Prologue
Mt. Lovćen, Montenegro
The wind was restless. It howled around the monastery as something alive, alive, and hungry. Archimandrite Peter was restless too, he could not sleep. He felt as if something was coming this way. The snow on the window obscured the vision outside but Peter could still see the part of the night sky and flickering starlight through it. Still, the wind was restless… He got up and put on his robes. Perhaps prayer will ease his heart.
It was not anything out of the ordinary for Peter. Sometimes his soul would be assaulted by sorrow and pain that was hardly his at all. Archimandrite suspected that each time he felt like that, a child was left alone in this world. He could not understand why he feels this way, only that he does. It was enough for him to kneel in front of the sacred icon of Holy Transfiguration and pray for the soul that had no one but God. This time was no different. “… be the righteousness in his young soul, oh Lord, and do not count the sins of his parents against him nor them. May the sins of his blood be washed away by Your power, may he live as long as he is alive, and may death never claim the bright plains of his spirit. My Lord, let the young one live, in Your name, in Your glory, in Your love! Amin…” Peter crossed himself and as he did, two knocks resounded through the monastery. They were coming from the front doors…
Peter was not afraid, however, just surprised as it was 3 AM and in his not so humble opinion, supported by his long memories, only people who are far from grace can be found at the doors of the holy places in these late hours. Without fear, as befits the true man of faith, he opened the doors. The cold night air surged inward and archimandrite gasped. Not from cold but from surprise. On the shimmering snow, amidst the ice that shone like stars above, there was a basket. An ordinary wooden basket and within it, a baby covered in a simple, tiny blanket. In his long years, he never saw anything like this, and he witnessed some pretty extraordinary miracles. If this was a miracle, Peter could not see the one doing it. He took a few steps outside and noticed a few footprints in the snow. Only a few. It looked like whoever left the basket here vanished into thin air after just a few steps. Turning to the basket, he lifted it and gazed upon dark grey eyes that observed him curiously. The child had dark grey skin and curly hair of a similar greyish color. It was not the appearance of the child that made Peter shudder. It was the fact that the child was completely silent. It felt wrong on so many levels but archimandrite decided to put all thoughts like that aside for now and instead tend to the child`s needs. He took his guest within and closed the door.
Outside, stars were not stars at all. They were bright figures disguised as stars. They did so because the righteous man never needed proof for his faith. And blessed are those who do not see yet who believe. One of the figures said. “I still think that this is a mistake. We could easily have another war as soon as he becomes what he truly is”. “Be that as it may, ours is to obey first and to think later”. Another voice responded. “Do you think he can really do it”? The brightest figure didn’t respond right away. It gazed upon the monastery where more and more windows alighted the night around and frantic pace of silhouettes within. “Yes”. The wind was silent…
