He did not cry.
The infant lay silent in his mother's arms, eyes wide open.
Black.
Endless.
They reflected no firelight, no fear—only depth.
On his chest, a sigil burned briefly before fading into his skin, as if hiding.
The sky screamed again.
Far above, the Seven Thrones shook violently.
The Goddess of Creation stood, her face pale.
"That mark," she said slowly. "That is not demonic."
The God of Light snarled. "It is worse."
The crack in the firmament split wide open.
For one impossible moment, heaven and earth looked directly at each other.
And the child looked back..