The forest was still waking when Diamon shifted quietly beneath the old stone trees of Angkor. The air felt different—soft, patient, expectant. No calls rang out. No sudden movement. Then, almost unnoticed, a new life rested against her chest.
The newborn was impossibly small, dark eyes open to a world that had not yet asked anything of him. Diamon didn’t rush. She adjusted her grip slowly, as if learning him breath by breath. Her fingers checked his back, his arms, his tiny face, repeating the same careful motion mothers have used here for generations.
Nearby, the forest carried on. Leaves moved. Light filtered through broken temple walls. Nothing announced the moment, yet everything seemed to pause for it.
Diamon leaned forward, bringing her face close to her baby’s. He blinked, steady and calm, already trusting the warmth holding him. There was no urgency—only presence.
Watching from a distance, it felt like witnessing something private and ancient. Not a dramatic beginning, but a quiet promise. In the Angkor forest, another life had arrived, and the day gently made room for him.
