---
Kael was five the first time he climbed the ridge behind the cabin on his own.
The mountain air was sharp and cold, slicing through his clothes like tiny teeth, but he didn't complain. His father had told him that to understand the mountain, he had to listen—not just with his ears, but with his whole body.
So Kael listened.
He listened to the crunch of old snow beneath his boots, to the distant howl of wind twisting through pine needles, and to the silence between bird calls. He didn't understand it yet, not really—but he felt it.
The world wasn't quiet.
It was just... waiting.
---
Their home wasn't grand. A long wooden lodge of dark pine, nestled beside a frozen river that cracked and hummed when the sun touched it. The trees around it had been shaped by the wind—bent, thick-rooted, stubborn. Much like the people who lived there.
Kael's father, Dain, was tall and silent as stone, with black hair and eyes like thunderclouds. A man of few words, but when he spoke, even the trees seemed to listen. He chopped wood like it was an art form and could scare off wild animals just by standing still.
His mother, Lyana, was different. Warm, curious, and sharp-eyed. Her hands were always busy—baking, sewing, cleaning—but her mind was faster than the wind that rolled through the valley. She read old books in a strange, flowing script Kael couldn't yet understand, and sometimes whispered words to the fire when she thought no one was listening.
They didn't treat Kael like he was strange.
Even when he stared too long at shadows or asked why the stars sometimes flickered red.
Even when he said things he didn't remember learning.
---
On Kael's sixth birthday, he got his first blade.
Not a weapon—a carving knife, dulled at the tip but balanced and well-crafted. Dain handed it to him without a word, only nodding once when Kael took it in both hands.
"A man learns to shape the world with his hands," his father said. "Start with wood. Later… we'll see."
Kael whittled sticks into shapes that didn't have names. Birds with too many wings. Wolves with three tails. Trees with skulls in the bark. Lyana said they were imaginative. Dain said nothing, but he never threw them away.
He kept every carving Kael made in a small leather pouch by the window.
---
By the time he turned seven, Kael could name thirty-six kinds of beasts and their seasonal movements.
He learned that sky ravens nested in cliff crevices and watched people like judges from above. That shadow elk could vanish in mist, and that their antlers were made of bone so dense, not even steel could pierce it.
He learned that the world wasn't flat, or even round, but layered.
> The Surface—where beasts and humans lived.
The Veins—the magic currents that ran under the world like rivers of living energy.
And the Depths—a place never spoken of openly.
Kael wasn't supposed to know that part.
But one day, when Lyana was whispering to a cracked mirror at dusk, he heard her say it.
And the mirror… whispered back.
---
On the eighth day of winter, something strange happened.
The snow fell slower than normal.
The sky turned gold at midnight.
And a letter arrived.
Not by bird, or messenger—but by wind.
It slid under the door like a leaf, curling at the edges, ink shimmering faintly as if written by starlight.
Lyana opened it. Her lips tightened. Then she folded it once and tucked it into the fire without reading it aloud.
Kael asked nothing.
But the next morning, she told him to clean his room.
They were expecting a guest.
---
His grandmother, Lady Nira, arrived three days later—riding a six-legged silver elk that breathed mist and left no tracks behind.
She wore robes of twilight-blue and her hair shimmered like metal threads. She kissed Lyana on the cheek, ignored Dain entirely, and hugged Kael as if they'd always known each other.
"You've grown," she said.
Kael blinked. "You've never seen me."
She smiled. "Not with these eyes."
He didn't understand it—but it felt true.
That night, she gave him a book with no title, only a cover made of what looked like stitched leaves. "Read it when the moon turns red," she whispered, "and only then."
She stayed five days. Spoke often with Lyana in private. Never addressed Dain.
And before she left, she knelt beside Kael and cupped his chin.
"Your eyes," she murmured. "You'll see what others bury."
Kael didn't know what she meant.
But that night, he dreamed of bones buried beneath trees.
And the trees were screaming.
---
By the time he turned eight, Kael had already memorized half the local maps.
His father taught him how to track animals by scent and scat. His mother taught him to write in three languages—one of which changed shape every time he blinked.
He asked where they came from.
Lyana only smiled. "Farther than the border."
Dain said nothing—but Kael noticed how he always looked south when he thought no one was watching.
Sometimes… Kael dreamed of castles. Cities floating on clouds. Temples carved into blood-red stone.
Places he'd never seen. People who spoke his name but wore masks.
He woke up remembering things no one had told him.
Things a child shouldn't know.
But no one questioned him.
At least, not yet.
---
On his ninth birthday, Kael felt something pulling at him.
It wasn't pain.
More like... weight.
Like the world suddenly remembered he was here.
The beasts grew quiet that morning.
The wind stopped at the door.
Even the river held its breath.
Lyana stared out the window for a long time.
"Is it today?" she whispered.
Dain didn't answer.
But he reached for the box beneath the hearth.
Kael didn't see what was inside.
Only that it glowed when opened.
And that both his parents seemed heavier afterward—like they'd buried something inside themselves just to keep him smiling.
---
At ten, Kael wandered farther than ever before.
Beyond the northern trees, into the fog lands. Where the air felt too thick and the ground pulsed like it had a heartbeat.
He found ruins there. Black stone. Faint carvings like claws.
He touched one.
And it burned cold.
A message appeared in his mind, written in a voice that wasn't his:
> [System Access Delayed. Soul Core: Stabilizing.]
[Warning: Anchor Outside Original Realm. Adjusting Pathway.]
He didn't know what it meant.
But when he pulled his hand away, the stone cracked.
And from it, something watched him.
He ran home.
Didn't speak of it.
Didn't sleep right for days.
But part of him… felt more real than ever.
---
That winter, the sky bled for the first time.
Just a streak—crimson light cutting through the clouds for barely a second.
Lyana dropped her plate when she saw it.
Dain stood up. Slowly. "We need to prepare."
Kael's voice was small. "For what?"
Dain looked at him, eyes full of something older than fear.
"For the world to remember who you are."
---