Chapter 3: Beginning of the omen

The sun blazed high in the sky, casting an unforgiving light over a clearing nestled deep in the noisy forest. The sound of axes rhythmically striking trunks echoed in the distance, mixed with the rasping of saws cutting through thick wood.

Beneath the shade of a sturdy tree at the northern edge of the clearing, a group of lumberjacks rested, their hoarse voices and muffled laughter blending with sips of water and bites of stale bread.

"So..." one of them said, breaking a conversation about harvests and wagers. He was a man of imposing presence, with shaggy brown hair and a thick beard that spilled over his protruding belly. His body was a rough mix of muscle and fat. "Heard about the village of Sens?" he asked, his expression tense and worried.

Another lumberjack, smaller and nimbler, sitting cross-legged while peeling an apple with a short knife, responded between bites:

"They say it was demons..." he said with a mouth full, as if it were already fact.

"I think so too," grumbled the burly lumberjack, rubbing his stomach with a calloused hand. "Who in their right mind would do something so monstrous? That’s not human..." He turned, calling the attention of a third.

Lying on his back in the grass, a sun-weathered man of dark skin only grumbled in response. His unkempt black hair and patchy beard gave him a careless air, but his muscular build and lack of a shirt told a different story — he was strong, forged by hard labor.

"And you, Ivan?" the big lumberjack insisted. "What do you think?"

Ivan opened one eye, annoyed, and answered in a lazy voice:

"I don’t care." He turned his face away, closing his eyes again. "Talking about this won’t pay my bills."

The larger man let out a loud laugh, slapping his belly.

"That’s the Gorynych we know!" he said, laughing loud, joined by the others.

Their laughter echoed among the trees until it was interrupted by a harsh and powerful voice from the back of the clearing.

"Hey, you lot!" barked a hunched old man, his skin worn by time, nearly bald with eyes barely open, as if he could hardly see. "Get back to work, you bunch of layabouts!" he shouted, mixing orders with curses without ceremony.

The lumberjacks quickly fell silent, grabbing their tools and returning to work with muted grumbling. All... except one.

Still lying on the ground, Ivan remained motionless, ignoring the movement around him.

"GORYNYCH!" roared the old man, this time so loudly that the trees shook and the other lumberjacks instinctively covered their ears.

Ivan, annoyed, finally stood up using a branch lying nearby for support, and replied in the same thunderous tone, "WHAT IS IT, OLD MAN!?"

"Get your butt up and go check the dam!" the elder ordered, shaking his fist in the air.

Ivan huffed, not hiding his bad mood, and with heavy steps began walking down the trail leading to the dam. As he walked away, the sun lit his sweaty back, revealing a symbol etched into his skin — a triskelion, three interlocked spirals in eternal motion.

Ivan whistled as he walked along the trail, the sound of rustling oak leaves surrounding him. In his right hand, he swung the branch he had picked up in the clearing, slicing it through the air with a sharp whistle.

He only stopped swinging the branch when he approached the riverbank. The sounds of the trees faded, replaced by the rush of the clear river’s currents.

The banks, covered in shimmering stones, reflected the sunlight. It was the great Fontes River. The same river that now had a pile of logs caught in a dam under construction.

Calmly, Ivan climbed onto the dam, checking the number of logs.

"Thirteen, fourteen, fifte—" Ivan, who had been counting, suddenly stopped when he noticed something among the logs. It was a small wicker basket, shifting slightly, as if alive.

"What the hell..." he muttered to himself, trying to get a better look.

Driven by curiosity, Ivan grabbed the edge of the dam and, using the piece of wood he’d picked up earlier, pulled the basket up onto the structure.

The man then began to open the basket, which moved and smelled like a fish freshly caught. That’s when he saw it — a small being, wrapped in a white cloth, and even though it was soaked, one could still read… “Samo.”

“Samo... what the...?” the man muttered as he unwrapped the being from the cloth, finding himself face to face with a fragile baby.

The child had pale skin, and his blue eyes seemed to stare into Ivan’s very soul. On his head, small strands of red hair hinted at his lineage.

“How could anyone abandon a child like this?” the man despaired, holding the baby in his arms — only to feel an unexpected sense of comfort.

As he held the child, without realizing it, one of the spirals on his back began to glow — the mark at the central top, the one that represented... life.