The heavens screamed the night he was born.
The world had not known storms for a thousand years, yet lightning carved the sky into a thousand veins of white fire. Every beast, every spirit, every divine creature in the mortal realm howled as if answering a call written into their blood.
Somewhere beneath that furious sky, in a quiet valley veiled by ancient willows, a child took his first breath — and the world trembled.
Inside the Kairo Clan's ancestral hall, the air was thick with incense and panic. The midwives had long fled, their minds broken by visions of eternity that poured from the newborn's eyes. Only two figures remained — his mother, pale as moonlight, and his father, a man whose presence could silence gods.
"He bears the mark," she whispered, clutching the child to her chest. "The sigil that no one should have… The Eye that Sees Origins."
Her husband's face hardened. The symbol glowing faintly on the baby's brow — a spiral of runes that seemed to move on their own — was older than creation itself.
"Hide him," the father said. His voice was low, almost reverent. "Before the gods notice."
But it was already too late.
Above them, the heavens convulsed. From the firmament descended a host of divine lights — not angels, not spirits, but the lower gods, each cloaked in radiance so blinding that mountains bowed beneath their descent.
A decree echoed across every realm:
> "All newborns born under the Cry of Heaven are to be destroyed. One among them carries the Forbidden Soul."
The mother's arms tightened. "They're coming for him."
The father's eyes burned like a dying star. "Then let them find nothing."
He placed his hand over the baby's heart — and the air itself shattered. The world quivered as he poured the last of his divine core into a treasure vault hidden deep beneath the Kairo estate — a vault not built by mortals, but by a forgotten god who once defied the heavens.
Inside that vault slept a World Seed — a crystalline sphere capable of birthing entire dimensions according to the will of its owner. The father whispered ancient syllables that no mortal tongue could form, and the vault opened with a sigh that sounded like mourning.
"Live," he said softly, placing the infant within the seed's glow. "And remember nothing… until the world is ready for you."
His wife touched his face, tears like liquid starlight falling from her eyes. "Will he ever forgive us?"
He didn't answer.
Outside, divine thunder split the horizon. The gods' light engulfed the valley, erasing everything — the manor, the trees, the people. Nothing remained but a crater and silence.
And deep within that silence, in the hidden pocket of the World Seed, the baby opened his eyes.
They were neither human nor divine — they were mirrors of infinity, reflecting a cosmos that had long forgotten its creator.
He did not cry.
He simply stared, as if trying to remember something that the universe itself had tried to erase.
---
Somewhere in the High Heavens...
A circle of gods convened in panic.
Their leader, draped in constellations, struck the table of light with his palm. "We felt it again — that presence. 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."
The hall fell silent.
From the shadows, an ancient voice rasped, "If the forbidden child lives… it means the world has chosen its reckoning."
And for the first time in eons, the gods — the very beings who thought themselves eternal — felt fear.
---
Within the World Seed...
Time did not move.
A realm without air or sound, shaped entirely by thought, unfolded slowly around the child. Trees grew from nothing; rivers carved paths through the void. Beasts made of mist knelt before him instinctively — for they recognized him.
They called him in whispers:
Vaen Aen Kar — the One Who Was Named After Naming.
As ages passed within that pocket world, the infant became a boy — silent, observing, untouched by emotion. The system of familiars awoke within him naturally, bending to his will without commands. Every creature, every element, every shadow obeyed him — yet he remained still, waiting.
One day, as light flickered across his palm, he looked toward the sky of his inner world and murmured words that shook its foundation:
> "I can feel them… the ones who killed my parents."
> "But why do I not feel hate?"
> "What did they erase from me?"
The world around him froze, awaiting his answer.
But none came. Only the slow curling of a smile — faint, cold, knowing.
---
And so began the first whisper of the boy who would one day become the gods' reckoning —
the one whose very existence questioned creation itself.
Vaen Aen Kar.
The Cry of Heaven was not the end.
It was the beginning.