The midwife placed the crying newborn into his mother's arms. "It's a boy," she said softly. The baby's wails quieted as he nestled against his mother's breast, comforted by her familiar heartbeat.
The mother, Mara, studied her son's face-histiny rosebud mouth, his fuzzy crown of black hair. His eyes were still swollen shut, though she imagined they would one day be as dark and fathomless as his father's.
"He's perfect," Mara whispered. She looked up at her husband, Dorian, who stood rigidly over them, his arms crossed. "Isn't he perfect?"
Dorian's jaw tightened. "We shall see."
Mara's smile faded. She had almost forgotten. According to the prophecy, their child was destined to bring either salvation or ruin to their people. For months they had awaited his birth with equal parts hope and dread.
Now Mara clutched her son tighter, as if to shield him from his father's doubt. Dorian noted his wife's protective embrace and softened.
"Forgive me," he said, sitting next to them. "It has been a long night for us all." He reached out to stroke the baby's downy head. The boy grabbed Dorian's finger in his tiny fist. Dorian's eyes crinkled.
"He does have a strong grip," Dorian admitted. "That could serve him well one day."
Mara smiled with relief. No matter what destiny awaited their son, he would need his family by his side.
Over the next few years, life in the kingdom continued much as it had before. Mara and Dorian named their son Talan. He was a quiet, thoughtful boy who loved to explore the woods around their village. Dorian taught Talan to fish in the river and identify plants in the forest, while Mara shared her love of art and poetry.
Under his parents’ watchful gaze, Talan’s destiny remained only whispered speculation. Most villagers avoided talk of the prophecy in Talan’s presence. Only the village elder, Yara, would study Talan openly when she crossed paths with the boy, as if trying to read omens in his features.
One crisp autumn afternoon when Talan was five years old, he returned home from the forest crying, his tunic torn and bloodied.
“I found an injured fawn,” Talan explained between sobs. “I tried to help it but it died!”
Mara pulled her son into her arms. She cleaned and dressed his wounds gently.
“Sometimes there are things even you cannot fix,” she said. Talan wept harder.
"I should have been able to save it!"
Dorian and Mara exchanged uneasy glances. Was this a sign of their son’s destiny-one who could not prevent even a small tragedy?
That night Dorian carried a sleeping Talan up to his bed.
“I wish I could protect him from what’s to come,” Dorian whispered.
Mara squeezed her husband’s shoulder. “We knew this day would arrive. But Talan is still our son. And I believe he has goodness within him, no matter what.”
In the following years, Talan continued to grow. He lost his childhood plumpness, growing tall and slender. His patient temperament developed into a quiet strength. He often went on long solitary journeys into the hills.
The time was drawing near for Talan to undergo the Rites of Ascension-trials to determine if he was truly the Chosen One of prophecy.
The night before Talan’s Rites, Mara stayed up late weaving a ceremonial tunic for him by candlelight. Dorian watched her work from the doorway.
“You should rest,” he said gently. “Tomorrow decides our son’s fate.”
Mara shook her head. “I cannot sleep. My mind is too burdened.”
“With what, my love?”
Mara was silent for a long moment. Then she raised her eyes to Dorian, glinting with tears in the candlelight.
“Must Talan’s destiny overshadow his own hopes and dreams?” she whispered. Dorian knelt before his wife and wiped a stray tear from her cheek.
Dorian gazed at his wife with admiration. “The care you've given Talan far surpasses what I could provide on my own. Whatever lies ahead, we must have faith that his purpose will reveal itself in due time.”
The next morning Talan emerged from his room already wearing Mara’s gift. The white tunic nearly glowed against Talan’s dusky skin. He smiled gently at his parents.
“I am ready.”
The High Priest met Talan just outside the village.
"Success in these trials will unveil your foretold fate," proclaimed the High Priest to Talan. "Are you prepared to awaken your ordained purpose?"
First, Talan had to climb to a hawk’s nest atop a sheer cliff and retrieve one of its eggs without disturbing the parents. Next, he was told to cross a raging river by walking atop unstable stones. His final test was to spend the night alone in the Dark Forest.
Talan succeeded in all three tasks with courage and grace. By the time he emerged unscathed from the woods the following morning, the prophecy had been fulfilled. Talan was the Chosen One.
The High Priest bowed low before Talan. “How may we serve the Savior?”
Talan shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the priest’s expectation. His gaze found his parents among the crowd. Mara and Dorian gazed back proudly.
Talan straightened his shoulders, allowing his true purpose to guide him.
“I am but a humble servant,” Talan said. “Let us walk together toward the light.”
