(Arc 1: The Heaven's Cry)
— The Child Who Spoke to Storms
The world had long forgotten the night the heavens screamed.
A thousand years had passed since that storm — the night a child's birth shattered the silence of creation itself.
But peace was an illusion.
The world had only been sleeping, not healed.
Now, beneath calm skies and quiet temples, the laws of creation began to hum again.
Softly at first — like the sound of strings pulled too tight.
And then the storm returned.
---
Lightning tore across the firmament, carving the world in white fire.
Every creature, from spirit to beast, felt the call vibrating in their blood.
It wasn't the cry of thunder. It was a name.
> "Vaen…"
The sound echoed through countless realms.
Through the void between light and dark.
Through the hearts of gods who had sworn he no longer existed.
And in the ruins of a forgotten valley, he stepped out from the mist.
---
Ash fell like slow snow.
Once, this had been the Kairo Clan's sacred land — his parents' home.
Now, nothing remained but stone, dust, and silence.
Vaen stood in the heart of it all, calm and distant. His gaze moved over the broken earth — not with sorrow, but something far colder.
Recognition.
> "They tried to erase me," he murmured, voice quiet as rain.
"But storms remember what gods forget."
At his words, thunder bowed.
---
The ground trembled as creatures began to emerge — shadows born from his thoughts, from the lingering will of the World Seed that had once sheltered him.
A wolf with eyes of silver fire.
A serpent woven from mist.
A stag whose antlers shone with captured lightning.
They surrounded him, kneeling without command.
The serpent spoke first, its voice like silk and smoke.
> "We have waited, Origin."
Vaen's expression did not change.
> "Do not call me that."
> "Then what shall we call you, master?"
He turned toward the horizon. The heavens still flickered with dying light.
> "Vaen Aen'kar," he said softly. "The name my parents gave before the gods took them."
The air trembled as his name rippled through reality.
The sky bent in silence.
And for the first time in a thousand years — the world knelt.
---
Far above, in the blurred distance of divine light, a gate opened.
From it descended two figures wrapped in blinding radiance.
Lower gods.
Hunters of forbidden souls.
Their presence turned the clouds white-hot, the ground beneath them melting into glass.
> "Mortal child," one said, his voice hollow yet filled with authority.
"You carry the mark that defies Heaven. By decree of the Pantheon, you are to be unmade."
Vaen did not answer.
He simply looked up.
The wind stopped. The lightning froze mid-strike.
Even the storm seemed to kneel.
---
One of the gods drew his blade — a weapon forged from the rules of existence itself.
When it descended, the world itself flinched.
Then—
The storm struck from below.
From Vaen's shadow rose a colossal serpent — the same that had bowed to him.
Its body shimmered with the essence of nothingness.
It opened its mouth and swallowed the divine weapon whole.
The god didn't even have time to scream.
His light shattered into a thousand fragments — erased, not killed.
The second god stumbled back, his radiance flickering in terror.
> "What… what are you?" he gasped.
Vaen's eyes reflected him — calm, endless, merciless.
> "Something that remembers what your kind forgot."
> "And what is that?" the god whispered.
Vaen took a single step forward. The storm followed his breath.
> "Fear."
---
The god fled, wings tearing through the sky.
Vaen watched him go, his expression unreadable.
Then he turned his gaze to the heavens.
The clouds trembled.
With a slow movement, he raised his hand.
Lightning halted midair.
Thunder fell silent.
The very pulse of nature waited for his command.
And softly, he spoke.
> "Sleep."
The storm obeyed.
The sky cleared, leaving a quiet that did not belong to peace — but to submission.
Vaen lowered his hand.
The ashes around him stirred, whispering like old ghosts.
He closed his eyes briefly, sensing something distant — a shift beyond the stars.
The gods were watching.
And for the first time in eons, they were afraid to move.
> "This world remembers me," he said quietly.
"Now it will remember what I was."
Lightning flickered once more across the horizon — not as rage, but as reverence.
And in that moment, the child who spoke to storms became something the heavens could no longer silence.
---