The planet had no name.
It was neither small nor great—large enough to hide secrets, broken enough to be forgotten. Ancient ruins slept beneath mountains. Primordial tombs lay buried under endless sands. Beasts of extinct bloodlines roamed freely, untouched by civilization.
This was where the child arrived.
Wrapped in plain cloth.
Carried by a man who knelt the moment his feet touched the soil.
"My lord," he whispered into the cold wind. "I swear… I will raise him as my own."
This man had once been a shadow.
A servant.
A blade.
In the greater universe, he was insignificant.
Here—he was strong enough.
Years passed.
The child grew.
Quiet.
Observant.
Too calm.
He rarely cried.
Rarely laughed.
When other children struggled to sense spiritual energy, he sensed it naturally—yet never absorbed more than necessary.
As if something within him was restraining him.
Watching this, the man's unease deepened.
"This child…" he murmured one night, staring at the sleeping boy. "He is hiding… without knowing he is hiding."
Beneath the child's clothes, the ancient object pulsed faintly.
Recording.
Analyzing.
Waiting.
Far away—
At the edge of a collapsing star gate, a man and a woman stood side by side.
"If he survives," the woman said softly, "he will surpass everything we could not."
The man's jaw tightened.
"And if he doesn't?"
She smiled—gentle, unwavering.
"Then the heavens were never worthy of him."
The star gate shattered.
And across the void, a silent vow was carved into fate itself.
> When he turns eighteen… the truth will awaken.