Kid

The war had lasted for centuries.

Four great civilizations—the Seekers, the Primals, the Warlords, and the Venari—had once ruled their respective corners of the universe, each mastering a different aspect of existence. The Seekers bent the fabric of data and technology to their will, the Primals thrived in harmony with nature, the Warlords honed themselves into the perfect weapons of war, and the Venari became the architects of life itself through biology and chemistry.

For a time, they had remained separate, each advancing in their own way. But as with all things that grow too vast, their borders met. And when borders meet, they do not stay still.

War came.

What began as isolated conflicts became total annihilation. Alliances formed, then shattered. Planets burned. Stars collapsed. The war did not need a cause—it had outlived reason. The cycle of death had become self-sustaining, feeding itself endlessly until there was nothing left to consume.

And then, in the final hours, the war ended. Not by surrender. Not by victory.

But by a wish.

The Seekers, reduced to scattered minds floating through the void, saw that no amount of calculation could solve this war. The Primals, their worlds blackened husks, knew that nature had lost its balance forever. The Warlords, once unyielding, found themselves on the verge of extinction with no more battles left to fight. The Venari, who had played with the very fabric of life, realized they had only created more ways to die.

Each civilization had failed.

And so, for the first time in history, they agreed.

Not through treaty. Not through compromise.

But through desperation.

Together, they wished for something that could end it all—something that would take in everything they had been, all their knowledge, all their war, all their suffering, and forge something new.

A singular being.

A child.

And then, silence.

The four civilizations vanished, merged into something beyond themselves. Their legacies, their battles, their very existence were no longer separate.

A final, singular point in the fabric of reality.

A void of infinite knowledge, infinite power, infinite potential.

And then, after eternity had passed…

A mountain stood alone beneath the sky.

The wind was still. The earth was quiet.

And then, for the first time since existence began, a child opened its eyes.

It did not breathe, nor blink, nor shiver against the cold.

It simply was.

For the first time, it saw the world.

For the first time, it was alone.

And in that moment, the war that had burned for centuries, the civilizations that had vanished, the voices of those who had once ruled the stars

All faded into silence.

All that remained was a single, quiet thought.

What comes next?

Chapter 1: The First Step

The child stood on the mountain.

It had no name. No history. No memories of a time before this moment.

But it knew.

It knew of war, though it had never fought. It knew of loss, though it had never loved. It knew of knowledge, though it had never learned. These things were simply there, imprinted upon its mind like scars from a wound it had never received.

The wind passed over the mountain, ruffling the child's loose, weightless clothing. It felt the movement, the shift in air pressure, the way gravity pulled upon every particle of its body. It understood the sensation.

But it did not feel it.

The child looked down. Far below, stretching to the horizon, was the world. Earth

It was alive. It breathed, moved, shifted. It did not scream like the galaxies before it. It did not beg for war, for dominance, for destruction.

Not yet.

The child tilted its head.

There was only one thing to do now.

It stepped forward.

And fell.

Somewhere far below, the wind rushed through the streets of a city. Lights flickered in windows. Cars passed, their tires hissing against the pavement. People moved in and out of buildings, speaking, laughing, shouting, existing.

It had been a long time since any world had simply existed.

The child descended. Its body did not tumble or flail. It simply drifted, as if the laws of motion were a suggestion rather than a rule.

And then, it touched the ground.

Not landed.

Not crashed.

Simply touched.

Feet pressed against solid stone. The earth did not tremble beneath its weight, though it should have. The air did not rush from the displacement. It simply was, now standing among the people of Earth.

It watched them.

And for the first time in existence, they saw it.

A woman, walking past, slowed. Her eyes flicked downward. A child stood where nothing had been before. No footsteps, no approach. Just there. Small, barefoot, unblinking.

Her breath caught.

Something was wrong.

Not in an obvious way. The child looked human. It had skin, hair, a face. But the moment she laid eyes on it, she knew. Every instinct, every buried animal terror inside her screamed unnatural.

The child turned its head toward her.

She hurried past.

She did not stop. She did not turn back.

She did not even realize she was running.

The child watched her go.

Interesting.

It turned, stepping into the street. The light overhead changed to red. Cars screeched to a stop. Horns blared. Voices shouted.

The child stood in the center of it all

A man leaned out of his car, furious. "Hey! Watch where you're going, kid!"

The child tilted its head.

A name. It had been given a name.

Kid.

It stepped forward, continuing through the traffic as if the chaos around it did not exist. People swerved. Tires burned against the asphalt.

Not a single car touched it.

And then, just as suddenly as it had arrived, Kid stepped onto the sidewalk and continued walking.

It did not know where it was going.

But it would learn.

Chapter 2: The First Interaction

The city was alive.

It pulsed with movement, with sound, with invisible currents of data flowing through wires and airwaves. Voices layered over one another, merging into an indistinct hum of life.

Kid walked through it all, silent, untouched. People moved around it without realizing. Some glanced at the small figure, their eyes catching for half a second before sliding away, as if their minds refused to process what they had seen.

It did not yet understand why.

Humans were strange. They did not behave like the species before them. They were messy, contradictory. The galaxies that created Kid had fought wars of logic, of dominance, of power. But these creatures fought over everything and nothing.

And yet, they still existed.

This fascinated Kid.

It continued walking.

The streets changed. Bright neon flickered above, distorted in the puddles below. The people here were different. Their clothes were torn, their movements slower. Some sat curled in doorways, others leaned against walls, eyes dull and distant.

The wind carried the scent of waste, of sweat, of something rotting beneath the surface of existence.

Kid stopped.

A man sat slumped against a wall, unmoving. His skin was pale, his breath shallow. A few people passed him by, glancing briefly before continuing on. His clothes were torn, layered to fight the cold. A paper cup sat beside him, half-crushed, holding a few scattered coins.

His body was failing.

Kid tilted its head.

The concept of failure was not new. The Warlords had failed. The Seekers had failed. Even the Primals, who did not fight, had failed to survive. All things, eventually, failed.

But this man had not fought a war. He had not stood on a battlefield, had not been struck down in conquest or grand design. He was simply dying, alone, unnoticed.

Kid crouched.

The man stirred. His eyelids fluttered open, dry and unfocused. It took him a moment to notice the small figure watching him. His lips cracked as he tried to speak.

"What…?" His voice was barely more than breath. "Where… did you come from?"

Kid did not answer.

The man coughed, a wet, rattling sound.

"You lost, kid?" His words were slurred, heavy with exhaustion. He blinked slowly. "Ain't safe here."

Safe.

Kid understood the word. It meant preservation. Continuation. Survival.

Humans valued survival, yet they allowed things like this to happen.

The man closed his eyes again, the effort of speech too much. His chest barely rose. His heartbeat was sluggish, uneven.

Kid reached out.

It placed a hand on the man's chest.

A single moment passed.

And then, something changed.

The air thickened. The space between them folded, subtle, unseen, a ripple through existence that no human could perceive.

The man's breath evened out.

His heart steadied.

His body, weakened by time and suffering, became something else.

His eyes snapped open, clear. His mind, dulled by hunger and sickness, sharpened. He sat up too quickly, gasping. His body felt… different. Stronger.

He looked at his hands. They did not tremble.

He felt no pain.

He turned to the child beside him, his expression shifting between gratitude and something else.

Something deeper.

"What did you…?" He stopped. His voice was stronger now, steadier. He swallowed, staring at Kid with something closer to fear than thanks.

Kid stood.

It watched the man carefully. This was new.

The galaxies had fought for strength, for knowledge, for power. They had rewritten themselves, reshaped their forms, turned their people into something more.

But humans did not do this.

They did not change.

Yet this one had.

Kid turned and walked away.

The man called after it, but it did not stop.

It had learned something new.

Humans were fragile. They failed, they suffered, they broke.

But they could also be changed.

And that made them interesting.