2.

That was how, when the tree fell, most of its branches broke upon hitting the ground, causing the youngest branch, which barely had a small green bud that was barely visible, to land in a muddy lake that roughly decorated one of the plains.

Days passed and Mother Earth began to feel anxious. A few days were nothing to her; she had lived a long time, but for that very reason she couldn't wait to stop being alone, to begin to see the small hope of a future blossom. On the seventh day, Mother Earth was growing impatient, believing that she had made a mistake somewhere in the process, but this was impossible. She had given him her energy, she had given him a clear mission, and she had strived to teach him everything she knew and thought he should know. These insecurities continued to plague her until finally the fragile tranquility of the world was abruptly interrupted by a loud cry.

A small baby with blond curls had emerged from the muddy lake. Mother Earth was so moved to see him, her little sprout, a small fragment of herself. It was her nature to feel this way; there was a reason fate had made her a mother. She thought the baby was so beautiful with his golden curls and striking green eyes, but at the same time, everything about that little body was so fragile that for a moment she wished she could be flesh and blood like him, so she could protect him in her arms. But that was impossible. She had already done everything she could. She had given him part of her knowledge and, even at such a young age, had bestowed upon him gifts such as tremendous strength and the ability to communicate openly with his surroundings.

And so the child crawled through the grasslands, crying incessantly, such an innocent and pure soul with such a clear and urgent mission in life: his mission was to guide the future. He was responsible for ensuring that everything flowed as it should, a great responsibility for such an inexperienced being.

The shrill sound emitted by the child frightened away some deer that were eating nearby. Terrified, they ran in the opposite direction from the child, except for three of them: their leader and two of the strongest males in the herd. The leader seemed older and compassionate, while the other two just looked at the child and the surroundings in search of any threat.

The leader of the deer had named himself Quinihil, the one who knows nothing, the one who is nothing. He had been blessed by fate, like others of the first inhabitants of the earth, with a great capacity for learning that had allowed him to develop unparalleled intelligence, as well as a long life.

The little boy remained silent in the face of the imposing presence, who crouched down before him upon recognizing him. So much time had passed waiting for his arrival; perhaps he was the only physical being waiting for him, but that did not diminish his value.