Long ago—so long that even time refuses to remember—the land was on the edge of war. An invading force marched across the hills like locusts, their numbers vast, their victory inevitable. In their desperation, a council of holy men turned to the unthinkable.

Deep within a stone church carved into the hillside, hidden from the eyes of kings and gods alike, they gathered. Candles were lit. Words not meant for mortal mouths were spoken. And from the dark between worlds, something answered.

He did not arrive in fire or light, but in silence. The air grew still, the stone wept blood, and from the shadows emerged a being. He had no true form—only suggestions of one. A tall, angular frame cloaked in black, eyes like empty lanterns, voice like crumbling ash.

The holy men called him a weapon. A guardian. A savior. But the truth was far colder: he was a curse given shape.

That night, the enemy vanished. Not slain. Not buried. Simply... gone. An entire army, wiped from existence with no trace left behind—not even bones. The kingdom was saved. And the pastors were horrified.

They tried to undo what they had done. They chanted, wept, begged. But the thing they summoned did not return to the void. He lingered, silent, unblinking, as if awaiting purpose. So they gave him a name not spoken in reverence, but fear: Null. The one who leaves nothing behind.. The pastors struggled to lock him down. Until Her. She stepped into the church no one enters. She crossed the line others feared. She descended the stairs meant to stay hidden. And when She whispered into the dark.. Null listened.