The universe did not celebrate his birth.
No thunder roared.
No light descended from the heavens.
Only silence.
A silence so deep that even the stars seemed to avert their gaze.
Within the ancestral hall of a clan whose influence once spanned countless star domains, a child was born quietly—almost unwillingly—into the world.
"It's… a boy."
The midwife's voice was low, careful, as though afraid to disturb something unseen.
On the jade bed lay a woman pale as snow, her breath shallow, her long hair damp with sweat. Yet when she heard those words, her trembling fingers tightened weakly.
"Let me… see him."
The newborn was placed into her arms.
Too light.
Too fragile.
His spiritual pulse was faint—abnormally faint—as if the laws of cultivation themselves hesitated to acknowledge him.
For a brief moment, fear flickered across her eyes.
Then she smiled.
A smile filled with warmth, resolve, and an ache too deep for words.
"He's beautiful," she whispered.
The man standing beside the bed said nothing.
His fists were clenched so tightly that blood seeped from his palms.
This man—once a genius who defied clan law, a cultivator whose name struck fear across multiple universes—now stood powerless before fate.
"They've found us," he said hoarsely.
The woman's expression did not change.
"I know."
Outside the hall, space twisted violently. Terrifying auras descended like an unseen tide, pressing down upon the clan's universe.
Enemies.
Not a few.
Not many.
Too many.
At the highest seat of the hall, an old man slowly opened his eyes.
Time itself seemed to pause.
"You have brought disaster upon this clan," he said calmly. "Kneel."
The man turned.
"Kneel… to you?"
The old man's gaze was ancient, unfathomable.
"You chose love over authority. Take responsibility. Leave."
The woman hugged the child instinctively.
"If we leave," she whispered, her voice shaking for the first time, "he won't survive."
The old man closed his eyes.
"Then leave him."
Those words were sharper than any divine weapon.
---
They left before dawn.
Not through gates.
Not through teleportation arrays.
But through a forbidden spatial fracture—one leading to a nameless, broken planet beyond the clan's reach.
Before stepping through—
The woman took out a small, ancient object and slipped it beneath the child's clothes.
It was unremarkable.
Almost crude.
Yet the moment it touched the newborn's skin—
Something awakened.
Not power.
Not cultivation.
Knowledge.
Boundless. Silent. Patient.
She pressed her lips to the child's forehead, tears falling soundlessly.
"My son… live," she whispered.
The man did not look back.
If he did—he knew he would never leave.
The spatial fracture sealed.
The universe moved on.
And the child—
Was left behind.