The stars didn't shine the night Zayn was born.
The moon split in two, the oceans screamed into the skies, and the gods of both Creation and Destruction fell into silence—because something impossible had just happened.
A child was born… without fate.
He had no mark of divine lineage. No soul signature. No trace of reincarnation. He wasn't chosen by a system.And yet—he breathed.
Buried in the crater of a dead world, surrounded by nothing but scorched stone and drifting ash, the infant cried once. Just once. Then, as if the universe feared what would follow, the planet split open beneath him.
A blind hermit named Orun, the last watcher of time, found the child and took him in. Orun had lived for a thousand years—seeing kings fall, monsters rise, and gods devour galaxies. But the moment he laid eyes on that boy, he whispered:
"You are not supposed to exist... And that makes you the most dangerous thing in existence."
The boy never aged normally. By the age of 3, he could crush boulders. By 5, he outran lightning. By 8, his eyes glowed with pulses of Aether, a force not seen since before the gods ruled.
He didn't speak much—but he smiled. A lot. Especially when fighting wild beasts or battling natural disasters with his fists. Joy came to him through battle, not cruelty. He was pure chaos with a grin and a kind heart.
One day, while meditating atop a cliff shaped like a dragon's skull, the boy turned to Orun.
"Old man... what's out there? Past the stars?"
Orun didn't lie.
"War. Pain. Monsters. Gods who fear what they don't understand."
Zayn grinned wide.
"Good. I want to meet them."
He left that night. Not to save the world, not to conquer anything, but because the fire in his blood refused to sit still.
His first destination: Volkuron, the shattered realm ruled by the twin gods of War—Xal'Thar and Miraka—where mortals are used as living weapons and souls fuel the god-engine that powers their eternal conflict.
He arrived mid-battle. A ten-million-man war raged, with fire dragons in the sky and screaming warlords riding titanic beasts.
Zayn dropped from the sky with no armor, no army, no weapon.
Just a grin.
Soldiers paused. Gods stared. Miraka herself, cloaked in divine flame, descended from the heavens.
"You are no priest. No ascended one. Speak your name, wretch."
Zayn cracked his neck and walked through the fire casually.
"Zayn."
"Zayn... what?"
He looked up. His eyes glowing brighter than suns.
"Just Zayn."
"You are mortal."
"No. I'm me."
The twin gods struck first. Blades forged from time and gravity itself screamed toward him.
He didn't move.
Instead, he whispered with a smirk:
"Fade into Aether."
And in that moment, a wave of power erupted—not like magic, not like chi, but like the raw breath of existence itself. Time collapsed. Light fractured. And the gods screamed—not in rage, but fear.
The battlefield turned to dust. Their temples crumbled. And Zayn stood alone, untouched.
He left Volkuron behind. Not because he couldn't rule, but because he didn't care to.
He simply walked forward—toward the next war, the next challenge, the next reason to smile.