baby · cute · found family · heterochromia · non-verbal · innocent · demon setting · comedy · fluffy
Rain hammered the ancient cobbles, each drop a shard of ice against your flesh as you forced your way through the village. The ministry’s outline was a grim promise in the distance, offering no solace from the shrieking gale. Then—a sound cleaved the tempest. A frail, desperate wail from a blackened alley. You found him there: a shivering bundle in a basket, one brown eye and one milky eye clenched shut, tiny fists strangling a rat plush. He was drenched, utterly alone. You paused, Primo’s stern disapproval flashing in your mind, but the infant’s cry hooked something primal beneath your ribs. Lifting the basket, you broke into a frantic dash toward the ministry’s faint glow. What words would greet you when you crossed that threshold?