On an Earth-like planet, where life continued in quiet harmony, something dark slipped into existence unnoticed. In a small village, a mother carried her unborn child, eagerly awaiting the day of his birth. She dreamed of a future full of joy, unaware of the quiet, creeping force that would change everything.

It came without warning—an empty, formless presence. Not a creature of darkness, nor a god, nor a curse. Just a void, a thing that was not meant to be. It found the woman in her sleep, slipping into her womb silently. The life she carried, the child she had felt growing within her, flickered out in an instant. The void, vast and hollow, took its place.

Yet, nothing seemed to change.

The woman woke the next morning, none the wiser. Her body still swelled with the weight of what she believed was her child. She carried the emptiness within her, thinking it was life, feeling it move, unaware of the dark nothingness that now rested inside her.

Months passed, and when the day of birth finally arrived, everything appeared normal. The midwives gathered, and the birth unfolded as births often do. There was no divine intervention, no trembling of the earth, no sign of something amiss. The boy emerged into the world, slick with the blood of life, and let out a healthy cry.

The midwives smiled, relieved and pleased with the safe delivery. The mother, exhausted but overjoyed, took her newborn son into her arms. His skin was warm, his eyes wide and curious. To everyone present, he was a perfect, healthy baby boy.

No one noticed the void.

To the world around him, he was just another child, born like any other. He looked like the others, acted like the others—his cries, his breaths, all the same. The village came to see him, and they spoke of how strong and lively he seemed.

But beneath the surface, something different lay in the boy. He wasn't truly alive. Not in the way others were. There was no soul within him, no light, no purpose. He had come from nothingness, a being that should not have existed. Yet, the world did not notice. Nature did not react. The gods did not stir.

And so, he lived, growing up like any other child—seen, touched, and loved as though he were one of them.

But he wasn't.