Starborn silence

The villagers didn't speak much. Not to Sunny. Not to each other. But the land remembered what the people forgot—or refused to say.

Sunny spent two days watching, listening, learning. He mapped the village quietly, paying attention to paths no one walked and doors no one opened. He asked questions, and got no answers. So he stopped asking. Let silence do the talking.

And the silence told him everything.

He found the records in the basement of the crumbling town hall—water-damaged books, old journals with pages stuck together, covered in dust. But the story was there, buried between torn lines and inkstains.

Kanah hadn't always been like this.

Thirty years ago, it was a thriving mountain settlement, known for its deep mines and spiritual traditions. They worshiped the "Watcher Beneath"—a forgotten deity said to dwell in the rock. It was neither good nor evil… simply ancient.

But then, the miners dug too deep.

They struck something not of this world—not metal, not stone. Something that breathed. Something that watched back.

The crater was born that night.

An explosion without fire. The sky turned black for three days. And when the dust cleared, half the village was gone. Not dead—erased. People's names vanished from memory. Whole families forgotten like they never existed.

And worse—some who survived began to change.

They called it "the Cradle of the Hollow Star." An anomaly. A curse. A birthmark on the land.

Since then, Kanah had been quiet. Too quiet. A perfect village frozen in time.

Until three years ago.

That's when a boy appeared at the crater's edge.

White-haired. Calm. Alone.

German Sparow.

No records. No parents. No explanation. He simply was.

The villagers took him in. He never cried. Never slept. Never aged