The pregnancy was strange — not dangerous, not painful, just… unusual.
Felly couldn't explain it. Her dreams were hazy and recurring. She saw a spark, a stream, and a shadow — never speaking, just circling each other endlessly. When she woke, she remembered their silence more than their presence.
But everything else was normal. The heartbeat. The scans. The checkups.
Gabriel Sazaly, her partner, was always there — smiling, wondering, waiting.
Then came the night.
No storms. No signs. No divine symbols in the sky.
Just a quiet, regular labor. And a child.
He was born without a sound.
No crying. No fuss.
Only open eyes… watching. Calm. Wide.
They named him Kriztorez Nel, a name that had come to Felly in one of her odd dreams —
and Gabriel, holding the boy close, added their family name: Sazaly.
The doctors said he was healthy. Perfect, even.
But something about the way he looked at the room —
as if he was seeing something no one else could —
left the air feeling heavier than it should.
They went home. Life went on.
Nel barely cried.
He slept through the night.
He stared at things for far too long.
Other babies cooed. He simply watched.
And always, quietly,
the silence returned.
Something had come into the world that day.
But it wasn't ready to show itself yet.
Not to them.
Not to anyone.
Not yet.