidharna, meaning the one who understands all beings.
Raised by a tigress and guided by birdsong, he grew into a man not of cities or nations, but of the wild. He understood every creature's language, from the clicking of ants to the songs of whales. He bore their pain. He carried their hope.