The air in the delivery room hummed with that sterile, anticipatory quiet typical of any hospital. Outside, the world spun on, oblivious to the tiny miracle unfolding within these white walls. Mr. and Mrs. Zhang held hands, their knuckles white, their faces etched with exhaustion and an almost unbearable hope.
Each second stretched, until finally, a new cry pierced the stillness. "He's here! A healthy baby boy, Mr. and Mrs. Zhang," the nurse announced, her voice a gentle balm in the sudden rush of activity. She carefully swaddled the newborn, his tiny form a neat bundle in the soft, white blanket. "Seven pounds, perfect vitals."
Mrs. Zhang, tears brimming, reached out. "My little Xero," she whispered, the name a soft caress on her tongue. But 'healthy' and 'perfect' were words far too small, too ordinary, to encompass the cosmic singularity that had just entered their lives. The very instant the doctor declared his arrival into the world, an unseen ripple, silent and profound, pulsed outwards from that unassuming delivery room. It wasn't a destructive shockwave, nor a violent tremor; it was something far more subtle—a quiet, absolute correction. For a fleeting, immeasurable fraction of a second, the universe itself seemed to sigh in relief, realigning around this new, anchoring presence.
…
Thousands of miles away, nestled deep within forgotten mountains, ancient spiritual wards, weakened by millennia, suddenly shimmered with an inexplicable, vibrant glow, their seals tightening to imprison slumbering evils even more securely. In vast, desolate oceans, currents that had unknowingly been drawing pollution towards pristine reefs suddenly shifted, veering off course as if guided by an invisible hand. Even further, on the fringes of the solar system, a small, dark comet on an inevitable collision course with a distant, inhabited moon inexplicably fractured and dissipated into harmless dust. None of this was registered by the medical staff. Their monitors displayed steady heartbeats and normal atmospheric pressure. They felt no chill, no surge of unexplainable energy.
To them, it was just another successful, unremarkable birth. But Mr. Zhang, despite the joyous fatigue, felt an extraordinary sense of peace settle over him, a profound tranquility that seemed to smooth away years of quiet worry. An instinctive belief bloomed in his heart: everything, for some unfathomable reason, was going to be perfectly alright now.
As Mrs. Zhang finally held her son, Xero, for the very first time, his tiny, innocent eyelids fluttered open. His eyes, the color of pure, crystalline silver, were unnervingly deep, holding an ancient, quiet wisdom that seemed to stretch back to the dawn of time, utterly contradicting his fresh existence. His hair, an impossibly deep, fathomless black, lay in soft, neat tufts, already possessing that strange quality of absorbing light.
He offered a tiny yawn, a miniature hand clenching into a perfect, tiny fist. He didn't cry. He didn't fuss. He simply lay there, calm, quiet, and perfectly still. And in that profound quiet, the newly born Almighty King made his first, unconscious decision. His vast, immeasurable power—power capable of shattering stars and unraveling dimensions—would, from this moment on, be singularly devoted to one thing: ensuring his own ordinary, utterly peaceful life. The world had just been subtly, irrevocably altered by his quiet arrival, and nobody, least of all the newborn Zhang Xero, had any idea of the cosmic sigh of relief that had just escaped the universe.