In a strange world, a baby awakens alone in the underbrush. Nearby, a doe and her fawn drink from a brook, their presence the only sign of life. The air is thick with the scent of moss and damp earth—there is no sign of civilization. A deep, primal fear grips the infant.

He whimpers, lifting his tiny head from the mossy ground. His vision is blurred, the towering trees around him mere shadows. Panic sets in, and he begins to cry, realizing he is alone and helpless. A soft breeze stirs the leaves, carrying a faint melody—like distant chimes from a clock tower, eerily out of place. Tears roll down his cheeks, stirred by a memory he cannot yet grasp.

Fantasia, an elf, hears the baby's cries and gently picks him up, cradling him in her arms. She soothes him with soft coos and a gentle rocking motion. "Shh, little one, you're safe now," she whispers, running her fingers through his wispy black hair and tracing his delicate features. Her eyes widen as she notices the glowing markings on his tiny body—intricate patterns pulsing faintly in rhythm with his cries, as if reacting to his emotions.

"Elder..." she murmurs. The Elder nods, and together, they return to their peaceful elven village. As they approach the World Tree, the other elves gather, watching with curiosity and reverence.

"Mother Tree, as you foretold, we have found the child," the Elder says, presenting the infant.

The World Tree's voice resonates gently through the air. "Listen, my children. He is the prophesied one, the child beloved by Mana. His name shall be Mixarnt."

Fantasia gazed up at the towering World Tree, its emerald canopy shimmering with divine energy. The pulsing glow she had sensed around Mixarnt earlier now made sense—it was Mana itself, reacting to his presence.

The World Tree’s voice resonated through the gathered elves, carrying an air of ancient wisdom. "Mixarnt... Yes, this child carries the essence of the Timekeeper, reborn to guide us toward a brighter future."

A deep connection stirred within Fantasia, as if their fates were intertwined. She gently stroked the infant’s soft hair, feeling the weight of responsibility settle upon her.

"What will become of him?" she asked, her voice laced with concern and curiosity.

"For now, he will live among us and learn the ways of the elves," the World Tree replied. "In time, his path will reveal itself, and he will embark on the journey destined for him."

The Elder carefully placed Mixarnt into Fantasia’s arms, entrusting her with his care. In her heart, she had long awaited the prophesied one, secretly hoping to one day stand by his side as more than just a guardian. A small smile played on her lips as she imagined shaping him into the man she envisioned.

Noticing her expression, the Elder let out a weary sigh. "I'm slowly having second thoughts." he said with a worried expression as he might have made a wrong decision. "You will be his guide as he grows. As an elite elven mage with a deep connection to nature and animals, you are well-suited for the task."

Fantasia’s heart fluttered at the Elder’s words, confirming her silent hopes. A soft smile graced her lips as she gazed into Mixarnt’s innocent deep blue eyes, already imagining the strong and wise man he would one day become. The Elder’s weary sigh only deepened her amusement.

"I am honored to guide our prophesied hero, Elder," she said, her tone filled with confidence. "With your wisdom and my teachings, we shall shape Mixarnt into a great leader."

As she carried the infant away, the rustling leaves and swaying branches seemed to bless their path. She hummed a gentle lullaby, cradling him close, lost in thoughts of the future. The Elder rubbed his temples, shaking his head. "That woman..." he muttered, knowing full well that Fantasia had already claimed the role for herself.

Reaching her cottage on the village outskirts, Fantasia settled into a comfortable chair, holding Mixarnt securely in her arms. She traced the glowing patterns on his skin, watching as the Mana markings pulsed softly in response to her touch. "You’re mine now, little one," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "And I will see to it that you grow into someone truly extraordinary." In this world, elven women can produce milk even without pregnancy using their mana, a trait unique to their kind. This was one reason the Mother Tree entrusted Mixarnt to Fantasia—hoping the mischievous elf would learn responsibility and care through raising the child she had long awaited.

Despite her playful nature, Fantasia’s expression softens as she gazes down at the infant nestled in her arms. She gently strokes his soft hair, a rare tenderness in her touch. "You'll grow strong with me." she murmurs, her voice soothing. As Mixarnt feeds, a deep bond begins to form—one that will only grow stronger with time.