Before legends, before blood and fear, there was just a boy named Frank.
He didn't speak much. Not because he had nothing to say—but because the world never listened. Teachers called him distracted. Other kids called him weak.
But his mother called him kind.
Frank remembered that word the most.
Kind.
It echoed now as he walked home each evening, shoulders low, eyes scanning corners. Kindness didn't protect you here. Strength did. Or cruelty.
Frank had neither.
Yet.