Decades passed before someone found him.
A small group: scholars, soul-sensitives, descendants of the Wardens. They approached the boundary carefully, reverently.
When Kael manifested, they knelt instinctively.
"Don't," he said gently.
They stared in awe and fear. To them, he was legend made flesh or whatever remained of flesh.
They asked questions. About the gods. About the dead. About how the world had almost ended.
Kael answered honestly.
Not all truths inspired hope.
When they left, they carried stories: fragmented, softened. Humanity preferred heroes who suffered briefly, not guardians who endured forever.