Three hundred years after Kael's death, a young boy sat in a library and opened a worn book.
The book was old. Very old. It had been read thousands of times. The pages were soft from handling. The binding was held together with care and respect. But the words were still clear.
The boy's name was Kai. He was eight years old. He was small. He was weak. His body did not work like other bodies. The other children in his village excluded him. The adults said he would never be strong enough to do anything important.
But Kai was reading about a boy named Kael. A boy who had been weak. A boy who had been rejected. A boy who had learned that he could transform himself.
And Kai understood something in that moment that would define the rest of his life.
He did not have to accept what people said
