The baby's eyes were wide open.

Deep, gleaming blue eyes stared back at the faces surrounding him—not with the innocent confusion of a newborn, but with an eerie calm, as if he had seen far more than a soul should.

A soft gasp escaped one of the assistants.

"He's… staring straight into me."

The mother, exhausted yet smiling weakly, reached out.

"My son…"

Her voice was soft, but sure. She looked at the child for the first time and hesitated for a brief moment—his presence was... overwhelming. Yet, with warmth in her eyes, she whispered:

"Zayn… I'll name you Zayn."

That name would echo far into the future—though none of them knew it.

His older siblings, still very young themselves, peeked in through the doorway with curiosity and excitement.

"That's Zayn?" the younger sister whispered.

"He looks weird," the brother muttered, trying to look brave but clearly unsettled.

But despite their first reactions, both approached him later with the hesitant affection of a new sibling bond—no detail was needed. Just two names, two souls drawn to their new baby brother. Lyra and Rael. Nothing more, not yet.

Weeks passed, though no one counted the days aloud. The seasons hadn't changed yet, but time crept forward in the quiet routines of farm life. Zayn rarely cried. He rarely laughed either. He simply… watched. Everything.

But his dreams told another story.

In his sleep, he trembled.

Whispers of steel clashing, roars of fallen beasts, and a name he could never remember.

He saw flames engulfing stone towers, crimson skies darkened with shadowy wings, and a man—no, a monster—laughing as the world burned.

Then silence.

The infant would sometimes wake with a start, eyes darting as if remembering something he never experienced.

And yet, none around him noticed the haunting stillness in his gaze when he lay alone under the moonlight.

His parents loved him. His siblings laughed with him.

And Zayn… grew.

He still had no words to speak, but his awareness was far beyond his age. His gaze followed patterns in the clouds, tracked the hawks in the distance. And each night, the dreams returned—never clear, never whole, but always burning.

The fire within him was not yet a threat, not yet a promise. But it lingered.

Until one night, when the winds howled louder than usual and even the trees seemed to shiver. Zayn's eyes opened again, as if pulled by an unseen force.

He looked up at the night sky, then to his small hand.

There were no memories. No names. No past.

But somewhere deep within him, something whispered: