— "The Thing That Was Never Meant to Be"
They say every life is born from something.
From gods or beasts.
From union or sacrifice.
From bloodlines written in flesh and fate.
But he… he came from nothing.
Not a whisper in the stars, not a page in the Book of Life.
No signs, no omens. Not even a scream.
Just existence.
One moment, the woods beyond the village were empty.
The next, he was there—naked, silent, alive.
Eyes open.
Breathing.
Watching.
They say he should not have survived the night.
Newborns don't crawl. They don't walk. They don't stare into firelight with the gaze of something far older than its bones.
But he did.
And from that moment, the world would never sleep soundly again.
They called him Kael.
Not because the name meant anything.
But because they feared what he'd become if they didn't name him.
Years passed, and the village whispered:
"He doesn't bleed like us."
"He doesn't hunger like us."
"He doesn't age like he should."
But still, they kept him. Out of pity, perhaps. Or guilt.
Maybe they thought naming a thing would tame it.
It didn't.
Because Kael Vorrin was not born of love or legacy.
He was not a child of man, beast, or god.
He was a fracture.
A question with no answer.
A hunger wearing a boy's skin.
And the world would learn, far too late, that some devils don't crawl out of hell.
They wake in silence. And learn to smile.