He came from the stars. He was reborn as a baby. He's now nine, weird, and dangerously overpowered. Also, he has goat duty.
. Snails, Doom, and Elara
Kael sat beneath the wilting willow at the edge of the barley field, squinting at a snail like it owed him money.
"This," he muttered solemnly, "is how it ends."
Beside him, Elara—the local blacksmith's daughter and self-declared Chaos Goblin—snorted. "You say that every time you see something with more than four legs."
"This one's different," Kael said, eyes narrowing. "It's slimy. It's suspicious. And it blinked at me."
"Snails don't blink."
"That's what they want you to think."
Kael wasn't normal. Everyone knew it.
Birds landed on his head and forgot how to leave. Shadows occasionally high-fived his feet. One time, a rock he tripped over apologized.
But he did his best to blend in.
He wore itchy wool shirts like the other kids. He kicked rocks and pretended to enjoy soup. He smiled with all the enthusiasm of someone trying very hard not to explode the universe by accident.
Because, deep down, Kael knew something was off.
And also because the last time he sneezed too hard, the town bell tower rang itself inside out.
Drenvale: The Slightly Strange Village
Drenvale was a quiet place. Peaceful. Predictable. Weird.
It had:
Three and a half cows (long story),
A tavern that only served one drink: "berry fizz" (which no one liked but everyone drank),
A village goat named Reginald who had a criminal record and zero respect for personal space.
The people of Drenvale believed in hard work, mild weather, and ignoring obviously cursed objects until they went away on their own.
So when a baby mysteriously appeared in the herb garden nine years ago—naked, giggling, and surrounded by glowing mushrooms—the village response was simple:
"Huh."
And then they adopted him.
Kael had two perfectly nice guardians: Maera, who smelled like cinnamon and stress, and Thomlin, a man with three working toes and a lifelong feud with clouds.
"We prayed for a miracle," Maera often said while watching Kael levitate spoons in his sleep. "And the universe sent us… this."
Kael loved them both fiercely. Even if Thomlin occasionally tied garlic around the bed "just in case."
"In case of what?" Kael once asked.
"Whatever you're gonna turn into if you hit puberty too hard."
. Kael's Daily Routine
Most kids:
Chased frogs.
Ate mud.
Argued with their siblings over who got the bigger potato.
Kael:
Accidentally grew glowing weeds that whispered compliments.
Had weird dreams about stars screaming.
Got chased by a goose with unresolved trauma.
He tried to be normal. He really did.
He did chores. He smiled. He didn't disintegrate any school books (again). But it was hard. Especially when emotions—any emotions—made the world… twitch.
Anger? Leaves caught fire.
Fear? Time skipped like a bad song.
Excitement? The last time he laughed too hard, the moon blinked.
No one noticed. But Kael did.
He always noticed.
. Goat Duty (and Existential Dread)
"Reginald escaped again," Maera said one morning, rubbing her temples.
"Of course he did," Kael replied, already grabbing the goat leash.
Reginald, the village's single greatest criminal mind, had been sentenced to Kael-duty for six months. He resented it. Openly.
Kael found him on top of the baker's roof, chewing on a weather vane and staring into the sun like it owed him rent.
"Get down," Kael pleaded.
Reginald replied by farting and knocking over a chimney.
Back on the ground, Kael muttered to himself as he dragged the goat back. "I have cosmic dreams. I talk to stars in my sleep. I may be a walking apocalypse. But sure. Goat wrangler."
Elara, passing by, offered him an apple and a grin. "You looked like you were having a moment."
"I was. With Reginald. It was mostly him threatening me telepathically."
"Sounds about right."
. Nightmares & Nice People
Some nights, Kael would wake up sweating, whispering things in languages no one taught him.
Like:
"Entropy compression breach."
"Primary starfield failure."
"Oh gods, not again."
Maera would rush in, wrap him in blankets, and whisper: "It's okay. You're safe."
Kael would nod, smile… and never tell her the truth:
That the dream wasn't a dream.
That he remembered something.
A world collapsing.
And he was at the center of it.
He didn't know why. Or how.
Only that this time, he had to do better.
The Slip
It was a perfectly normal afternoon. Birds chirped. Reginald was only partially on fire. Kael was picking berries with Elara when it happened.
"I bet I can eat more than you," she challenged.
"Last time you tried that, you choked on a beetle."
"It was protein!"
Kael laughed.
Big mistake.
The moment he smiled, the air shimmered. The berry bush grew backward, its flowers blooming in reverse, un-ripening as if trying to politely undo itself.
Elara froze.
"…Did you see that?" she asked.
Kael's face went pale. "Nope."
She squinted. "That bush just de-juiced itself."
"Maybe it's shy."
She poked him in the arm. "You're doing something weird again."
Kael stared at his hands. "I'm not trying to. I swear."
"Good. Because if you accidentally summon a talking pumpkin again, I'm moving to the next village."
. And So...
Kael sat under the willow tree that night, watching the stars flicker above.
He felt it again—the pressure in his chest. The quiet hum in the bones. Like the world was too small for him. Or maybe he was too small for it.
But he didn't cry.
Didn't panic.
Just whispered, "Don't destroy this world."
And the willow tree rustled gently, as if to say, We're trying. Just don't laugh too hard again.