The night Morgan entered the world, the sky was restless. Heavy clouds clashed against each other, and a sudden gust of wind howled through the empty streets of Crestwood, a quiet American town that rarely saw anything extraordinary. But that night, something unusual happened.
It was the middle of October, the kind of night where autumn air felt crisp, and fallen leaves danced along the roads. Most of the town's residents were asleep, unaware of the strange event about to unfold near Lincoln High School—a place where Morgan's fate would later intertwine with those of many others.
At exactly 3:07 a.m., an old pothole in the middle of Fairview Street, just outside the school's football field, began to glow. It wasn't a blinding light, but a soft, eerie luminescence, pulsating like a heartbeat. The air crackled, and the faint scent of rain filled the atmosphere. Then, without warning, the pothole trembled. A low rumble spread through the ground, but it was too subtle for anyone to notice.
And then… he appeared.
A baby.
A newborn boy lay swaddled in a blanket of mist, his tiny body curled up as if he had been placed there by unseen hands. He didn't cry. His small chest rose and fell peacefully, as if he had been sleeping for a thousand years and had just arrived in this world through the cracks of time itself.
The wind stilled. The glow faded. And the pothole—once trembling with energy—was now nothing more than a regular dent in the road, insignificant and forgotten.
Minutes passed before headlights approached.
Lillian Carter, a nurse at Crestwood General Hospital, was on her way home from a late shift. She wasn't the kind of person who believed in miracles or strange happenings, but when her car slowed to a stop, her breath hitched.
She saw him.
A baby, alone on the road in the middle of the night.
Her heart pounded as she threw the car into park, stepping out with caution. "Oh my God…" she whispered, staring at the infant. He looked so peaceful, so impossibly perfect. But where had he come from?
She knelt beside him, brushing her fingers against his soft cheek. He was warm. Alive. Normal… except for the bizarre way he had arrived.
Without hesitation, she lifted him into her arms.
The moment she did, Morgan opened his eyes. They weren't like any baby's eyes she had ever seen before. They were deep, stormy gray—like clouds before a thunderstorm, filled with something ancient, something unknowable.
And just for a second, Lillian swore she heard a whisper on the wind, a voice that was neither hers nor the child's.
"He is here."
A chill ran down her spine.
Who was this child? Where had he come from?
Lillian didn't know it then, but this little boy—found in a pothole under the October moon—was about to change Crestwood forever.
Morgan grew up believing Lillian Carter was his biological mother. She never told him the truth about that eerie night, about the glowing pothole or the strange voice in the wind. As far as anyone knew, he was just a normal boy—an intelligent, observant kid with stormy gray eyes that sometimes seemed to see things others couldn't.
But Morgan's life was anything but normal.
By the time he was five, odd things started happening around him. Light bulbs flickered when he was upset, and objects sometimes moved ever so slightly without anyone touching them. Lillian noticed, but she never said a word. She loved him too much to make him feel different.
David Carter, her husband, was a kind but skeptical man. He was a science teacher at Lincoln High School, a firm believer in logic and reason. He adored Morgan and treated him as his own, but deep down, he sensed something was off. There were moments—small, fleeting moments—where Morgan seemed... unnatural.
And then, one cold December night, David Carter died.