Kai had always lived in the shadows of his family.
He was the third of five children, but his parents acted as though he barely existed. Even when he tried, even when he excelled, they found ways to make him feel small. He loved books—science, history, anything that told stories of worlds larger than his own—but when he showed interest, they would sigh or shake their heads.
"Why do you waste your time with these nonsense books?" his father would say. "Stop staring at the ceiling like a fool and do something useful."
When Kai earned the top spot in class, he received a brief, "You did well," a pat on the shoulder at best. Yet when his older brother placed first a year later, the family showered him with prizes: game consoles, toys, special dinners. The contrast burned in Kai's chest. When he ranked second, he was lazy, backward, useless—"like a camel peeing on the sand," his mother once sneered. Yet if his older brother placed third, the same results earned applause and gifts.
By nine, Kai began seeking comfort in spiritual things. The Bible, stories of saints, the quiet words of hope and faith—he clung to them in secret, reading in the dim corners of his room, whispering prayers that no one heard. It was the only place where he felt anyone cared, even if it was just a voice on a page.
At twelve, the neglect had become a weight in his chest. Even family outings were exercises in invisibility. That summer, they went camping deep in the woods. Kai wandered away from the small campfire, staring up at the stars. He tried to memorize constellations, to imagine worlds beyond his own, when his mother's voice cut through the quiet.
He stayed a moment longer, letting the cool breeze brush his cheeks. Then, high above the trees, a faint purple light shimmered. At first, he thought it was his imagination—or fatigue—but it lingered, vibrant and strange.
Suddenly, a sharp, distant howl cut through the silence. Wolves. Panic rose in Kai's chest. He sprinted back toward the camp, but when he reached the clearing, the chaos had already begun. His parents were running, shouting for his older siblings, dragging them toward the car. The engine roared to life.
"Kai! Hurry!" his mother screamed without looking back.
He ran, faster than he ever had, but the car moved too quickly, leaving him behind. He called out, but no one turned. The sound of the engine and the cries of his family faded as he ran. Then the ground gave way beneath him.
Kai tumbled into darkness. Cold earth swallowed him, the wind screamed, and vertigo twisted his stomach as if the world itself were unraveling. Colors swirled around him—purple, gold, green—shapes he had never seen, sounds he had never heard.
When he finally landed, the ground was soft beneath him. It glowed faintly, almost alive. He sat up, trembling, staring at a sky that shimmered in impossible hues.
Above him, people flew like shooting stars, their robes trailing streams of light. Houses floated high above the streets, tethered by glowing chains. Strange creatures wandered stone-paved roads that pulsed underfoot. The air smelled of magic, crisp and electric, carrying a sense of life Kai had never known.
For a long moment, he could only stare. His heart pounded—not from fear, but from a fragile wonder he had never allowed himself to feel.
Maybe here, he thought, maybe he wasn't invisible.
Maybe here, he could finally be someone.
Trembling, he took a tentative step forward into a world that defied everything he had ever known.