The Boy Who Shouldn’t Exist

  The town of Greywick was neither large nor important, but it had its secrets. Beneath cobbled streets and behind shuttered windows, people whispered of things they could not understand.

  And at the center of those whispers was a boy who should not be.

  Emil was born on a night where the wind did not move, and the stars seemed to hold their breath.

  He looked ordinary enough—pale skin, dark eyes, a mop of unruly hair. But something about him was… off. Not in the way of sickness or sorrow, but in the way of things that do not belong.

  By the time he was five, people began to notice:

  A pickpocket who tried to rob his mother stumbled into the street, sobbing, returning every stolen coin he’d ever taken.

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  A merchant known for cheating his customers walked past Emil and promptly threw himself into a lake, screaming that he was unworthy of dry land.

  The town’s most heartless woman, Miss Clary, who once poisoned stray dogs for fun, suddenly began knitting them tiny sweaters.

  It was Father Marlo who first spoke of it out loud.

  A man of thin patience and thinner morals, Marlo had built his reputation by selling fear. Sin was profitable. Guilt was currency.

  But Emil was… bad for business.

  People stopped attending confession. Thieves returned what they stole before they could be caught. Cheaters confessed before they were accused. And worst of all—nobody was afraid anymore.

  One evening, Father Marlo stood in his dimly lit chapel, hands curled into fists. He had spent decades feeding the darkness in men’s hearts, twisting their guilt into gold.

  But Emil was different. He did not fight. He did not threaten. He did not lift a hand.

  Yet, evil withered in his presence.

  And that was something Marlo could not allow.

  He had to know what Emil was.

  And if necessary…

  He had to stop him.