The village seemed to shrink beneath a sky bruised with heavy clouds. Rain fell in slow, cold sheets, washing over the cracked earth but unable to cleanse the growing dread.
Inside the hut, the woman paced restlessly. Each step echoed softly against the wooden floorboards — a rhythm that matched the pulse she felt inside her belly.
The child's movements had grown stronger, almost deliberate, as if testing the boundaries of its cage.
She stopped by the small window, peering through the blur of rain. Shadowed figures lurked just beyond the tree line, their faces unreadable, their eyes too sharp.
A low rumble vibrated beneath her feet — faint at first, then growing, like the distant growl of some great beast awakening from deep slumber.
The crow stirred again, its feathers bristling as if sensing the earth's unrest.
A sudden crack—sharp and violent—split the silence as a tree near the hut groaned and fell with a crash, shaking the ground.
The woman pressed a hand to her belly, steadying herself against the shock.
The whisper came again, colder this time, curling through the shadows.
"It is time."
She clenched her jaw, a mixture of fear and resolve hardening within her.
The storm outside intensified, thunder rolling across the sky like the drums of war.
Within her womb, the child moved with a fierce heartbeat — an echo beneath the earth, heralding change.