They said the gods chose their champions.
But when the coin landed in Kael's palm, he knew the gods had made a mistake.
He had never been brave, nor strong, nor particularly clever. In fact, Kael was the sort of man tavern keepers forgot to serve and neighbors forgot to greet. His life was a string of small, forgettable days—until the night the coin fell from the sky.
It had struck the cobblestones with a sound far too heavy for its size. A dull, ringing clang that echoed through the empty street. Kael had bent down, picked it up, and felt the world tilt beneath him.
On one side, the coin bore a crest he had never seen: a sword piercing through a sun. On the other, a door half-open, with darkness spilling out.
The moment his fingers closed around it, whispers filled his ears. Adventurer. Wanderer. Blade. Blood. Destiny.
Kael staggered back, clutching his head. He should have thrown the cursed thing into the gutter. He should have walked away, gone back to his bed of straw, and forgotten it.
But he didn't.
Because for the first time in his life, the world seemed to be looking at him.
That same night, a group of cloaked strangers entered the village. They asked no questions, bought no food, spoke to no one. But Kael saw the way their eyes scanned the crowd, searching, hunting. And he knew, somehow, they were after the coin.
He tightened his grip around it, his heartbeat quickening.
By dawn, he was gone. No goodbyes, no explanations. Just a nobody with a coin that wasn't his, stepping into a world that would either break him—
—or make him a legend.