The sky didn't shatter all at once.
It cracked.
At first, no one noticed.
A faint fracture stretched across the heavens—thin, almost invisible, like a flaw in glass. It didn't glow. It didn't tremble.
It simply… existed.
Then the world felt it.
Animals went silent.
The wind slowed.
And for a brief moment—
Everything held its breath.
Then—
It broke.
The fracture split open without warning.
Not light—
Not darkness—
But something in between poured out.
The first creature didn't fall.
It stepped.
Its form twisted, unstable, like it wasn't meant to exist in this world. Its presence bent the air around it, distorting space itself.
Then came another.
And another.
Within minutes—
The sky became a wound.
Cities collapsed.
Structures twisted.
People ran—
But there was nowhere to go.
Weapons failed.
Strength meant nothing.
Because this wasn't an invasion.
It was a mismatch.
The world wasn't prepared.
But—
It adapted.
Years passed.
Then decades.
Then centuries.
Humanity learned to survive.
They called it:
The Rift Era.
Power emerged within humans—
Not given.
Not earned.
Awakened.
Each person developed a core.
A source.
A structure.
Most were stable.
Predictable.
Understandable.
But not all.
On a quiet night—
Far from the chaos—
A child was born.
No light filled the room.
No energy surged.
No sign marked his arrival.
But something—
Deep within him—
Broke.
One core shattered before it could form.
The other—
Didn't.
It remained.
Silent.
Waiting.