The village of Kurosawa rested beneath a twilight sky that never truly saw the sun. Morning here was not bright but golden—soft, endless, as if time itself hesitated to move forward. The people of Kurosawa were used to it. The eternal dusk, the whispering wind that rustled through the trees—it was just another ordinary day.

  But inside a quiet wooden house, a mother’s cries shattered the stillness.

  A Child Born Under Fading Light

  "Just a little more! Keep pushing!"

  Sweat glistened on Saya Kisaragi’s forehead as she gritted her teeth, her trembling fingers clutching the thin sheets beneath her. The dimly lit room flickered with the glow of an oil lamp, casting restless shadows on the wooden walls. Two midwives worked tirelessly beside her, their hands steady despite the tension thickening in the air.

  At the doorway, Renji Kisaragi stood like an unmoving mountain. His once-black hair was now graying at the edges, his eyes sharp, hardened by years of war. He was not a man easily shaken, but at this moment, he was powerless.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  “He’s almost here! Just one more push!"

  A final, desperate cry.

  Then—silence.

  A heartbeat passed. Then another.

  And finally—a sound that would change everything.

  A newborn’s first breath. A soft whimper, then a loud, piercing cry.

  Saya exhaled in relief, exhaustion momentarily fading as she reached out. One of the midwives wrapped the child in a thin cloth and placed him in her arms.

  She looked down at the tiny, wrinkled face nestled against her chest.

  Saya (whispering, smiling faintly): “Raiyo…”

  The baby’s small fingers twitched, curling against the fabric. His breathing was unsteady, fragile—yet alive.

  Renji finally stepped forward, standing beside the bed. His sharp gaze softened for the first time in years as he slowly reached out, his rough fingers brushing against his son’s tiny hand.

  Raiyo’s fingers instinctively wrapped around his own.

  For a moment, the world was quiet.

  His one eye gleamed like the deep blue of a boundless sky.

  The other shimmered with a rare, violet hue—like an amethyst reflecting the dawn.

  It wasn’t unsettling. It wasn’t unnatural. It was… mesmerizing.

  For a moment, neither parent spoke. The midwives, too, exchanged subtle glances but said nothing.

  Then, Saya smiled.

  Saya (softly, in awe): “He’s beautiful.”

  Renji nodded, his calloused fingers brushing against the child’s tiny hand. A rare warmth flickered in his otherwise unshaken heart.

  Renji (quietly): “He is… special.”

  The baby yawned, his delicate fingers curling, before his eyes slowly shut again.

  Outside, the village remained unchanged. The world continued as it always had.

  But neither Saya nor Renji knew—

  Their son was unlike any child before him.

  And soon, the world would come to know it too.