— THE CRY OF HEAVENS
The heavens screamed the night he was born.
The world hadn't seen storms for a thousand years. And yet… lightning tore across the sky, cutting it into jagged veins of white fire. Every creature—beast, spirit, even the faint glimmer of divine life—howled, as if something buried deep in their blood had been awakened.
Somewhere beneath that furious sky, in a quiet valley hidden by weeping willows, a child drew his first breath. The world shivered.
Inside the ancestral hall of the Kairo Clan, incense smoke tangled with the sharp stench of panic. The midwives had fled long ago, their minds shattered by visions streaming from the newborn's eyes. Only two remained: his mother, pale as moonlight, and his father, a man whose presence could silence gods.
"He bears the mark…" she whispered, clutching the infant. Her voice trembled. "…The Eye that Sees Origins."
His father's gaze was sharp. The faint spiral of runes glowing on the baby's brow seemed almost alive, moving subtly, older than creation itself.
"Hide him," he said, voice low, trembling just slightly. "Before the gods notice."
Too late.
Above them, the heavens convulsed. Divine lights descended—neither angels nor spirits, but lesser gods, cloaked in blinding radiance. Mountains quivered at their approach.
A voice rolled through the cosmos, cold and absolute:
"All newborns born under the Cry of Heaven are to be destroyed. Among them… one carries the Forbidden Soul."
The mother's arms tightened. "They're coming for him."
His father's eyes burned like dying stars. "Then let them find nothing."
He pressed a hand over the child's chest. The air fractured. The hall quivered. The last of his divine core flowed into a hidden vault beneath the estate—a vault built not by mortals, but by a god long forgotten, one who had defied the heavens.
Inside lay the World Seed: a crystalline sphere, capable of birthing entire dimensions shaped by its owner's will. He whispered syllables no mortal tongue could form. The vault sighed open.
"Live," he murmured, placing the infant within the seed's glow. "Remember nothing… until the world is ready for you."
Tears ran down his wife's face, like liquid starlight. "Will he ever forgive us?"
He didn't answer.
Outside, divine thunder ripped the horizon apart. Light swallowed the valley. Trees, manor, even people—everything vanished. Silence followed, dense and complete.
And in that silence, inside the World Seed, the baby opened his eyes.
Neither human nor divine. Mirrors of infinity. A cosmos forgotten by its own creator.
He did not cry.
He just stared, trying—trying—to remember something the universe itself had tried to erase.
---
Somewhere in the High Heavens
The gods gathered, panic threading their eternal voices.
Their leader, wrapped in constellations, slammed his palm onto the table of light. "We felt it again… The Origin."
Another god trembled. "Impossible. The Origin was erased. His consciousness… scattered beyond existence."
"Then explain the disturbance below. A mortal realm should not echo the language of creation."
Silence stretched.
From the shadows, a rasping voice said: "If the forbidden child lives… it means the world has chosen its reckoning."
And for the first time in eons, the gods—beings who had long thought themselves eternal—felt fear.
---
Inside the World Seed
Time didn't move.
A place without air, without sound, took shape in the child's mind. Trees sprouted from nothing. Rivers carved paths through the void. Misty creatures bowed instinctively—they knew him, and they feared nothing.
They called him in hushed tones:
Vaen Aen'kar — the One Who Was Named After Naming.
Centuries passed in that pocket world. The infant became a boy. Silent. Observant. Untouched by emotion. Familiars, elements, shadows—they bent to his will without commands. He waited. Always waited.
One day, light danced across his small palm. He looked at the sky of his inner world, voice soft, almost a whisper:
"I can feel them… the ones who killed my parents."
A pause. He frowned. "But… why do I not feel hate?"
Time froze. The world held its breath. No answer came. Only a faint, cold smile curled on his lips—knowing, patient, inevitable.
And so began the first whisper of the boy who would one day become the gods' reckoning.
Vaen Aen'kar.
He had survived the Cry of Heaven.
And this was only the beginning.