The silvery moonlight struggled to pierce the heavy clouds blanketing the rainy night. In the muddy forest of Veles, plunged into shadows, the hurried sounds of footsteps echoed among the gloomy trees—disoriented and erratic footsteps.
Amidst the darkness of the forest, one could see a young lady running desperately in the pitch black, guided only by the distant sound of the river winding nearby. She was dressed in a soaked raincoat that barely covered her auburn hair, beneath which a white dress was now almost unrecognizable, covered in mud down to the hem. And clutched tightly against her chest, she carried a sealed wicker basket, as if it were the most precious treasure in the world.
"I must... keep going..." she murmured, panting. "I'm almost the—"
Her words were lost in a groan of misfortune as she tripped over a root hidden in the undergrowth, falling heavily into the cold mud. Her body trembled from exhaustion, her skin so pale and fragile it seemed to gleam under the lightning illuminating the skies.
The basket slipped from her arms and flew several meters ahead, landing with a sudden, forceful thud.
"Argh!" she grunted, trying to rise with what strength she had left. "Help me... legs..." she whispered, her fingers digging into the damp earth.
It was then that the dreadful silence of the forest was broken. A faint but sharp cry echoed in the darkness. Its epicenter—the basket in the distance. A human sound? It was impossible to tell. Yet it was small and vulnerable.
The wail of a newborn life.
"Oh, no..." the young woman lamented, her heart racing upon hearing the child's cry.
And in the distance echoed heavy footsteps trying to trudge through the muck, accompanied by the clinking of metal and the ravenous barking of furious hounds. Voices erupted through the trees.
"Did you hear that?!" bellowed a hoarse voice, dry as the dead branches around them. "It's the cry of the cursed child!"
The warning spread like a swarm among the pursuers, who immediately doubled their pace, heading in the young woman's direction. The young woman grew even paler. Upon recognizing the voices, a shiver ran down her spine. Without hesitating, she rose with a desperate impulse, as if the earth itself were pushing her forward. Grabbing the basket with both hands, she resumed her run with newfound breath, the mud sucking at her feet with every step.
Ahead, the river. She felt it before she saw it—the smell of fresh water, the sound of currents breaking the darkness.
"Finally..." she breathed in relief as she reached the banks of the Fontes River, the great river that crossed the entire continent of Sestri.
The banks were dotted with pale stones that seemed to reflect the starlight. They gleamed beneath the moon, now free from the clouds, emerging majestically in the night sky.
The young woman, overcome by relief at reaching her destination, stumbled and fell onto the sharp stones lining the river. A muffled scream escaped her lips as she felt her skin tear—her fatigued legs no longer obeyed her.
With trembling arms and a face dirty with mud and tears, she dragged herself until she touched the cold water.
The crystalline waters of the Fontes flowed in silence, attuned to the wind blowing eastward. There, on the bank, the young woman finally opened the basket.
The child, who had previously been crying in despair, fell silent upon being touched by his mother. His eyes opened—two intense, golden orbs, as beautiful as they were strange—slitted like those of a cursed reptile.
Then he revealed himself, the one the villagers had dubbed "the son of the serpent."
His skin was covered in bluish scales, as delicate as they were menacing, shimmering in the moonlight as if made of living sapphires. And below his small body, between his legs, there was a thin tail, coiled around his tiny, cornered leg.
"Oh, my child..." she whispered, her voice choked. "You will have to do this... without me."
Tears rolled down her pale face. With a resigned gesture, she removed her cloak, revealing the dress that had once been white, now almost completely swallowed by the mud. Only a spotless patch remained near her chest. With care and reverence, she tore the remaining piece of clean fabric and held it against the baby's body. Then, she dipped her fingers into the fresh blood oozing from one of her wounds.
Slowly, she drew trembling letters on the white cloth: "SAMO"
"This will be your name, my child..." the woman said, her voice choked with haste and pain, as she hid the blood-marked cloth inside the basket. "Forgive me for making you carry my sins."
With each passing second, the sounds behind her grew closer—hurried footsteps, rabid barking, the metallic grinding of weapons being drawn. Time was running out. With one last deep, desperate look, she stared into her son's face. The golden eyes gazed at her in silence, as if they already understood everything. Then, with trembling hands, she closed the basket's lid, plunging the newborn into darkness once more.
Without hesitation, she launched the basket into the currents of the Fontes River.
The water swallowed it gently, guiding him toward his uncertain destiny.
"Grow up well..." she whispered, her voice fading into the wind before her body gave way and she fainted upon the cold stones.
"There!" shouted a hoarse voice soon after. A heavily armored man emerged from the trees, pointing toward the fallen young woman. Half a dozen accompanied him. "We found her!"
The group approached rapidly. Hounds sniffed around, growling, restless. The oldest man knelt—and with brutality, shook the unconscious young woman's shoulders.
"Lysandra!" he snarled. "Where is the damned child?!" His eyes swept the area. No response.
His eyes scanned the bank, the swaying of the waters, small reeds being carried away—when realization snapped in his mind. "No..." he said in disbelief. "It cannot be." He stood up, desperate at the possibility. "Did she throw it into the river?" Out of options, he barked at his men, "Listen, you useless fools! There's a high chance she threw the child into the river. Alter its course, empty it if you must! But find this pest!"
The order cracked like a whip, and everyone under his command resumed the search. The threat in his voice was clear. "If we don't bring it back, Arianrhod will punish the entire village of Sens."
The group scattered along the bank, scouring the shore, stones, and bushes, hounds running to and fro. But they found nothing. The most important thing, however, they did not know. The child was already winding his way silently and safely, hundreds of meters from there. The Fontes River—grand and sovereign, immersed in longevity, carried him along under the watch of the moon, toward an unknown destiny.