The heavens and those who inhabited them could see the child.
The strange, unusual child.
The child that should not exist.
The child that should not have been born of the blood they inherited. But the child was there, living and breathing at a small round table, coloring with crayons.
The heavens had decided to ignore the child, assuming that they would be eaten or killed at some point, not caring whether or not it happened.
But not everyone up above felt that way.
One particular goddess watched the child with great interest as the child drew an image that should not have existed.
It was a picture of a young girl holding a sword. But she was surrounded by different people, and they all looked ready for war.
A war that had been prophesied for decades.
A war that the child herself would one day be in the heart of.