The sky bled the day the universe shattered.

  It was not a slow fracture, not a quiet death. It was the sound of God's breaking. A wound torn across existence itself, raw and gaping, spilling the echoes of a fate long denied.

  It began with the Nameless One—the first chosen, the first fallen.

  He stood upon the edge of existence, where the veil between what was and what should never be had worn thin. The vast expanse of creation stretched behind him—worlds bound in light, stars woven into order. Before him, the abyss loomed, endless and consuming.

  He had been their vessel once. Their answer to the question of balance. Eos, the Light Eternal, and Nyx, the Abyss Unbound had poured their will into him, shaping him in their image, binding him to their law.

  But there had never been balance. Only control.

  And when he saw the truth—when he sought to unmake the cycle that bound all things—they cast him aside.

  The air trembled with their judgment.

  A mortal would have begged. A god would have raged.

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  He did neither.

  "You cannot escape the fate you have written."

  His voice was quiet, but it carried through the void, reaching into the fabric of existence itself. He did not resist as they gathered their power, did not falter as their wrath bore down upon him.

  Light and darkness converged.

  A force beyond comprehension struck him, unraveling him thread by thread, burning his name from the annals of existence. And as the Nameless One was cast into the Realm of Beyond, a place where even time unraveled into whispers, something cracked.

  A hairline fracture in reality.

  Something that could not be undone.

  The twin forces did not see it then.

  Not yet.

  But the universe had changed.

  In the wake of his fall, the great design broke apart.

  Where once there had been unity, now there were scattered worlds, each drifting between the forces that sought to reclaim control. Some clung to Eos, their skies burning with divine fire, their rulers forging order from the remnants. Others welcomed Nyx, letting the abyss seep into their bones, warping flesh and thought alike.

  And some, caught between these warring fates, began to fade.

  Reality itself became unstable. What had once been one was now a web of shifting, colliding fragments—each struggling to assert its place in the order of things.

  There were those who saw what had happened. The oldest among them, the beings who had once stood in the presence of Eos and Nyx, whispered of the wound that had been left behind. A wound that could never heal.

  And in the farthest reaches of the fractured universe, where the light did not reach and the abyss did not yet consume, something stirred.

  Something waiting.

  Time passed.

  How much, none could say.

  The shattered realms continued to drift, their fates entangled in an unending war of order and abyss. Kingdoms rose and fell. Stars were born and burned to nothing.

  And beneath it all, the fracture deepened.

  The sky bled, and the stars wept.

  The one who should not exist was born beneath a dying sun, neither of light nor shadow, but something in between.

  He would rise, unwanted. He would fall, unloved. And in the end, he would return everything to the abyss from which it came.

  His birth was an error. His existence, an anomaly. The universe watched in silence, waiting for the moment he would shatter it all.

  They called him many things.

  A savior. A destroyer. God made flesh.

  But he had only ever been one thing:

  A mistake.