The wind cut like blades.
Somewhere deep in rural Japan, the gusts howled through twisted trees, carrying dust, dead leaves, and the smell of oncoming rain. The moon hid behind heavy, almost black clouds.
Walking against that storm — stumbling, wounded, but determined — came a hooded woman. Her gray cloak clung to her rain-soaked body.
In her arms, wrapped in warm cloth, was a tiny baby. Too quiet for her size. Held like a forbidden treasure.
The woman tightened her hold around the child, as if the baby was the only thing keeping her standing.
Her steps were unsteady. Dark stains spread along her ribs, dried blood.
Every movement was a struggle, yet she kept going.
Up ahead, a small old building appeared, lit only by a lantern swinging on the beam above the door.
A modest wooden structure with a low wall around a tiny garden. Simple windows. A place forgotten by time.
The sign creaked in the wind:
青空の家 – House of the Blue Sky.
An orphanage.
The woman stopped at the entrance. Drew in a sharp, painful breath.
She gently adjusted the cloth around the baby's face, touching her as if she were something sacred.
Then she knocked. Once. Twice. Three times.
The sound echoed through the empty night.
She looked down at the child one last time.
The hood hid her expression, but her trembling, whether from cold, pain, or guilt —said enough.
Leaning over the little basket, she whispered, her voice nearly swallowed by the wind:
"I… I'm sorry…"
Before the door even opened, she vanished back into the darkness — almost as if the storm itself had carried her away.
The door creaked open.
An elderly woman, her face etched with decades of work and kindness, held a lantern in one hand. Her tired eyes widened at the basket on the ground.
"Oh my goodness…" she breathed, kneeling down.
The baby slept deeply. Strangely calm.
With practiced hands, the old woman lifted her.
"Come here, little one," she said softly. "You're safe now."
Inside the orphanage, warm light fell across the baby's face. The woman tried to make her cry — just to make sure she was breathing properly. A gentle tap on the back, a slight sway…
And the child cried. Quiet. Fragile. Human.
Relief softened the caretaker's face. She rocked the baby gently.
That's when she noticed the strands peeking out from under the cloth.
Silver hair.
Soft and pale, like moonlight.
"Well now… aren't you a special little thing?" she whispered with a smile.
"You look just like a white lily… pure even in a storm like this."
Her smile widened.
"Sayuri. I'll call you Sayuri. Our little lily."
Outside, the rain finally began to fall.
Inside, the silver-haired infant drifted back to sleep — unaware that her arrival would change fates, and open paths long forgotten.