THE ARCANE: Birth of Revenge

Chapter 2

Kael crashed onto the pavement beside a trash can, his body skidding before stopping hard against the curb. The impact drove the breath from his lungs. He gasped, mouth opening and closing as his chest struggled to rise. His palms burned from the scrape. his knees throbbed with a deep, spreading pain.

Behind him, the portal his mother had created collapsed without warning. One second it glowed in the air, and the next it vanished completely, sealing itself with a low, echoing snap that sounded too final.

Kael lay still. The sky above him was painfully bright. Sunlight spilled down between buildings, sharp and unforgiving, washing over the street in a way that made him squint.

The noise came next—cars passing too close, voices shouting from somewhere down the block, the distant sound of music leaking from an open door. It was too loud. Nothing like his quiet home in Westfield before everything went wrong.

Cold crept through his clothes despite the sun. He rolled onto his side and slowly pushed himself upright, his movements unsteady. The trash can beside him had tipped over, spilling refuse across the sidewalk. The smell hit him then: rotting food, damp cardboard, something sour and gross. He gagged but swallowed it back.

He looked around, eyes wide and unfocused. This wasn’t Westfield. Tall buildings pressed in around the street, old brick and cracked concrete layered with graffiti and rusted fire escapes. People moved in the distance, walking past without slowing, without noticing him. No one was running. No one was screaming. His mother had said New Orleans. She had told him to meet his uncle here, but she didn't tell him how.

“Mom?” Kael called, his voice hoarse. It sounded wrong in the open air, swallowed almost immediately by the noise of the city.

“Dad?”

“Rowan?” His chest tightened as he waited. Nothing answered him. The truth crept in slowly, his parents were gone. The warmth of his mother’s hands on his face, the sound of his father’s voice, even Rowan’s arguing—all of it felt suddenly distant. Kael’s lip trembled. He hugged his arms around himself and stared at the ground, breathing fast and shallow. He was all alone.

Footsteps began to approach slowly, Kael flinched and pressed himself closer to the trash can, his heart hammering as two shadows stretched across the pavement. A woman’s voice broke through the noise.

“Oh my gosh, honey, what the hell are you doing here? Where’s your mother?”

Kael looked up. It was a white woman, she stood a few feet away, dressed neatly, her hair pulled back. Gloves covered her hands. A man stood beside her, taller, broader, his expression confused and wary. The woman stepped closer immediately, concern written plainly across her face. She crouched slightly and reached toward him.

“You’re freezing,” she said, her voice softening. “I’m just going to check...” The moment her hand came near his face, Kael panicked. He rolled away from her, scrambling backward until his shoulder hit the trash can. His breathing spiked, sharp and erratic. His eyes darted wildly as fear took over.

The look on his face said “Get your hands off me.” The woman froze, startled by the sudden aggression. She straightened slowly, palms raised.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Whitney. This is my husband, Robert.”

Robert nodded, staying where he was. “We’re not going to hurt you, kid.”

Kael didn’t answer. His body remained coiled tight, every muscle tense, ready to bolt. Whitney hesitated, then reached into her bag. She pulled out a wrapped sandwich and gently placed it on the ground a short distance from him, careful not to step closer.

“You look hungry,” she said. “You can have it. We’ll just… give you some space, okay?” She stood, casting one last worried glance his way before taking Robert’s arm. They walked off, their voices fading as they disappeared down the street.

Kael didn’t move at first. He watched the sandwich like it might bite him. Then his stomach twisted violently, a deep, aching pain that reminded him of the unfinished dinner back home. Of the smell of food filling the kitchen before the helicopters came. His hands shook as he crawled forward. He grabbed and sniffed the sandwich then tore into it, eating desperately, crumbs spilling down his shirt as he chewed and swallowed too fast. Hunger overpowered everything else. He didn’t slow down until it was gone.

When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed himself to his feet. His legs wobbled, but he stayed upright. As he stood, something slipped from his grasp.

The Lumen Chain fell from his hand and landed quietly near the trash, partially hidden by scattered debris. Kael didn’t notice. His attention was already drifting forward, toward the open street ahead.

He walked away. The six-year-old moved without direction, letting his feet take him wherever the road led. His clothes were stained and torn. His hair was matted with dust and sweat. The city swallowed him whole as he passed between strangers who slowed only long enough to stare.

“He smells like s**t,” someone muttered.

“Poor boy, he must be lost,” another voice said.

“Where are his parents?”

Kael kept walking, eyes down, shoulders hunched. Each comment landed like a blow, though he didn’t fully understand why. He only knew that no one was coming to help him.

Ahead, a man stood outside a restaurant, leaning against the wall and reading a newspaper. Kael stopped.The image on the front page froze him in place. The image of Commander Kendric Von.

Kael’s heart slammed against his ribs. Rage, fear, and something darker surged through him all at once. Without thinking, he ran forward and yanked the paper from the man’s hands.

“What the f**k?” the middle aged man shouted. “Who the hell are you?” Kael ignored him. His eyes locked onto the headline.

'THE SUPREME COMMANDER, KENDRIC VON, MAKES A STATEMENT IN WESTFIELD' it read.

Kael traced the name beneath the photo with his finger, reading it slowly under his breath. “Ken-dric… Von.”

He memorized the face. Every sharp line. Every cold detail. The man backed away, recoiling from Kael’s appearance. “The hell is wrong with you?” he muttered before turning and running inside the restaurant. Kael didn’t notice as footsteps thundered behind him.

“Get him, that’s the freak!”

Kael looked up just as the man burst back out, followed by several able-bodied men who moved fast, with purpose. They looked like Securities or close enough. Immediately, Something clicked. They were coming for him. Kael turned and ran.

“Hey, stop there!” one of them shouted.

Kael's legs burned as he sprinted down the street, weaving between people who yelled in surprise as he shoved past them. His breath came in ragged gasps, panic driving him forward as the sound of boots pounded closer behind him.

He reached an intersection, the street splitting into two narrow paths ahead of him. Kael hesitated for a heartbeat, chest burning, ears ringing with the sound of boots behind him. His eyes darted left, then right. He didn’t think—he bolted left.

Immediately, a hand grabbed him. Kael screamed as he was yanked backward, his body slamming hard into someone’s chest. Not one of the security men. Someone else. Someone unknown. Panic exploded inside him. He kicked and thrashed wildly, nails scraping at whatever held him, breath coming in broken gasps as the strong arms locked around him and refused to let go.