There was nothing but darkness.
No sound, no shape, no sensation—just an infinite void, stretching in all directions like an empty canvas untouched by time. It was a silence so complete, so absolute, that even thought seemed to echo into nothingness.
Then, a flicker.
From the depths of that endless black, a small orb of light blinked into existence. Soft and pulsing, it hovered in the abyss like a fragile heartbeat against death. Its glow was faint at first, more suggestion than substance—like moonlight caught in mist—but slowly, it grew steadier, more defined. The orb shimmered with an ethereal radiance, tinged with silver and pale blue, casting ghostly patterns across the unseen.
The orb—no, he—did not know what he was or how he had come to be. There were no memories at first. No name. No form. Only confusion and the whisper of something… forgotten.
But then, like a ripple across still water, a memory stirred.
A street. Wet from recent rain. Dim orange streetlights flickering above. The sound of his own tired footsteps echoed softly in his mind. He had just left his college campus after attending the final lecture of the semester, his backpack heavy with books and sleep tugging at his eyes. The exhaustion had settled deep in his bones.
Then—the flash of headlights. A sharp cry. A force like a mountain slamming into his side. The screech of tires.
And silence.
That was the last thing he remembered. The moment his old world ended.
But this… this place, this void, was not death. It was something else.
Suddenly, the darkness around him stirred. As if responding to his awareness, distant stars blinked into view—first one, then a dozen, then countless others. The void was no longer empty. It was a sky, vast and ancient, swirling with constellations that pulsed like living runes. Strange symbols formed and dissolved in the space between them, whispering in a tongue he didn't understand, yet somehow felt deep in his core.
The orb of light shivered.
"I shouldn't be here," a voice echoed—not spoken, but felt. It was his own, yet different. Echoing with power.
Then the light around him began to shift, folding inward, taking shape. A body formed—a silhouette of pure energy—then slowly, flesh and fabric. He now stood in a strange space, barefoot upon a platform of glowing stone floating in the void. In the distance, he saw floating islands, waterfalls that poured into nothingness, winged creatures soaring between worlds held together by glowing ley lines.
This was not Earth.
This was something far older. Far more magical.
A presence stirred above him. He looked up—and there, descending from a rift in the heavens, was a being cloaked in light and shadow. Tall, robed in stardust, with eyes like burning galaxies.
"Child of the Broken World," the being intoned, "your death was merely a crossing. You have been chosen. Reborn. The Realm of Aevaris calls you."
The young man—newly shaped from memory and soul—could only stare, heart pounding, as destiny reached out with unseen hands.
The sight of the celestial being descending from the rift above stirred something unfamiliar within the orb—fear, awe, confusion… or perhaps all three tangled into one overwhelming storm of emotion.
He—no, it—still hovered as a glowing orb, pulsing faintly in the dark. Though he had glimpsed fragments of his former self, he had no body now, no limbs to flinch or run. Only light. Only thought.
The being moved with impossible grace, descending on invisible winds. It radiated both calm and power, as though the stars themselves bowed in reverence. Its robes shimmered like woven starlight, flowing in ripples that defied gravity. Galaxies flickered in its eyes—unfathomable, eternal.
The orb trembled.
"I don't understand…" the thought echoed inside itself. "What is this place? Who is that?"
Before the fear could turn to panic, something unexpected happened.
The orb began to float forward—slowly at first, then faster, drawn by a silent force toward the celestial being. It didn't resist. It couldn't. Something ancient and deep within responded, as if answering a call older than time.
The being raised a hand—graceful, long-fingered, aglow with divine energy.
Gently, the orb settled into the being's palm.
And then—clarity.
It was like a veil had lifted. Suddenly, the orb knew he could speak. He didn't remember ever being able to talk in this form, and yet now, the words came to him as naturally as breath.
"I… I can talk?" he whispered—his voice light, echoing with a strange melodic tone. "Wait… who are you? Why am I here?"
The celestial being looked down at him with something that resembled a smile—not made of lips, but of warmth, of light bending softly in the eyes.
"You speak because your soul is awakening," the being replied, its voice like the chiming of distant bells and the hush of wind over mountaintops. "You are not just a remnant, little one. You are more than memory. You are chosen."
"Chosen?" the orb echoed, flickering. "For what? I… I don't understand. I died. I was hit by a truck. I shouldn't be here—wherever this is."
The being nodded slowly. "Your body perished in the world you once knew. But your soul endured. And now, it has been summoned here—to Aevaris, the Cradle Between Realms."
"Aevaris…" the word tasted unfamiliar, yet somehow comforting.
"You ask why you are here," the being continued, its tone both gentle and heavy with meaning. "This realm is in peril. The balance of magic is broken. The threads of fate unravel. We—the Eternal Watchers—can no longer intervene. We can only… call."
The orb pulsed, uncertain. "Call for what?"
"For a soul brave enough to begin again," the being said. "To walk a new world. To wield power long forgotten. To challenge the darkness that rises. And to discover the truth—not only of Aevaris, but of yourself."
For a long moment, the orb said nothing.
He didn't feel brave. He didn't feel powerful. He was just a college student, tired and late, whose only mistake was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now… now he was here, floating in the palm of a cosmic god, being told he was chosen for something he couldn't even begin to understand.
But even as doubt whispered in his core, something deeper stirred.
A flicker of purpose.
A spark.
And that spark began to burn.
Darkness.
Then pressure—warm, smothering, but not suffocating. He floated in silence, unaware of time or form, until suddenly…
Light.
Sound.
A gasp of breath that wasn't learned but instinctive, primal. His tiny lungs expanded, pulling in air for the first time.
He cried.
The world greeted him with brightness and coldness, the sterile lights of a medical room, voices muffled but filled with urgency and emotion. For a moment, his thoughts were a blur. He was overwhelmed. Small. Helpless.
But somewhere inside that tiny newborn body… was him.
The soul that once walked a different world. The soul of a boy who died beneath a truck, who had stared into the eyes of a cosmic being, and who had been told: You are becoming him.
Now, he truly understood.
He had been reborn—not just into any world, but into this world.
The Marvel Cinematic Universe.
As Franklin Richards.
A warm touch met his tiny chest—soft, trembling fingers brushing his skin. He squinted upward, barely able to see, but he felt her presence before he understood it.
Susan Storm.
His mother.
Her golden hair was damp from sweat, her face flushed, but her eyes sparkled with wonder and tears. "He's beautiful…" she whispered, voice barely holding together. "Hi, baby. Hi, Franklin…"
He couldn't answer—not with words, not yet. But his soul stirred. It recognized her. In a way deeper than language. The same warmth he had felt in the void was now wrapped in her arms.
Reed Richards stood nearby—calm and composed, yet clearly moved, adjusting the monitors with scientific precision while sneaking glances at his newborn son. His analytical mind was already processing, calculating, wondering. But his eyes—those soft, blue eyes—held a father's pride.
"I wonder what kind of mind he'll have," Reed said gently. "Maybe brilliant like you."
"Maybe stubborn like you," Susan smiled weakly.
They both chuckled.
But beneath the newborn skin, Franklin's soul burned quietly.
He was no ordinary child. Not a blank slate. His soul had crossed worlds, touched the stars, and returned. The being in the void had told him he would awaken with memories locked away, that fragments of his past life would return in dreams, sparks, emotions.
He didn't remember everything.
But he knew enough.
He was the son of two of Earth's greatest minds. A mutant. A being born with the potential to reshape reality itself.
And now, he had a second chance.
As Susan held him close to her chest, humming softly, the chaos of thought faded into calm.
Here, in this new beginning—he would grow.
He would learn.
And one day… the world would know what he truly was.
Franklin Richards. The child who would one day rival gods.
.
The Baxter Foundation buzzed with excitement and exhaustion.
The Fantastic Four had finally returned from their first deep-space mission—a scientific expedition gone wrong, but one that granted them powers beyond comprehension. Reed Richards was deep in research. Ben Grimm was adjusting to life as "The Thing." Johnny Storm was flying like a comet across New York skies. And Susan Storm had just given birth to the most mysterious anomaly of all:
Franklin Richards.
Tiny. Soft. Innocent.
And yet… not normal.
Even at only hours old, Franklin's presence was strange. Reed's instruments—calibrated to measure cosmic radiation—twitched every time they passed near the child. Susan tried to laugh it off, but Reed's brow furrowed deeper each time.
"His readings are off the charts," he said quietly, watching the hovering monitors. "He's emitting levels of cosmic energy close to what we absorbed during the radiation wave."
Susan, cradling the sleeping baby in her arms, narrowed her eyes. "He's a baby, Reed. He's barely been in the world for twelve hours. Let him be a baby."
But Reed only nodded slowly, murmuring, "I know. I just… I don't think we understand what we've brought into the world yet."
And then—everything changed.
The alarms went off. Not just any alarm—the cosmic distress beacon. It hadn't been triggered since their return from space.
Ben stormed into the lab, fists clenched. "Tell me that ain't what I think it is."
Johnny flew in from the rooftop, face pale for the first time in weeks. "We've got something massive incoming. Like... world-eater level massive."
Reed's fingers flew over the holographic console. A projection expanded in the center of the room: a massive, dark figure moving through space—larger than planets, draped in shadows and strange armor, eyes glowing like twin suns.
Galactus.
He was heading straight for Earth.
"No… not now," Susan whispered, holding Franklin tighter. "Why is he coming now?"
"He's not just coming," Reed muttered. "He's searching for something."
Then, the computer readout adjusted. The data narrowed. The signal that drew Galactus wasn't Reed. Not the Four. Not Earth's power signature.
It was Franklin.
Reed's breath caught in his throat.
"Susan… he's here for the baby."
Susan stood up slowly, eyes fierce, wrapping Franklin in her arms. "Over my dead body."
As the sky above New York City darkened and the space beyond Earth's orbit twisted under Galactus' presence, something began to stir in the infant's chest.
Franklin Richards' eyes fluttered open—not the cloudy eyes of a newborn, but orbs that shimmered for a split second with infinite light.
It was only a flicker.
A brief pulse.
But it was enough to shatter every power sensor in the lab.
The room went silent.
"…Did he just—?" Johnny blinked.
"I don't know," Reed whispered, stunned. "That wasn't conscious. That was reflex. His body's reacting. His powers—they're already there."
Susan held her son tightly, watching as a faint glow faded from his skin. Franklin yawned, peaceful again, unaware of the chaos erupting around him.
And then Reed said the words no one wanted to hear:
"If Galactus senses what I think he senses… he won't stop. Not until he has him."
High above Earth's atmosphere, space bent inward as a cosmic storm raged. Gravity warped. Light twisted. And at the center of it all stood a being whose very presence broke the laws of reality—
Galactus.
He towered over the Earth like a living god-machine—more force of nature than creature. His armor pulsed with the heartbeat of dying stars. His gaze scanned the planet below with cold, ancient purpose.
And he had felt it.
A spark. A flicker of cosmic resonance that rivaled his own. Not from a weapon. Not from a hero. But from a newborn child.
"I feel you, little star," the Devourer rumbled. "A soul not meant to exist. A power not meant to be born so soon…"
He raised his hand, and the space around Earth trembled.
Meanwhile, in the Baxter Foundation…
Reed's hands danced across the control panel, trying to amplify the planetary shield. "We can't stop him from reaching the planet. We're not ready. But we can delay him—buy enough time to get Susan and Franklin to safety."
"No," Susan said firmly, holding her baby. "We stand together. We protect our son together."
Ben slammed his fists together. "Then let's give this planet-eater a good ol' Baxter welcome."
"Flame on!" Johnny roared, igniting like a miniature sun and shooting into the sky.
Moments later, the Fantastic Four stood in orbit—each of them facing a being whose shadow could swallow worlds. Reed stretched his body across the defensive grid, redirecting solar energy into energy pulses. Johnny flew like a comet, hurling plasma flares at Galactus's towering frame. Ben hurled a meteor-sized asteroid with a grunt of raw strength.
But Galactus barely flinched.
"I am beyond you," he spoke. His voice wasn't sound—it was force, vibrating through every atom. "This world is nothing. But the child… the child is something more."
He raised his hand, and a massive beam of violet energy shot toward the Earth.
Susan reacted instantly.
"I won't let you hurt him!" she screamed, casting a protective shield over the entire city—her barrier shimmering with all her strength.
The beam crashed into her invisible wall, and for a moment, the entire sky lit up. Susan gritted her teeth, blood trickling from her nose as the force of a god pressed down on her power.
"I can't hold it forever, Reed!" she gasped.
"You won't have to!" Reed called back.
Behind Galactus, a surge of silver light streaked across space like a blade of starlight.
The Silver Surfer.
He flew with cosmic grace, slicing through Galactus's armor with beams of pure power. "You must stop, Master. The child is not your enemy. He is not yet aware of what he is!"
But Galactus turned, his voice colder than ever.
"You would defy me—for him?"
The Surfer didn't answer. Instead, he channeled his board into a shockwave that bought the team precious seconds.
Back in the Baxter medical wing…
Franklin lay in his containment cradle, crying softly. But around him, strange things began to happen.
The lights dimmed, then burst.
The walls cracked… and then healed themselves.
Reality bent in quiet ripples.
And then—
His eyes opened.
Two tiny, glowing blue eyes that held entire galaxies.
Not in full control. Not fully awake. But aware.
The soul inside that baby stirred—and remembered.
The void. The being. The choice.
The baby lifted his hand instinctively.
A golden ripple spread from his fingers, invisible to the humans around him.
In orbit—
Just as Galactus raised his hand for a second strike—he stopped.
Paused.
He looked down at the Earth with sudden confusion.
"What… is this?"
The cosmic winds stilled.
Johnny hovered midair. Ben blinked. Reed lowered his arms.
Even the Silver Surfer looked confused.
Galactus staggered.
"I feel… my power… draining?"
In the Baxter Foundation, the baby Franklin yawned.
Not knowing why.
Not knowing how.
But his tiny heartbeat had echoed through reality itself—warping the fabric of the cosmos. Like a god's breath caught in a child's lungs.
Galactus recoiled, looking toward Earth once more.
"…That child is a threat to the balance," he growled. "Not today. But soon. And when that day comes, no force in the multiverse will protect him."
With a final pulse of energy, the Devourer turned—and vanished into a folding storm of stars.
The crisis was over.
But the fear was just beginning.
Earth is unprepared.
Darkness cracked open above Earth like a rotting wound in the sky.
A spiraling cosmic storm thundered through space—silent but terrifying—and from it, the great Devourer emerged once more.
Galactus.
He had returned.
But this time, he did not come alone.
Flanking him on every side were his Heralds—his cosmic generals of destruction:
Terrax, wreathed in gravitational blades.
Firelord, burning brighter than the sun.
Morg, savage and merciless.
And a new Herald, sculpted from broken dimensions: the Warden of the Rift, a creature made of spatial fractures and ancient entropy.
Their target was clear.
Not the Earth itself.
But the child.
In the Baxter Tower, panic erupted.
The sky had dimmed. Reed's sensors picked up the same pattern as before—Galactus's energy signature—but amplified a hundredfold.
Reed stared at the screen, heart sinking. "He's not testing us this time. He's here to take Franklin."
Ben Grimm clenched his fists. "Then we're gonna give him the fight of his damn life."
Johnny blazed into the air without hesitation. "About time the planet-eater learned what we're made of."
Susan Storm held her son tight, looking down at his tiny face. "He doesn't know. He doesn't even understand what's coming."
Franklin blinked slowly in her arms. No glow. No flicker. No reality-bending pulse.
His powers were gone.
Or maybe… never truly awakened.
Reed stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Susan's shoulder. "We'll protect him. No matter what."
Above Earth, the battle began.
The Fantastic Four launched into space—the only line of defense Earth had.
Johnny clashed with Firelord in a chaotic storm of flame. Ben took on Morg, their blows shaking meteors apart. Reed stretched and coiled around Terrax, trying to contain his gravity warps. Susan locked shields with the Warden of the Rift, keeping their dimensional ruptures from hitting the planet.
But even together, they were being overwhelmed.
Galactus floated above them—watching.
Measuring.
Then, he spoke.
"You hide the child. But he is not ready. I do not fear his slumber. I fear his awakening."
Reed roared back, "Then you'll have to go through all of us to get to him!"
Galactus raised a single hand.
A storm of cosmic destruction fell upon them.
Susan screamed as her shield cracked.
Reed's body twisted unnaturally just to hold the barrier together.
Johnny collapsed from exhaustion. Ben took blow after blow until even he, the strongest among them, was thrown into Earth's orbit like a broken comet.
They were losing.
And Franklin did not react.
Back in the Baxter Tower, Franklin lay in his containment cradle. Alone. Unaware.
The baby stirred.
No light. No ripple. No power.
Just a child.
A child without the might to stop a god.
The sky burned like a dying star.
Galactus had unleashed the end.
Earth's atmosphere cracked under his presence. Cities folded into ash. Oceans screamed into steam. Nature itself broke down into pure entropy.
From orbit, Earth was a world drowning in light—and then, in silence.
Inside the fractured remains of Baxter Tower, a child screamed.
Franklin Richards—barely a baby—was awake.
He could feel it.
The end.
Not in words. Not in thoughts.
But in emotion.
Terror.
Pain.
Loss.
A thousand voices vanishing into nothingness. And through it all, something inside him reached out… but nothing happened.
He felt… powerless.
Reed staggered down the emergency corridor, clutching his ribs, half his suit torn.
Susan was beside him, bruised, eyes wide with panic—but she held Franklin close, whispering soft apologies through the chaos.
"We're out of time," Reed said, voice cracking. "The dimensional gate—there's still one pod left. One shot."
They entered the lab, what remained of it. The dimensional vessel hummed weakly, sparking from unstable energy.
Reed began typing in coordinates furiously. "I'm sending him to another universe. One without Galactus. One where he'll survive."
"But what if he's never able to…" Susan paused, holding Franklin tighter. "He's awake. He knows. And he's scared."
Reed looked into his son's eyes.
And saw something that broke him more than any wound could.
Helplessness.
Franklin stared at his father.
And then his mother.
He wanted to do something.
Anything.
But there was nothing.
No light.
No power.
No salvation in his veins.
Just the overwhelming weight of fear and failure.
Susan kissed Franklin's forehead. "Forgive us. For not giving you more time."
Reed sealed the pod. It was small—built for a child, one trip, one chance.
Franklin began to cry.
Not because he was leaving them.
Because he couldn't stop this.
Because he knew he was meant to—and failed.
Outside, Galactus's final strike rained down like divine judgment.
Reed slammed the launch button.
The pod shot into the dimensional rift just as the tower—and the world—was torn apart.
A blinding flash consumed Earth.
And the Fantastic Four were no more.
Inside the pod, Franklin drifted through the multiverse.
Silent.
Alone.
Awake.
Eyes wide open. Tears floating in zero gravity.
The universe around him shifted from vibrant galaxies to voids of nothingness.
But inside the cradle, there was no flicker of light. No cosmic flare. Just a child curled up in his own sorrow.
And for the first time in all creation…
The universe's most powerful mutant was powerless.
A god in a crib.
Trapped inside a guilt he couldn't explain.
Unable to save the only world that had ever loved him
Thank you.