“His lips curled up, but the smile never reached his eyes—empty, hollow, as if he was savoring something only he could see.”

The baby floats in the air, speaking:

“Damn, this blasted power—I despise it, for it echoes the lost dreams of yesteryears.”

The baby raises its hand and casts a magic spell:

“Lullaby of Yesteryears”

“Under the watchful glow of a gentle moon, let the soft lullaby of forgotten melodies envelop you. May distant smiles and quiet tears blend into a timeless sleep, sealing your being within the warm tapestry of memories.”

It seems as though the baby is altering its own body, which starts to glow with rainbow colors. Millions of gates appear on the body, then close in an instant. The magic ends, and the baby says:

“Now I need a name.”

The baby continues to float, closes its eyes, and thinks:

“In this cruel world, where even gods only intervene when there’s nothing to gain from it...”

The baby speaks with a serious expression:

“In this world, I need a name, and an identity.”

After a long pause, the baby finally smiles and says:

“From now on, my name is Sora.”

The moment the words left his lips, the air seemed to tighten. A distant, chilling whisper echoed his name back, as if the world had always known he would come. The world itself seemed to acknowledge him. The winds shifted, the trees trembled, and far away, something ancient stirred. The sky darkened for a fleeting moment, as if the universe itself hesitated—recognizing the name of one who should not exist.