Chapter 1 The Night The Sky Scream

The sky broke before the child cried.Not cracked—broke, like glass struck by a god’s fist.Across Vaelterra, the night convulsed. Stars shuddered out of alignment. The moon dimmed, as if ashamed to watch. Winds reversed their breath. Oceans recoiled. Mountains groaned. And from every dungeon mouth—sealed, dormant, forgotten—came the same impossible sound.A howl.Not loud.Not violent.Grieving.It slid through stone and steel, through prayer halls and brothels, through battlefields and bedrooms, into the bones of the world. Those who heard it felt their knees weaken. Monsters froze mid-snarl. Priests dropped their relics. Adventurers clutched their chests, breathless, as if something ancient had recognized them—and found them wanting.High above the capital spire, the Adventurer System flickered.⚠ ANOMALOUS EVENT DETECTEDWORLDWIDE DUNGEON OSCILLATIONCAUSE: UNKNOWNSTATUS: ONGOINGThen, without command or confirmation, another line burned itself into existence.REGISTERING ENTITY……ENTITY REGISTERED PRIOR TO IDENTIFICATIONTHREAT INDEX: UNCLASSIFIABLEIn a village that did not matter—one that would never appear on a map—a woman screamed in labor.Her name was Lysa.Her hands were slick with blood and sweat as she clawed at the dirt floor, teeth bared, refusing to faint. The midwife begged her to slow her breathing. The priest whispered frantic prayers. Outside, villagers stared at the sky in terror as shadows twisted where stars should be.The howl reached the village last.When it did, the torches guttered out.Lysa arched with a cry that tore her throat raw—and the child was born.For a heartbeat, there was silence.Then the baby opened his eyes.They were ordinary. Brown. Wide. Confused. He did not scream. He did not glow. He did not mark the air with sigils or summon flame. He only looked around, small fingers twitching, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.Nothing happened.The priest exhaled in relief.Too soon.Far away—so far that no distance should have mattered—monsters knelt.Not all of them. Not at once. But enough. Beasts that had never bowed, that had never known fear, lowered themselves as if before a throne they could not see. Dungeon walls shuddered inward, not outward. Traps reset themselves. Cores dimmed, as though ashamed.And deep beneath everything—below stone, below history, below the first lie ever told—something awakened.It did not roar.It did not rage.It did not struggle.It felt the child.And it went still.If I move, it thought, ancient and vast,the world ends.So it did not move.Back in the village, Lysa pulled her son to her chest, sobbing with relief. “He’s alive,” she whispered. “He’s alive.”The midwife nodded, shaking. “Healthy. Too healthy.”Outside, someone screamed.Then another.The priest staggered toward the door. “Stay here,” he said, voice cracking. “Do not let anyone—”The ground lurched.A distant explosion lit the horizon red.A dungeon breach.Then another. And another. Fires bloomed in places the villagers had only heard about in stories. The sky rippled, the howl returning—fainter now, like an echo swallowed by distance.Panic erupted.Someone pointed at the hut. “It happened when he was born!”“No—no, that’s madness!”“Madness doesn’t shake the world!”The priest turned slowly, eyes falling on the child in Lysa’s arms.The baby yawned.He did not understand fear.He did not understand hatred.He did not understand that the world had already chosen him.High above, unseen by mortals, a god looked down—and flinched.“Impossible,” the god whispered.Then, like a coward, it looked away.By morning, half the village was gone. Some fled. Some were dead. Some knelt in prayer, begging for answers that did not come.A rumor spread faster than fire.A child was born.The sky screamed.The world shook.By noon, it was no longer a rumor.It was a verdict.Lysa held her son tighter as whispers turned to stares, and stares to fear. She kissed his forehead, tears streaking down her face.“I don’t care what they say,” she whispered fiercely. “You hear me? I don’t care.”The child gurgled, grasping her finger.She named him Kaien.That night, as the world tried to pretend nothing had changed, the Adventurer System updated quietly—without permission, without explanation.ENTITY DESIGNATION UPDATEDNAME: KAIENSTATUS: OBSERVATIONWORLD RISK: UNDETERMINEDAnd in places where light never reached, monsters remembered the howl.Not as a warning.But as a promise.Some children are born loved.Some are born needed.He was born wrong.