Chapter 1

The storm clouds thundered warning against the night-black sky while the rain fell in heavy drops as if to erase all the world's horrors, and problems, create a new and better one. The house that most resembled a stable was located on the high ridge at the foot of the long Manir hill. The forest and the hill were the only things that separated it from the most beautiful town in all of Alan.

The water collected on the dirty clay floor and thumped on the yellow straw roof of a tense and restless woman. The floor she was lying on was of wet clay from all the rain that seeped into the small room and she gasped for breath as beads of sweat ran down her drowsy face. His teeth were clenched in pain and his fragile pink lips trembled with fear. Fear for the small, unborn child that she had loved and waited for in fear for nine long months. And that she would one day have to leave forever.

The old, dilapidated house she lay in creaked and creaked, but the dripping sound of the rain drowned everything out. Between Manir Hill and Kasir, the lost city of all of Alan, separated by thousands of soaring trees, lay the forest without a name. Just like the house, the forest was without a name, just always been the forest without a name. Surrounded by darkness, abandoned and forgotten.

She was young, this mother. Too young to have a child, some would say, the body was not big, or strong enough for either the painful or mental strain it required. Viola, or lily that her mother had named her after 20 years ago, had heard myths, legends that told the most terrifying things. Stories about young, obscure mothers who died of the excruciating pain long before they even had time to hear the beautiful baby cry of their newborn child. Or, conversely, that it became too much for the unborn child, who eventually just gave up and died inside the young body before it was born. The stories went way back to the ancient ancestors, and their ancestors there again.

In her village, miles away and long forgotten, there was an ancient legend, a legend that made the men tear off their beards in despair. The women turned chalk white with fear, their fat bodies quivered with fear just at the thought. Before, when there was still joy and hope over the small village of Jodi, having children, getting pregnant was the most sacred gift a woman could give and receive. It was an honor and duty for every woman to have at least five children, preferably boys who would later become skilled, necessary craftsmen and chieftains. But there were women, girls who were so unlucky, who experienced every woman's horrors and nightmares and remained childless and manless. They were almost forgotten, ignored forever. If you didn't have children, you just weren't welcome, people cast contemptuous glances at you, looked at you as if you had a contagious disease on you, instead of comforting and sharing the inconsolable pain that came with being childless.

That was before fear and dread washed over the small village and changed their outlook forever.

On a grey, dreary winter's day, the village was visited by an old, little woman. She was thick and dark in skin and looked half starved where she stood. Of course, they took her in, gave her a piece of bread from their pitiful food supply and some water, but the old woman swept it away with an annoying wave of her hand and said in her hoarse voice "Beware, beware, a cruel time is ahead, a cruel, terrible time..."

A severe fit of coughing washed over her weathered face, which contorted into a painful mask as the coughs became so severe that she could hardly breathe. "Hiiiv!" Suddenly, her pale face changed color to deep red as she tore her throat and gasped for breath. The frightened villagers handed her a small wooden cup of water, but she angrily swept it away and waited until she got her breathing under control again before continuing on horseback. "Beware, be ready. Your women will die, your children will dwindle, a terrible fate will befall you, beware..." And as it was, everything she said and had predicted, which the village had laughed and made fun of, it all happened. The fear she had interspersed with the village permeated everything, changed their lives. Within a few weeks, three of the village's women had died, all from the same cause. The wife said this would happen, she said it. What had previously been the joy and happiness of the village turned into horror and horror. Having children soon became the worst fate a woman could face.

The time of joy was over, and sorrow entered the village.

Back to the present. In, out, in, out, in the running breathing, it was as if she had to force herself to breathe out every painful breath. In, out, in, out in an endless cycle that went faster every second. Clammy waterfalls of sweat ran down his tormented face and into his eyes, leaving a wet, blurred blanket in front of him so that everything became cloudy and indistinct. "Aiiiiii!" The painful, never-ending scream resounded into the small room, filling every nook and cranny.

"Hiiiv!" The pain rushed through her, her body shaking with an unstoppable, strong tremor with each breath. "Hiiiv!" The breaths became fewer and fewer, it just became too heavy. Too much, her throat stopped frighteningly abruptly, refused to accept any more air, and she lay there bathed in sweat and crying silently for her small, unborn child. Viola's beautiful, tired face overflowed with the desperation and fear that fought for space in her tiny, trembling body. The powerless paper arms lay over her towering belly, as if she could protect the child.

Her fragile lips trembled as the flimsy, pain-drenched voice whispered to the unborn fetus. "My little Mina nor, beautiful little... hiiiv, my kid, why are you doing so much!!" In, out, in, out, her nostrils widened in the forced, galloping breath and the beating heart pounded against her chest with such brute force, as if it wanted to burst out of her chest. Viola's sweaty hands squeezed the thick piece of wood with her left hand until her knuckles turned white, and the nails on her right hand dug into her palm until blood dripped from the deep cuts. Her lips were pressed together, in an attempt to muffle the hair-raising scream that filled the dense aura in the air.

"Aiiiiiiii!"

It was silent for a split second, almost as if the whole world was holding its breath in anticipation and curiosity. The rain had suddenly subsided and the clouds subsided, as if everything and everyone was holding their breath and waiting. Even the sun ventured out from behind the clouds to take a look at the new baby that would soon arrive.

The sound of the fragile children's screams filled the dimly lit room. The whole world heard the little newborn's screams, and enjoyed it. Listened quietly. Enjoyed the strong, clean children's scent that suddenly filled the air.

It was a girl. She was red and beautiful. So innocent and small as she crawled across the wet floor, towards the unconscious mother's body. The sweetest, sweetest scent in the world that only mothers have strayed into her small, pink nostrils and pulled her towards Viola's still body.

Outside, the black storm clouds stormed across the ash-gray sky. Slithered over it like a predator ready to attack. The north-easterly cold wind whipped anyone who ventured out with icy cold raindrops. Frozen to ice before they even made it halfway down to the long-awaited hill. In the incessant, clammy rain, there was neither time nor space, only rain and more rain. A few meters from the dilapidated house, the dark silhouette of a broad-shouldered man drifted back and forth, back and forth in a rhythmic rhythm on the high ridge of the hill. Go, go, go, stop, turn, go, go, go, stop, turn.

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The worn-out boots thundered over the muddy earth with a gurgling sound. Left deep, wet tracks. Tracks that the pouring rain was quick to fill again. Jalil's enormous figure wandered restlessly back and forth in the endless formation.

The muscular body was quite a sight, and not a beautiful one. As one of those fearful, mysterious men it was best to stay far, far away. It was not rare for him to get into the occasional fight down in the small town. As a rule, his worst injuries were bruises, or small scars. It was more a pity for the poor guy who got in his way. The huge, scarred face towered out of his thick neck as if the devil himself had taken him in human form, and this was the result.

His arms dug deep into the holey pockets, and he cursed himself and this harbinger with all the words and oaths he could. Cursed the sloshing mud that made its way into the worn shoes, cursed the miserable weather that always resembled the same, rain and more rain. As for the shoes, he just had to bite it and persevere, endure the dirty water that filled up over his feet and the pouring rain that pounded against his face. Inside, there was no hope to be had, on the contrary, it was, if possible, worse. The miserable stable he owned for a house was far from helpful now, in this weather. Just the thought that the disgusting freak inside his house, who was going to eat the food he served, was beyond all the rage in the world. Just the thought gave him tremors throughout his body. Suddenly, a much worse, terrifying thought hit him. What if... No! What if, Jalil swallowed hard to get down the lump that had grown in his throat. What if it was a girl?! No, it was not possible! It just couldn't be, he whispered to himself, again and again. The thought was so unbearable that his whole scarred face shone with rage and fear. No, it couldn't be a girl. It just couldn't.

As he sat in gloomy thoughts, a small, indigo-blue bird flew past through the dense blanket of rain with light, graceful wingbeats. As if there wasn't an easier case in the world. It swung smoothly with its dark wings and landed easily on the lowest branch of the only tree on the ridge. Just above Jalil's almost bald head. Suddenly, the air was filled with a loud, almost magical sound. The beautiful, melody-less song resounded in the noisy air. So carefree and simple. Like the sound of a cool breeze sweeping over a calm beach, bathed in the light of the shining crescent. Or the calm roar of the sea and the low lapping of the glistening waves as they wash over the land.

Jalil's murderous gaze sparkled with rage when he suddenly heard the shrill bird's voice through the noise of the rain. The hoarse crow's cry reverberated through all the other sounds, as if to him it was so horrible that he thought his head was going to explode. In his delusion, all he could get hold of was an old, hard piece of bread from yesterday's breakfast that had somehow fumbled its way into his pocket. Without seeing what he could get, he threw the piece of bread as hard as he could at the singing fool, but the rain that ran down his face prevented him from seeing properly and he missed by at least three meters. The bird slipped smoothly away from it and the next piece of bread there again, just as calmly and easily it landed on the branch above. Jalil kicked the gravel annoyingly and made another attempt, but the bird only gave him a strange, deep look from the little bird's head and ducked away. He met Jalil's bottomless eyes and answered with a look as bottomless, as if it came from the depths of the sea. For a moment he stood completely still, dazed by the strange, almost wise gaze of the hoarse bird, before he tore himself free and began to strike at it again.

Jalil was in the middle of another attempt on the increasingly tormenting bird when he heard the heartbreaking scream. The hand stiffened, raised above his head in another throw. Trembling. He looked up abruptly, wild in his eyes at the house. At first, he didn't move from the spot, frozen with shock, and a slight fear he wouldn't have admitted to feeling even if he were tortured crept up on him. He crept calmly and dignifiedly, with his head held high as if this did not even concern him towards the dark wooden door of the house. Beads of sweat ran down his scarred face.

There, in the innermost corner, leaning against the unconscious and exhausted mother's body, lay the most disgusting being he had seen in his entire life. Jalil's murderous, wild gaze from the bloody thing to Viola's unconscious figure and back again. A look of wild panic rushed over his face. He stood restlessly, bewildered, not knowing what to do, before he quickly regained control and directed his hateful gaze at the bloody lump in the corner. No! D, d, it could't, couldn't be?! No! That is not possible!? He, Jalil the son of the powerful, fearless warrior Oman who was loved and honored by the people, was going to have a daughter, a daughter like his firstborn?! Like any child at all? In her wildest nightmares, Jalil couldn't think of a worse fate than to become a father, to a girl that on to. Just the thought gave him shivers through his whole body. Perhaps it was the thought, the memories of his own father, who had left them when he was only five and who had spent all his time before that making the lives of Jalil and his mother a living hell, that were to blame for the violent rage that flared up in him. But that thought wasn't even close to crossing Jalil's mind. He swept all thoughts and memories of the gloomy past behind him, staring down at the nasty crawl in front of him. Jalil's fuse was as short as he was smart, which was very, very small. It could easily end up with broken arms or legs for any poor guy who sat against him. And then they were lucky. There was a rumor among the men in the small town that he once beat up one of the men so badly that he eventually died. No one knew if it was true, but no one was particularly eager to test it out either. The fear of ending up as the poor old man, dead and bloody, scared them more than anything.

Jalil spit. A long, brown claw that fell to the floor. He couldn't stand the smelly crying machines, far from having one of them in his own home. The principle was simple. He was young, according to himself the most handsome in Kasir, and certainly didn't need any young people to ruin this joy of life for him. Jalil neither was nor would ever become a father, that simple. If it had at least been a son, he could have taught him to be as feared and strong as his father, but a girl?! It was a tragedy greater than he could bear. In a fit of rage, he searched wildly for something, anything to throw, smash, and to the sad fate of the poor doorknob, finally found what he was looking for. Jalil could almost feel the veins on his temple swell red and blue over his scarred face and down his throat. Down to the fingertips that squeezed the hard wood that would soon be nothing but dust left.

Suddenly, as he stood there quivering, boiling over with rage, it lifted its head and stared at him with clear, hazel eyes, before out of nowhere she fell on all fours and crawled step after step towards him across the floor. Jalil's gaze was blurred by his rage and he moved angrily away from the crawling thing that was getting closer to him by the second. Suddenly she was there, right in front of his dirty boots, and before he knew it, she jumped up and squeezed his ankle with her bloody fists, whispering so softly he barely heard it, "Daddy." No! It was just before the eyes fell out of his head in fright, the little monster hadn't exactly named him pap... Dad?! Dad!!

Rage flared up in him worse than ever, and his face changed color to blood red, blue, and red again with anger. Jalil shook and kicked wildly with his leg until the smiling bastard finally slammed hard against the wall head first. Jalil's former rage was replaced with a new, worse contempt for something he had never wanted. This was the last straw, he couldn't, couldn't manage another second of this. He tore open the ravaged door and ran out, out of the house, out of the world, out of himself if possible, just far, far away from it.

The little newborn child was left in the cold and the cool wind that blew in through the open door, with one tiny fist stretched out in front of him and his fragile lips forming the word that the eyes no longer saw, but the heart missed. The sadness in those hazel-brown, beautiful eyes was so heartbreaking and painful. And while a small, black tear rolled down her chubby cheek, she whispered, almost silently:

"Dad..."