From the day that Nathan was born, he was destined to be different. Nothing could change that. His parents knew that he was special and they despised it. They couldn't stand the public image of "different" or "special" or even "gifted". Nathan was talented, but in a way no one could understand, no human could comprehend. They ran tests, they debated whether to have him killed and dissect him, they contemplated reasons as to why a baby with normal parents and normal ancestors could end up being so … alien.

No one understood Nathan. His behavior was complex and difficult; he went through spasmodic growth spurts and sudden bursts of anger. He changed his mind continuously until he became so frustrated you were afraid he might explode. He bottled everything up inside of his body and his mind became his own prison. The cameras went on taking pictures and the news kept reporting every mistake he made, but he never spoke a single word. Not one word. Everyone thought this was "normal" for him; he must have a different mind set that caused him to learn nothing. He simply ate and breathed and slept without a clue of what was going on around him. Almost like a house pet. Almost.

That wasn't true in the least. In fact, it was the absolute opposite. Nathan simply watched and listened and he knew. He sat in his room with its thousands of various books and he read, day and night he read. He read about trains and aircrafts, he read about mathematics and history, and he read about the human body and he examined medical journals. He memorized verses from the Bible, and he took them to heart. He knew the Ten Commandments and their meanings, he knew of the seven deadly sins, and he also knew of Adam and Eve and the Tree Of Knowledge.

But no one accepted Nathan. He was alone in the world; he had no friends because he did not attend school or interact with other people. His own parents couldn't accept him because they couldn't accept that they had created him themselves, and they viewed him as a monster, or a demon child. They kicked him out of their home and out of their lives the day he turned eighteen. They had never held a place for him in their hearts, so they didn't care whether he lived or died. Not that they hadn't tried to get rid of him before, that is.

By then, Nathan had had enough. He decided the only thing to do was to die. Not literally, just practically. He did not come out of his little apartment for the time it took for someone to notice. In other words, a few days, close to a week. Someone called the police and, lo and behold, they found Nathan Edwards in his apartment, hanging from a telephone cord that was strung to a ceiling beam. They couldn't find a pulse and they declared the "Alien Child" deceased.

But Nathan wasn't dead. He took his broken spirit and his knowledgeable mind and fled to a deserted forest in the Middle East. For many years he lived off the land and hid from any sign of civilization. He learned to speak clearly, and he learned many languages, for he brought the remainder of the books he hadn't read with him when he'd left. He aged, but once he turned eighteen it became so slow it would take him fifty years before he would be considered physically nineteen. He knew as much as he could handle but he still wanted to know more, and the one thing he wanted to know more than anything was one thing that plagued his mind every night in his dreams.

Who was he?