The sky split.
Not with thunder. Not with lightning. But with absence.
A crack of void opened above the sanctum, swallowing the light of suns, muting birdsong, flattening color. All who looked upon it forgot language for three heartbeats.
Then came the voice.
Not sound, but subtraction—as if every word stolen from memory returned only as dread.
"I am the Firstborn Silence."
"I watched the birth of gods. I mourned their arrogance. I buried their bones."
"Now, I see a child that was not written. A law that was not signed. A mother that was not chosen."
"This must end."
The Aberrants fell to their knees, tongues writhing, ears bleeding.
Kaelira clutched her chest, sobbing. "This… this is a true elder."
Lucien stood defiant, blade drawn.
Talia stepped forward.
Her divine form shimmered, momentarily destabilized by the entity's presence. The Halo Tree wept black sap.
Above, the void twisted—forming into a silhouette. No face. No limbs. Just geometry so ancient it hurt to behold.
"Return the child. Or I will unwrite his conception."
"Return the mother. Or I will fracture her name from every future."
Lucien snarled. "You fear him."
"I fear what comes after him."
Talia raised her hand.
The scripture along her arms blazed.
"I was not chosen by you," she said.
"I was chosen by what comes next."
The air warped.
The Firstborn Silence descended—not in body, but as a concept. The ground forgot to support itself. Walls sagged. Birds became fish for a moment.
Lucien leapt into the chaos, striking upward. His blade shattered into phrases.
Still, he pressed forward.
Talia bent her knees, holding her abdomen—though the child slept, she could feel his pulse answering the threat.
Kaelira screamed.
"Saint-Mother! Call his name! Give him shape!"
Talia opened her mouth—
And the child opened his eyes.
The void recoiled.
A hum bled into the fabric of being.
The Firstborn Silence hesitated.
Then, for the first time, the ancient being whispered not a command, but a question:
"What… are you?"
The child did not speak.
He decreed.
And with a single exhalation, he named himself.
The name was not heard—it was understood. It passed through all minds like wind through reeds, reshaping memory and future in one gesture.
And the Firstborn Silence fled.
Screaming.
Talia collapsed into Lucien's arms.
The sky sealed shut.
But a whisper remained:
"They will come now. All of them."
Lucien held her tight.
"Let them."
The child… smiled.
And reality shuddered in delight.