Ch 1
Under the cover of the midnight sky, a cloaked figure ran barefoot through the jungle carrying a basket. The basket weaver expertly wove the basket together using elephant swamp grass and then dyed it with colorful flowers at the bottom. This type of painstaking artistry could only mean that this basket-weaving task was done with great precision and care.
There was a fine dark fabric with intricate green patterns sewn into it stuffed inside the basket. This was a symbol of high importance; a sign that there was great value hidden beneath it.
The jungle was dense with green leafy vegetation, populated with trees as tall as redwoods. It was pitch black, with only a glimmer of moonlight poking through. You could barely make out your own hand in front of your face in this darkness.
They could feel pressure being exerted against their body, like they were being smothered by the dark. It was a claustrophobic feeling; this jungle did not want them there.
Worse, it was quiet. Oddly quiet for a jungle. No insects chirping, no predators stalking prey, no birds cooing on the tree branches above. Speaking of tree branches, there was no movement in the trees or the bushes.
The air was still and dry, with a slightly pungent odor floating around. Only the shadows moved across the trees, but there were no objects around that could cast such shadows. Nothing about this place seemed inviting.
The cloaked figure periodically looked behind them, giving the impression they were being followed, and they were trying to lose someone or some… thing.
With every snap of a twig, or a crinkle of a dead leaf, they would jump behind a tree, and with bated breath they'd slowly peep around the bark. They were definitely being followed.
The pungent odor had grown stronger. A foul stench that would make your lips curl upward and your eyes water, now smelled like it was right on top of them.
The cloaked figure became so panicked that they didn't even realize it was their feet making the leaves crack and twigs break.
They gripped the basket tighter. They collected themselves. Despite the danger they were most certainly in, they remained unshaken in their quest. They continued to trek quickly across the jungle floor.
Soon, they heard the calming splish splash of flowing water. —Almost there.
They walked out of the jungle and felt an immediate release of pressure. A rush of fresh air filled their lungs. They could see again.
The night sky overhead had a hot pink hue. There were no stars or any constellations visible in the night sky. In front of them was the vision they had travelled so far for. The Kira River, which stretched for about fifty kilometers. A wave of emotions hit them because the river signaled their treacherous journey had finally come to an end.
The cloaked figure took off their hood. It was a woman, and she looked as if she was in her early twenties. She had short curly blond hair, blue eyes, and pale porcelain skin. She was an albino, though in this world, no such word exists.
The young woman dropped to her knees. Pus-filled blisters and infected cuts covered her feet. She struggled to catch her breath. Her bleeding, pale-colored hands placed the basket in the river, dripping blood into the waters below.
She flipped the black and green fabric over, revealing the valuable, precious content she seemed so hell bent on protecting.
In the basket was a baby boy. He had pale porcelain skin and light blond hair that matched hers — except he had pink irises and pupils. He also had a small pink crystal shard lodged in his forehead.
She stared at him with intense focus, and the baby returned the look with just as much intensity and focus. It was as if he understood that this will be the last time he would ever see her, and he was trying hard to remember every feature of her beautiful but worn face.
Her eyes filled with tears. Her heart was being shredded to pieces by the look of awareness coming from such a small creature. A being that had only experienced the gift of life for less than six days. Yet, he could feel the strings that connected her heart to his being severed by circumstances beyond his control.
An awareness that he was being betrayed by the person who gave him that gift, a mother he will never know — one whose duty it was to protect him, was now neglecting that duty.
She was leaving him to fend for himself when he had not yet learned to walk or speak. Being denied the warmth of a mother's love and never knowing what she sacrificed to bring him into this world. She covered him with a cloth and pushed the basket away.
"Go with god my prince."