dimming sunlight over the river as a wealthy man arrived, hiding a dangerous secret beneath his calm, polished breath. He carried a basket wrapped in red cloth, its weight trembling with the soft cries of newborn twins inside. His heart was cold tonight, twisted by prejudice and fear, pushing him toward a decision darker than the river.

 The water rippled silently, reflecting a sky that seemed to watch in horror as the man stepped toward the edge. Not a single lantern flickered nearby, as if the world itself refused to witness the cruelty about to unfold. With shaking fingers, he lowered the basket, whispering excuses to himself that dissolved into the night air.

 The infants wailed louder, sensing the shifting danger, their tiny arms reaching for a mercy he did not give. The river embraced the basket, pulling it slowly away, its surface swirling like a warning alive beneath moonlight. The man stepped back, trembling, believing the sunlight would hide the weight of what he had just done.

 But fate stirred quietly, for not far away stood a boy in torn clothes, watching with wide, alert eyes. The boy’s breath hitched as he glimpsed the drifting basket glowing faintly beneath the fading sunset. Something powerful awakened inside him, a force stronger than fear, urging him to step into the cold water.

 The water surged colder as the boy pushed through, every stroke battling the river’s pull and his own rising panic within. The twins wailed louder as the basket rocked, their cries trembling through the wind like fading sparks of fragile life. His fingers brushed the wicker edge, but a sudden swirl yanked it away, forcing him deeper into the churning river.

 He gasped as the current dragged at his legs, threatening to pull him under before he could reach the helpless infants. The sky dimmed further, shadows stretching across the water like dark hands trying to claim the drifting basket. He kicked hard, fighting the weight of fear pressing against his ribs as he lunged again toward the trembling cries.

 At last, his grip tightened around the basket’s handle, though the current thrashed it violently against his arms. He steadied the basket and glanced at the infants, their red faces shining with tears that stung his heart sharply. Turning toward the shore, he began the slow struggle back, every step like pushing through a wall of moving stone.

The river resisted his return, tugging at the basket as though unwilling to surrender. what cruelty had cast into it. His breaths came in painful bursts as the bank finally drew near, but a distant rustle warned him he wasn’t alone. A shadow moved between the trees, watching silently as the boy pulled the basket from the hungry wat’s edge.

 The boy collapsed to his knees on the mud, clutching the basket as though it might vanish if he blinked too long. The twins whimpered softly now, exhausted, their tiny fingers curling around the air in desperate trembling motions. He gently wrapped his arms around them, shielding them from the cold wind sweeping across the riverbank.

Behind him, the forest rustled again, the same unseen figure stepping closer with footsteps too soft to trust. He turned sharply, heart pounding, but the trees only swayed as though hiding something he wasn’t meant to see. He whispered to calm the twins, though fear tightened his voice as he scanned the shadows for another movement.

 A low crack echoed through the trees like a branch snapping under a heavy heel, drawing his eyes deeper inward. The boy felt a chill crawl up his spine. Realizing the river wasn’t the only danger waiting in the fading light, he lifted the basket, determined to reach the village, though the path ahead seemed darker than it had hours earlier.

The rustling grew louder, following him like a predator stalking something too weak to fight back. His pace quickened, mud splashing underfoot as he kept glancing behind, certain someone was chasing him silently. A cold voice drifted from the shadows, then soft, threatening, and unmistakably familiar, freezing him in his tracks.

The voice slithered across the trees, dripping with anger, each word tightening fear around the boy’s trembling chest. You weren’t supposed to touch them, it whispered as the dim outline of a man emerged slowly from the darkness. The boy held the basket closer, his arms shaking as he stepped back, unsure whether to run or face the unseen threat.

 Moonlight slipped between branches, revealing the man’s tall figure, his rage twisting the night like a storm forming. He approached with deliberate steps, each one cracking twigs as though crushing any hope the boy still carried. “Those twins aren’t meant to live,” the man snarled, his voice colder than the river the boy had just escaped.

 The boy’s breath hitched, fear clawing at him, but the sobs of the infant sparked a courage he didn’t know he owned. He turned sharply and bolted toward the village. The basket held tight against him as the man roared behind him. Branches whipped his arms and legs, but he didn’t slow, driven by the small cries that depended on his every step.

 The man gave chase, footsteps thunderous, closing the distance with a fury that shattered the forest’s silence. Roots snagged the boy’s feet, sending him stumbling. Yet he forced himself up and kept running without looking back. Behind him, the man’s voice echoed again, promising that this night would end in a way the boy could not imagine.

The forest thinned as the boy burst into a clearing, moonlight spilling across the path like a fragile lifeline. His lungs burned, but he tightened his hold on the basket, hoping fate would guide him through the final stretch. The man’s furious footsteps grew louder, each one slamming into the earth like a countdown he could not stop. ahead.

 The faint glow of village lanterns flickered, offering the tiniest hope amid the terror clawing at his back. He sprinted harder, aware that a single misstep would deliver the infants back into the hands that abandoned them. A fierce shout tore through the clearing, the man lunging closer, his shadow stretching over the boy like a storm.

 The boy swerved sharply, dodging a grasping hand that missed him by inches, and swiped only at empty air. The basket rocked violently, but he steadied it with a desperate grip, refusing to let the infant slip again. A wooden bridge appeared ahead, old and creaking, but it was his only chance to reach the safety of the village.

 He dashed onto it, the boards trembling beneath his weight, each step echoing like a drum beat of survival. The man followed, the bridge groaning dangerously as the two figures raced across the river in the moonlit night. Just before reaching the far side, the boy felt the man’s fingers brush his shoulder seconds before something snapped.

The bridge shuddered beneath them as a loud crack split the night, sending splinters flying into the rushing river below. The boy stumbled forward, clutching the basket tightly as another crack roared, leaving the bridge trembling dangerously. The man lunged again, fury twisting his shadow, but the boards under him sagged as though refusing to hold his weight.

 A final snap echoed like thunder, and the planks behind the boy collapsed, swallowing the man into the raging water. The boy didn’t stop to look back. He sprinted across the remaining boards, fearing the river might claim him, too. Reaching the far bank, he collapsed on the ground, trembling, his breath shaking as he checked the infant’s safety.

 The twins whimpered softly, still unharmed, their tiny fists gripping the blanket as though clinging to life itself. A distant splash echoed from the broken bridge, but the river quickly swallowed all sound into its dark depths. The boy forced himself up, knowing he had only moments before danger found him again in another form. He lifted the basket and staggered toward the village lights, each step fueled by a mixture of fear and defiance.

Yet, as he neared the first hut, he noticed movement among the shadows, figures stirring where no one waited before. A quiet murmur drifted from the darkness, followed by footsteps, slow, deliberate, and far too many to ignore. The boy froze at the village edge, clutching the basket as figures emerged, their faces hidden by the dim lantern glow.

They whispered among themselves, staring at the trembling boy and the infants as though witnessing an omen unfold. A woman stepped forward, her voice trembling as she asked where he had found the children drifting in the river. Before he could answer, an elder approached, his expression darkening at the sight of the twins wrapped in red cloth.

The elers’s eyes widened, fear rippling across his face as he whispered a name the boy had never heard before. The villagers gasped, backing away, their fear deepening as if the infants carried a secret too dangerous to speak. The boy shielded the basket instinctively, unsure why even kind faces now seemed drowned in dread and suspicion.

The elder knelt slowly, trembling as he studied the infants, his breath hitching at the sight of identical birthmarks. “Take them inside,” he murmured urgently, glancing nervously toward the forest as though expecting someone to return. The villagers whispered again, some crossing their arms, others stepping back, fear bending the air around them.

The boy followed the elder toward the largest hut, though every instinct screamed that something was terribly wrong. As the door shut behind them, the elder turned sharply, his voice shaking as he said the twins were never meant to survive. The boy’s heart pounded as the elder lit a lantern, shadows stretching across the wooden walls in trembling shapes.

 The elderly man paced anxiously, muttering about a prophecy, his hands shaking as he avoided the twins soft cries. He revealed that the millionaire had sought the elder weeks before, demanding answers about the infant’s birtharks. The elder admitted the marks matched an ancient symbol tied to a legacy of power many believed would change everything.

The boy listened in shock as the elder explained the man’s fear. Fear that the twin’s future might surpass his own name. The cowardice twisted into hatred, leading him to hide the truth and attempt to erase the future he could not control. The elder warned that someone else knew of this prophecy, someone far more dangerous than the furious man at the bridge.

 He whispered that the one who watched the boy in the forest might have followed, drawn by the twins awakening fate. The lantern flickered violently, as though reacting to forces unseen, sending the boy into a shiver of unease. A sudden knock rattled the hut, soft but severe, silencing the room as fear curled through the thick silence.

The elder motioned for the boy to stay still, his breath unsteady as he approached the door with trembling steps. When he cracked it open, the flickering lantern revealed a tall figure cloaked in darkness, waiting silently outside. The cloaked figure stepped inside with slow, measured movements, each footfall sending shivers down the boy’s spine.

 The hood concealed most of the stranger’s face, but the glint of sharp eyes pierced through the shadows like cold steel. The elder bowed his head slightly, a gesture of fear, not respect, as the stranger scanned the room with quiet precision. The boy tightened his grip on the basket, instinctively shielding the twins as the figure’s gaze drifted toward them.

“Where are their parents?” the stranger asked, the voice low and echoing, carrying both authority and hidden threat. The elder hesitated, choosing his words carefully, knowing any lie might provoke something far more dangerous. Before he could respond, the twins whimpered again, and the stranger tilted his head, recognizing something significant.

 He approached the basket, kneeling slowly, studying the infant’s matching birtharks with unnerving fascination. The air in the hut thickened as he whispered that the prophecy was already in motion, and stopping it was impossible now. The elder’s face drained of color, his voice cracking as he asked what the stranger intended to do with the children.

 The figure rose to his full height, casting a long shadow that swallowed the lantern glow as he stepped toward the door. Before leaving, he warned in a chilling tone that others were coming, hunters who would stop at nothing to claim the twins. Panic surged through the boy as the stranger vanished into the night, leaving the hut trembling with unspoken dread.

The elder locked the door quickly, his trembling hands revealing the terror his words struggled to keep contained. He urged the boy to flee with the infants before the hunters arrived, insisting the village was no longer safe for them. The boy’s mind raced, fear clashing with the fierce determination that had driven him through the river’s deadly currents.

He lifted the basket once more, feeling the weight of a destiny he had never chosen, settle silently on his shoulders. Outside, distant shouts echoed through the night, growing louder as torches flickered between the trees. The elder pushed open a back door, revealing a narrow path leading toward the mountains beyond the village.

 The boy hesitated only a second before stepping into the darkness, guided by the twins soft breaths against his chest. The wind howled through the trees, carrying warnings of danger closing in faster than he could move. He ran with everything he had left, the forest swallowing him as pursuit roared like thunder behind him.

 The twins whimpered again, and he whispered promises he wasn’t sure he could keep, but could not abandon. And as the boy disappeared into the night, he understood this journey had only begun. Fate was waiting in the shadows ahead.