THE INTERROGATION
Kael did what any emotionally unstable, potentially universe-ending nine-year-old would do after being caught warping reality.
He ran.
Straight into a tree.
"Are you okay?!" Elara called, catching up as he peeled his face off the bark like a regret-flavored sticker.
"I'm fine," he mumbled, trying to look dignified with leaves in his mouth.
"You reversed a bush," she said, hands on her hips. "A bush, Kael. It un-berried itself. That's not normal."
Kael blinked. "Maybe it's allergic to you."
Elara squinted. "...Are you allergic to reality?"
"Maybe."
She crossed her arms, tapping one foot on the grass like a judgmental rabbit. "I'm serious, Kael. If you've got wizard blood or ancient curses or—you know—literal universal trauma, you should probably tell someone."
Kael sighed. "What do you want me to say? 'Hi, I might be a walking existential crisis with a tendency to emotionally rearrange matter'?"
She nodded. "Yes. Exactly that. We could print it on a shirt."
"I don't want that on a shirt."
"Well, tough. We live in a village where people wear tunics with jokes about wheat. A cosmic meltdown tee would be refreshing."
THE BIG LIE
Back home, Kael stared at himself in the cracked mirror above the wash basin. His hair was too neat. His eyes were too green. His thoughts were too loud.
"Be normal. Be calm. Be nothing."
He splashed cold water on his face and whispered the lie he'd practiced a thousand times:
"I'm just a kid."
The mirror didn't believe him.
Neither did Reginald the goat, who was currently eating the laundry line and judging him silently.
Kael stared at the goat. "If I vanish tomorrow, you better take care of Maera."
Reginald blinked. Then pooped on the welcome mat.
"Charming," Kael muttered.
He glanced at the faint shimmer on his palm where the berry bush had reversed. The glow was gone, but the feeling wasn't. Something inside him was shifting—cracking. Not violently. Not yet. But like a kettle that had just begun to whistle.
He had to get it together. He was already known as the strange kid. If he got stranger, they'd stop calling him "weird" and start calling him "cursed."
Again.
MEMORIES IN STATIC
That night, the dream came back.
He was floating in space—alone, weightless, trembling.
The stars screamed.
The laws of physics cried for help.
And somewhere in the distance, a child's voice echoed:
"I didn't mean to—"
Then came the crack.
The snap in the fabric of reality.
The feeling of a whole world folding in on itself like bad origami.
He saw entire galaxies pulled into a single sob.
He heard a mother's voice call his name, though he had no mother.
He saw himself—not the boy in the mirror, but something older, taller, brighter and terrifying—reaching out.
"Kael," it said. "We weren't ready."
He woke up mid-scream, but the sound caught in his throat. The walls shimmered. Gravity hiccuped. His blanket floated for a full five seconds before gently deflating onto his chest.
Maera burst in with a candle and a frying pan. "Did you see another ghost goat?!"
"No, just… stars again."
She exhaled. "Well, tell them to stop bothering you before breakfast."
. A PLAN (SORT OF)
The next day, Kael had a plan.
It was a bad plan.
Step 1: Avoid Elara.
Step 2: Lie.
Step 3: Avoid emotions.
Step 4: Do not destroy the universe.
Simple.
He tried to sneak past her at the well. Failed.
"Elara, I don't wanna talk about the berry thing."
"Too bad," she replied. "You're either an alien, a wizard, or a time-traveling fruit demon. Explain."
"I… have problems."
She raised an eyebrow. "Do your problems involve plants reversing puberty?"
Kael froze. "...Maybe."
She sat beside him on the well's edge. "You're not dangerous, Kael. I mean, you could be, but you're not. Because you're you. And you're the kind of person who saves bugs from puddles."
"Not spiders."
"Okay, fair. But you did cry when the goat stepped on a flower."
"I thought it was the last of its kind."
"It was a dandelion."
"A proud and noble dandelion."
. NULL WHISPERS
Later that evening, as he sat under the willow, Kael felt it again.
A tug.
Not on his clothes. Not even on his body.
It was like his soul was being nudged by something vast and cold and mathematical.
He looked around, and everything seemed... too still. Even the wind paused to eavesdrop.
Then he heard it.
A whisper.
"Found you."
He jumped to his feet, heart racing. The shadows stretched unnaturally. The light dimmed—just for a blink.
Then everything snapped back.
Birds chirped.
Leaves rustled.
But Kael was already sweating.
Something was watching him.
His feet carried him back home, fast and silent. He didn't stop until he was inside, under his blanket, breathing through a storm of thoughts.
He didn't know what had spoken.
But it knew him.
And that was the most terrifying part.
. THOMLIN'S WISDOM
That night, Thomlin found Kael staring at the fireplace like it owed him answers.
"You okay, kiddo?"
Kael shrugged. "Ever feel like… you're going to ruin everything just by being alive?"
Thomlin thought for a moment.
"I once sneezed during the harvest blessing and set fire to the Mayor's wig."
Kael blinked. "What?"
"Point is—some mistakes you laugh off. Others you fix. Some? You survive."
Kael stared into the flames. "But what if you are the mistake?"
Thomlin ruffled his hair. "Then you be the kind that saves the world just by staying kind anyway."
"Even if you accidentally reverse plant time?"
"Especially then."
They sat in silence for a while. Outside, thunder grumbled like a hungry belly.
FORESHADOWING, IN GOAT FORM
The next day, Reginald headbutted Kael into a muddy pond for no reason at all.
As Kael sat there, dripping and covered in algae, he sighed.
"Maybe this is fine. Maybe this is what balance looks like."
A leaf caught fire beside him.
He blinked.
"I'm doomed."
The goat bleated. Somewhere, a cloud exploded.
A group of villagers gathered at the edge of the pond, watched the floating fish, and simply turned around without a word.
In Drenvale, you learned to ignore most things if you wanted to sleep peacefully.