The night was swallowed by a fierce snowstorm, the winds howling outside the walls of a small cabin nestled in the heart of the wilderness. The cabin's wooden frame creaked under nature's fury, a stark contrast to the tense, quiet struggle unfolding inside. Shadows flickered against the walls, cast by the dim glow of a single lantern.

"Push!" the man urged, his voice strained with emotion, a mix of hope and desperation.

"You're doing amazing, just a little more!", He knelt beside his lover, gripping her hand tightly, his knuckles white, his hands were shaking from nervousness.

The woman, her face contorted with pain, drew in deep, ragged breaths. Sweat beaded on her forehead, mingling with the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Each push was a monumental effort, her body trembling with exhaustion.

"I... I can't... " she gasped, her voice barely a whisper as a tear fell down her cheeks.

"You can, I know you can." he whispered back, his voice softening but no less urgent.

With a final, primal scream, she summoned every ounce of strength left in her, her body convulsing as she pushed with all her might. And then, silence. No triumphant cry of new life, only the relentless howling of the wind outside. The crackle of the fireplace, the silence spoke louder than any thing ever could. The man's heart sank as he beheld the still form of the baby in his arms. His eyes widened in horror, and a cold dread settled over him.

"No, no, no," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

He gently patted the baby's back, trying to coax a breath, any sign of life.

"Please," he begged, his voice breaking. "Please, breathe.", his voice trembled in fear.

The mother, her strength utterly spent, looked up with glassy eyes, searching his face for any hint of hope.

"Is she... is she...?" Her voice trailed off, the question too painful to finish.

"She's... she's here," he said, his voice choked with tears.

"But she's not... she's not breathing right." He turned the baby over, rubbing her tiny back, willing her to take a breath. "Come on, sweetheart, come on."

Exhausted beyond measure, the mother succumbed to unconsciousness, her head falling back against the pillow. The man was left alone, cradling the fragile bundle in his arms. Each breath the baby took seemed to be a struggle against the cold embrace of death, her tiny chest rising and falling in shallow, irregular movements. Pale as the snow outside, the child clung to life by the thinnest of threads, her existence a fragile miracle in the midst of the storm.

As the hours passed and the snowstorm raged on, the man held onto his daughter, his tears mingling with the snowflakes that fell softly outside. He rocked her gently, whispering soothing words, though his heart was heavy with fear.

"You're strong, just like your mother," he whispered. "So please, for our sake, Goddess Rafiel, save our child!" he cried out.

In the quiet of the night, he found himself grappling with the unanswerable question that haunted his thoughts. He looked up at the ceiling, as if searching for answers in the shadows that danced above him.

"Why?" he whispered, his voice heavy with anguish.

"Why must our little girl suffer so? What did we do to deserve this?" His voice cracked, and he buried his face in the baby's blanket, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs, immeasurable sorrow filled his heart.

The minutes dragged on, each one an eternity. The snow outside showed no sign of relenting, its relentless fury mirroring the turmoil within the cabin. The man watched his daughter intently, his heart lifting with each faint breath she managed to take, only to plummet again with the next struggle. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her, not after coming this far.

"Please," he whispered again, to no one in particular.

"Please, let her live."

The next morning dawned with a soft light filtering through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the cabin. The golden rays danced over the snow outside, creating a deceptive tranquility after the ferocity of the night. Inside, the husband still sat by the fireplace, his daughter cradled in his arms. His eyes, red and swollen from sleeplessness and tears, were fixed on the flickering flames, hoping against hope that the warmth of his embrace and the crackling embers would breathe life back into his fragile child. But it was too late. The baby's tiny form was still and cold, her breaths had ceased hours ago.

As the mother stirred from her slumber, the weight of exhaustion still heavy upon her, she turned her head and saw her husband sitting in solemn silence by the fire, their child nestled in his arms. For a moment, there was a flicker of hope in her eyes, a desperate need to believe that everything was alright. She called out to him, her voice tinged with concern,

"Is she...?"

He turned to meet her gaze, his eyes reflecting the devastating truth. He shook his head silently, unable to form the words that would shatter her heart Upon realizing the heartbreaking truth, the mother's sobs echoed through the cabin, a raw and primal sound that cut through the morning stillness. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she reached out for her baby. The husband approached her, his own eyes brimming with tears, and gently handed her their lifeless child.

"I couldn't warm her up, I couldn't save her," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion.

His shoulders slumped with the weight of his failure, and together, they mourned the loss of their precious baby, their sobs intertwining in a symphony of grief.

Several hours passed, each minute an eternity as the weight of their grief settled heavily upon them. The light outside brightened, but inside the cabin, the atmosphere remained heavy with sorrow. Eventually, the husband rose from his place by the fire, cradling their child in his arms one last time. He pressed a kiss to her cold forehead, his tears falling onto her still face.

"I have to... I need to take her," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. The mother nodded, unable to speak, her eyes hollow with despair.

He bundled up against the biting cold and made his way to the woods, each step crunching through the fresh snow. He found a peaceful spot by a frozen pond, the remnants of the storm from the night before glistening in the morning light. With a heavy heart, he placed the tiny form of their daughter on a rock, her delicate features serene in the cold light of day. He knelt by her side, his hands trembling as he prayed to the Goddess of Life.

"Oh, merciful Rafiel, bear witness to the anguish that has befallen me and my beloved. In all our days, we have never wronged another, never caused harm. Yet, we have been repaid with unimaginable sorrow. Our precious child, our hope, has been claimed by the merciless storm that ravaged our home. As a father, I am shattered, having failed in my sacred duty to protect her. Goddess Rafiel, I beg you, with every fragment of my broken heart, save my child. Let your divine light breathe life back into her fragile form." - He cried and prayed, but nothing happened. An hour passed as he sat there, hoping a miracle would occur.

He couldn't wait no more, his wife was left alone at the cabin, with the sorrow of losing her child, he had a thought of what she could do to herself, and it horrified him. He stood up, wiping the tears off, bid his child farewell, whispering words of love and sorrow But as he turned to leave, a sound pierced the stillness of the air—a baby's cry. His heart leapt in shock and disbelief, and he spun around, rushing back to the spot where he had left their child. To his astonishment, the baby was crying, her tiny chest rising and falling with the effort. She was alive, her cheeks flushed with the faintest hint of color, but as pale as the snow that surrounded him.

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With trembling hands, he scooped her up, his heart pounding with hope and joy. He ran back through the woods, the snow swirling around him in a flurry of movement.

"She's alive," he kept repeating to himself, scarcely able to believe the miracle.

When he burst through the cabin door, his wife looked up in shock, her tear-streaked face a mask of disbelief. He held out their crying baby, his voice breaking with emotion.

"She's alive! Our baby... she's alive!"

The mother's eyes widened, and she let out a gasp of joy, her tears of sorrow turning to tears of happiness. She took her newborn daughter into her arms, cradling her close, her heart overflowing with gratitude and love for this unexpected second chance.

She kissed the baby's forehead, her lips trembling as she whispered, "You're back. You're really back."

In the warmth of the cabin, surrounded by the love of her parents, the baby's cries gradually softened. The storm outside had passed, leaving behind a world blanketed in white, a canvas. As months passed, the couple devoted themselves to raising the baby they had been blessed with once again. Each day was filled with a profound sense of gratitude, and they cherished every moment with their daughter. Yet, amidst the joy and wonder of new parenthood, one task remained incomplete—they still hadn't decided on a name for her.

In the world of Arix, there existed a legend of a goddess named Raiile, the hero of rebirth and recreation. Tales of her journey across the barren lands of Arix after the Ndarja cataclysm, reviving civilization and performing miracles, were told far and wide. Raiile's story was one of hope and resilience, a beacon of light in the darkest times. So, in honor of their daughter's miraculous return from the afterlife, they named her "Rayne".

"Rayne," the mother whispered, cradling her daughter close. "You are our miracle, just like the hero Raiile. You bring us hope, in this dying world."

Rayne, however, was unlike other children. She struggled to walk or even crawl like her peers did at her age. Every attempt to take a step brought her cries of pain, her tiny legs unable to bear the weight. Despite the challenges of raising her, the two parents loved her with a fierce devotion. They spent countless hours encouraging her, holding her hands as she tried to stand, and soothing her when the pain became too much.

"You're so strong, Rayne, keep going!" the father would say, his voice filled with pride and tenderness.

Rayne refused to give up, despite the pain that wracked her tiny body and the tears that often fell from her eyes. Day by day, she endured the agony, her spirit unyielding. Her parents marveled at her determination, their hearts aching with both sorrow and admiration. One morning, as the first light of dawn crept into the cabin, Rayne sat on the floor, her brow furrowed in concentration. She had been trying to crawl, inching forward with painstaking effort. Her mother watched her, holding her breath, afraid to hope too much.

"Come on, sweetie, you can do it." the mother whispered, her voice barely audible.

Rayne's face twisted with pain, but she refused to give in. Slowly, she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. Her parents exchanged a glance, a spark of hope igniting in their eyes. With a determined grunt, Rayne pushed herself up onto her feet. She wobbled, her legs shaking, but she stayed upright.

"Look at her, She's doing it." the father breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

To her parents' astonishment and joy, Rayne stood on unsteady legs, her determination shining through despite her physical limitations. Her first step was hesitant, a tiny foot lifting and then setting down with a delicate thud. She paused, teetering, then took another step.

"Rayne, you’re walking! You’re really walking!" the mother exclaimed, her voice a mixture of disbelief and elation.

With each wobbly step she took, her parents cheered her on, their hearts bursting with pride and love for their resilient daughter. Tears streamed down their faces, their joy too immense to contain.

"You did it, Rayne!" the father cheered, reaching out to steady her as she stumbled forward.

Rayne looked up at them, her face glowing with the triumph of her achievement. Her pain was momentarily forgotten, replaced by the sheer joy of overcoming the impossible. She took another step, and another, her confidence growing with each movement.

The flashback cuts to the present, Rayne and Regna still sat together in the cafeteria.

Regna rested her head on her hand, studying Rayne with a curious gaze that made her feel like an open book begging to be read. After seeing the lifelessness of Regna's eyes, Rayne still avoided eye contact, sensing something off about Regna—the way she carried herself, her demeanor—it all seemed a bit too intense. The cafeteria buzzed with the low hum of chatter, but to Rayne, it felt as though a spotlight was shining solely on her, amplifying her every move.

Sighing, Regna broke the silence.

"Look, I just want to be friends," she said, her tone tinged with a hint of frustration, she continued, "You seem a bit like a lonebird here, and I thought maybe we could change that. But if you're not interested, I'll leave you alone.", she stood up, preparing to leave.

Feeling guilty for making Regna feel unwelcome, Rayne finally looked up, her eyes meeting Regna's gaze. The satisfaction in Regna's eyes at Rayne's compliance only made her feel more uneasy. She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, her mind racing with thoughts of how to navigate this unexpected conversation.

"If you really like bread, you could ask for more from the server," Regna suggested, her voice brimming with enthusiasm.

"They're real generous with their rations. C'mon, finish your bread! Stop being so awkward about it!"

Rayne snapped out of her reverie, nodding quickly and apologizing before taking the last bite of her bread. The warmth of the bread did little to ease the cold knot of anxiety in her stomach. As she chewed, Regna's questions continued, each one delivered with genuine curiosity but carrying a slightly ominous undertone that made Rayne's skin prickle.

"Why do you have white hair, like you know, old people?" Regna asked, her brow furrowed in genuine curiosity.

Rayne shrugged, her discomfort growing. She could feel the stares of other students, or maybe it was just her imagination amplifying her self-consciousness.

"I've had it since I was a baby," she replied simply, hoping to brush off the subject.

But Regna wasn't easily deterred by Rayne's reply.

"I've been observing you since you entered the cafeteria," she continued, her gaze unwavering. "You looked nervous about everything, even sitting down."

Rayne chuckled nervously, feeling exposed. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table.

"Yeah, I'm just paranoid," she replied, trying to mask her vulnerability with a forced laugh.

“Did you know? The bread you’re eating is called 'Yam Bread,' made from the finest Southern Dasayama wheat. My great-grandpa used to take me there for picnics when I was just a baby. My mother thought it was risky—those fields are vast, and we could easily get lost. But he always laughed it off! We did get lost the first few times, but he always found our way back. He was quite the adventurer. Anyway, this bread is so cheap! I’m surprised they’re even serving it here. It’s so basic—just milk, water, and yeast. None of those fancy recipes like with 'Dylindine' flour. Ugh, Dylindine is so overrated. No offense, of course! It’s funny, really. We have chefs at home who could make anything, yet here I am, eating simple Yam Bread. But I guess it’s good to keep things humble sometimes, right?" - Regna yapped for a minute that lasted like an eternity in Rayne's mind.

Rayne nodded in confusion, and then Regna surprised her by handing her a piece of bread from her own tray.

"Here, this is a token of our friendship!" she declared with a warm smile that reached her eyes. For a moment, the intensity in her demeanor softened, revealing a genuine desire for connection. She stood up, her chair scraping against the floor, and waved as she walked away, leaving Rayne to ponder their strange encounter.

Rayne watched her go, the piece of bread still warm in her hand. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Regna than met the eye. Her thoughts swirled with questions and uncertainties. What did Regna really want? Why was she so interested in her? Rayne sighed, biting into the bread absentmindedly. It was good, but her appetite had waned with the growing sense of unease. As she sat alone, the din of the cafeteria faded into the background. Rayne couldn't help but reflect on the peculiar conversation. Despite her reservations, there was something undeniably captivating about Regna's forthrightness. Perhaps, she mused, this could be the start of something new—a tentative step towards breaking out of her shell, just as she had with her first steps long ago.