The sun was setting behind the distant mountains, casting a warm golden hue across the endless, dusty plains of ancient Mesopotamia. The air was thick with the scent of earth and stone, and a faint breeze ruffled the robes of the three figures trekking slowly along the worn path. Their steps were steady, but their eyes were vigilant.


    Bion, the leader of the group, walked at the front, his tall figure cloaked in ancient robes embroidered with mysterious runes that shimmered faintly in the dimming light. His staff, carved from dark wood, hummed with a power known only to those who had faced the unseen forces of the earth. His eyes, sharp and perceptive, narrowed slightly as he glanced at the horizon.


    “There is something in the air,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper against the stillness of the desert.


    Achilles, tall and broad-shouldered, walked beside Camillus, his closest companion. Both wore similar tunics of worn leather, though without the ornate robes of their leader. Achilles tilted his head, sensing the change in Bion’s posture.


    “Do you sense it, Bion?” Camillus asked, his voice low but clear, eyes scanning the land as though expecting something to leap out from the shadows.


    Bion’s eyes flicked toward a dark opening ahead, a gaping mouth in the earth that led into a jagged, black cave. The feeling of dread in the air grew stronger, pressing against his chest like a weight.


    “Yes,” Bion replied with a frown, “It emanates from there.”


    The cave was like an open wound in the earth, a shadow too dark to be natural. It was far too silent around it—no birds, no wind, just the oppressive quiet of something unnatural. As they approached, a faint cry echoed from within, high-pitched and full of pain. A baby’s cry.


    Achilles stiffened. “What in the gods'' name…?”


    “Stay here,” Bion ordered, his voice calm but resolute. “This is no ordinary place. I will go alone.”


    Camillus opened his mouth to protest, but Bion raised a hand, silencing him.


    “You are needed here, should anything go wrong.” He turned and began walking toward the cave, his staff glowing faintly with an ethereal light as he entered the darkened maw.


    The temperature inside the cave dropped, and a smell—foul and decaying—clung to the air. Bion’s heart pounded in his chest, but he pushed forward, each step purposeful. The cries grew louder as he ventured deeper, echoing off the walls like the desperate wails of a lost soul.


    The flicker of light from his staff cast strange, elongated shadows on the rocky ground as he descended further. Then, through the gloom, he saw it: a small bundle in the center of the cave. The infant, crying pitifully, its tiny body writhing on the cold stone floor. The sight was so unnatural it made Bion’s blood run cold.


    The mother was slumped nearby, lifeless, her body twisted in a way no living creature should be. The umbilical cord still tethered the child to her, a grotesque reminder of life interrupted.


    Bion’s breath caught in his throat as he knelt beside the infant. His fingers brushed the soft skin of the child, still warm despite the chill in the air. His eyes swept over the tiny face—the child was impossibly beautiful, its features delicate, almost otherworldly. The hair, a startling white as pure as fresh snow, framed the child’s face like a halo. But it was the eyes that struck him most.


    They were black as night. No trace of light, no reflection of the world around them. Just darkness, endless and deep.


    Bion’s heart raced. He couldn’t understand what he was seeing. A demon’s child? He could feel the pulse of the earth beneath him, the vibrations of dark magic reverberating through his bones. But the child… this was no ordinary demon’s spawn.


    Bion’s thoughts swirled with confusion and dread. “Poor child,” he whispered under his breath, his voice soft, almost tender. He looked at the lifeless body of the mother, her eyes wide in terror, frozen in a moment of agony.


    With a swift motion, Bion cut the umbilical cord, his hands steady despite the turmoil inside him. He lifted the infant into his arms, cradling the fragile body against his chest. The child’s cries had stopped, and now its eyes gazed up at Bion with an eerie stillness. A small, innocent smile tugged at the corners of its lips, as if recognizing something Bion could not understand.


    “So small,” Bion murmured in awe, his voice almost trembling with the weight of the moment. The infant’s tiny fingers curled around his robe, and for a moment, he felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility, a duty beyond his comprehension.


    The child was impossibly beautiful. Its skin glowed with an ethereal light, and its gaze—so deep, so unnaturally knowing—seemed to pierce through Bion’s soul. It was as though the universe itself was watching him, waiting for him to make a choice.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Bion’s heart beat faster. He didn’t know what had happened here, or why this child had been left in such a cursed place, but one thing was clear: this child was unlike anything he had ever encountered. The air around him seemed to shift, thick with the weight of fate.


    Without another word, Bion wrapped the infant in his robes, holding it close to his chest. He could feel its warmth, its heartbeat, as if it were part of him now. He turned, his expression grim but resolute. He would not leave this child to whatever dark fate had been intended for it.


    The journey home would be long, and the road ahead uncertain, but Bion knew this much: the world had just changed. And so had he.


    Outside the cave, Achilles and Camillus waited anxiously. They could hear the faint cry of the infant, then silence. Minutes stretched into eternity as they stood, watching the dark entrance, waiting for Bion.


    Finally, the leader emerged, carrying the child in his arms. His expression was unreadable, his eyes distant. Achilles and Camillus looked at each other, both sensing the gravity of the moment.


    “Bion…” Camillus began, but his words faltered as he caught sight of the child. “What is it?”


    Bion did not answer immediately. He looked down at the small infant in his arms, the smile still playing on its lips, its eyes dark and knowing. He exhaled slowly, his grip tightening around the child.


    “This child,” Bion said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “is no ordinary child. He is... something more.”


    Achilles and Camillus exchanged uneasy glances, their minds struggling to comprehend what their leader had just said. Whatever path lay ahead, it would be one they walked together—but the road was no longer as simple as it once had been.


    Bion’s steps were heavy as he began walking back toward their camp, the child nestled against his chest. The night had fallen completely now, and the stars overhead seemed to burn brighter than ever before.


    And with the baby in his arms, Bion knew that the world was on the edge of something greater—and far more dangerous—than anything they had faced before.


    The moon rose high above the horizon, bathing the ancient Mesopotamian landscape in silver light. The sands of the plains shimmered under the stars as the small group made their way back to Iah Sacred Village. The journey was quiet, the only sounds being the soft crunch of their footsteps and the occasional coo of the child nestled in Bion’s arms.


    Bion walked ahead, his staff casting faint glimmers of light with each step. His gaze frequently dropped to the infant, who now seemed impossibly content, smiling and playing with the edge of Bion''s robe.


    Achilles walked beside Camillus, who couldn’t take his eyes off the babe. Finally, Camillus broke the silence, his voice tinged with awe. “I’ve never seen a child with white hair. Is that… normal?”


    Achilles frowned, leaning closer to get a better look. “The color is strange enough, but doesn’t he look a bit pinkish to you? Could it be an ailment?”


    Bion paused, his sharp eyes sweeping over the child. The infant’s skin was indeed pale, like porcelain, but there was a faint pink hue to it, almost as if the child were flushed with warmth. His heart tightened slightly. Was this the result of the demon’s lair? Or something else entirely?


    Achilles continued, “Perhaps we should take the child to an Ailment Master.”


    Bion stopped in his tracks, turning slightly to meet Achilles’ gaze. “That’s a brilliant idea,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “I should like to take him to Kallisto. It has been years since I last saw her, but she is among the most skilled Ailment Masters. She will know what to do.”


    “Kallisto?” Camillus asked, his curiosity piqued.


    “Yes,” Bion replied. “She resides on the outskirts of the village. She will love this child and will treat him with the utmost care.”


    Camillus rubbed his chin. “The poor thing must be starving. Perhaps he needs milk.”


    Bion didn’t respond immediately, his attention absorbed by the small hand that had reached out and latched onto his finger. The infant’s touch was delicate, almost ethereal. For a moment, Bion was overwhelmed by a surge of protectiveness.


    “I should like to bond with the child on the way,” Bion said softly, his voice carrying a hint of resolve.


    Achilles gave him a respectful nod. “Then I will notify the council, Chief Elder Bion. They should know of your return and this… development.”


    “Thank you, Achilles,” Bion replied.


    The group pressed on, the spires of Iah Sacred Village soon appearing in the distance. It was a sanctuary nestled against a backdrop of jagged cliffs, its walls adorned with intricate carvings of celestial patterns. The village itself was a labyrinth of stone buildings, courtyards, and sanctuaries lit by glowing orbs of light.


    As they entered the village, the usual bustle of evening life paused as villagers noticed the infant cradled in Bion’s arms. Whispers rippled through the streets, their curiosity and unease palpable. Bion, however, paid them no mind. He was focused on the journey ahead, the babe held close to his chest.


    The road to Kallisto’s dwelling was lined with ancient cypress trees, their branches twisted and gnarled as though they had grown under the weight of centuries. The soft glow of lanterns guided Bion’s steps as he ventured beyond the main village. His mind raced with questions he could not yet answer.


    Why had this child been left in a demon’s lair? Was the demonic aura around the cave still clinging to the babe, invisible yet insidious? Or had the child somehow been spared?


    The babe cooed softly, breaking Bion’s train of thought. He looked down and saw the infant staring up at him with those unnerving, jet-black eyes. Despite their darkness, they seemed to shimmer faintly, as if holding countless secrets within their depths.


    Bion couldn’t help but smile faintly. “So small, yet you may yet hold so much power, little one,” he murmured, his voice tinged with both wonder and trepidation.


    The child’s smile widened, a gesture so innocent and pure that it was impossible to reconcile with the sinister aura of the cave from which he had been rescued. Bion tightened his grip on the infant, as though shielding him from unseen forces.


    Ahead, the warm light of Kallisto’s home came into view, its soft glow spilling through the cracks of wooden shutters. Smoke curled from the chimney, carrying with it the comforting scent of herbs and earth.


    Bion’s heart lightened slightly as he approached the door and knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet night. He would find answers here—or at the very least, hope.