Kael knew pain like others knew warmth.
It greeted him in the mornings, when cold water was thrown on his face to wake him. It followed him in silence when he limped down creaking stairs, hoping not to make a sound. And it stayed with him through every bruise, slap, and cruel word that fell from the mouths of the people who were supposed to protect him.
The Matthisons, his "foster parents", liked to remind him he wasn't wanted. That he was a burden, a mistake. That he should've died like "the whore who birthed him."
Kael never cried.
Not after the first time.
He learned early that tears gave them something to feed on. That silence was his best shield and eventually, his sharpest blade.
Now, at fifteen, Kael didn't flinch when the belt came down. He didn't scream when Mr. Matthison smashed a plate across his back. He just stood there, muscles clenched, rage seething beneath his skin like fire waiting to break free.
One day, he told himself.
One day they'll know what it feels like.
It was always worse on full moons.
Mrs. Matthison used to say it made him more "demonic." That his eyes looked wrong, glowing unnaturally. That his presence made the house colder. She'd clutch her crucifix and whisper prayers after beating him.
Kael didn't know why the full moon affected him either.
Only that it did.
That night, he lay in his corner of the damp cellar. No blanket. No pillow. Just a cracked mattress and his own thoughts.
His arms ached from the last beating. Blood had dried under his fingernails. He stared at the single bulb above, flickering like it, too, feared the darkness creeping closer.
He closed his eyes.
And he felt it again.
That… pull.
From far beyond the house, beyond the trees. Beyond anything he could see.
Like a tether stretching from his chest to something or someone out there in the night.
It wasn't a voice exactly, but it spoke. In heat. In tension. In the way shadows gathered around him like they knew him.
"You're not weak," it whispered without words. "You're not alone."
Kael opened his hand, staring at the cuts.
The shadows shifted.
The light bent.
For the first time, something moved in the air around him like smoke wrapping around his fingers. He felt it stir beneath his skin. Power.
Real power.
Not the kind that beats.
The kind that breaks.
In the cracked basement mirror, he caught his reflection and for a split second, he didn't recognize it. Not because it looked different… but because it looked like someone else entirely. Someone stronger. Someone who wasn't alone.
Another boy.
Same eyes.
But a different fate.
Kael's fist smashed the mirror before he could think. The shards rained down, but he didn't flinch.
He smiled.
"Soon," he whispered, voice sharp as the glass in his hand. "They'll all understand what I am."
What he didn't know… was that somewhere, the boy from the mirror was real.
And he was waiting.