They named him Kairos.
The moment the name was spoken, something inside him clicked—like a key turning in a lock. It wasn't just a name. It was a declaration. A beginning. A second chance.
Kairos.
Born again into warmth, into love, into a family that smiled even when the world didn't.
His father, Darin, was a craftsman. Hands rough with calluses, eyes soft with patience. He carved wood, shaped metal, and built things that lasted longer than the respect he was given. His mother, Elira, was a healer—gentle, quiet, with magic that glowed faintly at her fingertips. And his sister, Lyra, was a storm wrapped in silver hair and laughter. She was bold, curious, and fiercely protective of her new baby brother.
But the world outside their home was not kind.
Kairos learned quickly—through overheard whispers, through the tension in his parents' voices, through the bruises they tried to hide—that this world was ruled by power. Not kindness. Not skill. Not heart.
Power.
Those who had it, flaunted it. Those who didn't, suffered.
One morning, Darin returned home limping, blood crusted on his temple. Lyra cried. Elira healed him in silence. Kairos, cradled in his mother's arms, could only watch.
A noble had commissioned a custom gate—ornate, impossible, demanded in three days. Darin had worked without sleep, but it wasn't enough. The noble's guards beat him in the street. No trial. No warning. Just punishment.
Elira's healing magic was taxed. Literally. Every spell she cast cost her coin—coin she didn't have. The nobles had decreed it so, claiming it was to "regulate magical abuse." But everyone knew the truth: it was a leash. A way to keep commoners weak.
Lyra, too, bore the weight. At school, noble children mocked her clothes, her accent, her family. They pushed her, insulted her, laughed at her pain. And the teachers—noble-funded—looked the other way.
Kairos saw it all. Felt it all.
And he hated it.
Not his family. Not his life.
But the system.
The twisted, rotting system that mirrored the one he'd left behind. Different world, same cruelty. Same hierarchy. Same rules written by the powerful to keep the weak crawling.
He wanted to scream. To fight. To stand between his family and the world's cruelty.
But he was a newborn.
Tiny. Helpless. Trapped in a body that couldn't even hold a spoon, let alone a sword.
So he watched. He listened. He learned.
And deep within his soul, the vow he'd made at birth burned brighter.
I will protect them.
I will grow stronger.
I will break this world's rules.
Not today. Not tomorrow.
But soon.