The transition from "legend" to "stranger" happened over a wooden bowl.
Kael sat near a small, weathered house at the village border. The structure was sturdy, built for utility rather than aesthetics—much like the people who lived within it. Lyra had returned from the herd, accompanied by her younger brother. He was about fourteen, with the wiry frame of someone accustomed to traversing uneven terrain. His wide amber eyes reflected the flicker of the perimeter fire, glowing with quiet, intense curiosity.
Lyra placed the meal between them: boiled root vegetables smelling of earth, dense bread made from ground grain, and small, seared pieces of meat from the herd animals.
Kael didn't move. In his past life, he might have complained about presentation or questioned the quality. But three days of starvation had taught him a new kind of mechanics. In this world, eating without invitation wasn't just rude—it was a breach of the unspoken social contract. He waited.
"You are really from far away?" the boy asked. His caution was winning out against his curiosity.
Kael nodded slowly. "Yes."
"Where?"
Kael paused. He couldn't explain neon towers or the cities he had left behind to a boy who lived by the cycles of the forest. "I don't know," he answered honestly.
The boy's brow furrowed. "You don't know where you came from?"
"No."
The boy studied him like he was a puzzle missing pieces. "What is your name?"
Kael looked at his dirt-smeared, scarred hands. In this world, his old name meant nothing. "You can call me whatever you want," he said quietly. "Names don't matter for survival."
The boy frowned, confused. "You are strange."
Kael offered a ghost of a smile—the first one that wasn't fueled by arrogance. "I've heard that before."
The Weight of Honesty
Lyra nudged the bowl toward him. "Eat," she said simply.
Kael stared at the food a long moment, then bowed his head slightly—a gesture of genuine gratitude. "Thank you," he murmured.
He ate deliberately, chewing slowly, showing respect for the hospitality offered. Lyra's posture relaxed slightly as she observed him, realizing he wasn't driven by reckless impulses.
"You look strong," she noted.
"I am not strong here," Kael replied.
She raised an eyebrow. "You survived the forest alone for three days. That is not weak."
Kael shook his head. "I was trained for a different environment. This world… it doesn't care about what I used to know. It's different."
She nodded, approving his honesty. In this society, truth mattered more than muscle.
A Different Kind of Assurance
The boy wasn't seeking a warrior; he wanted assurance. "Will you cause trouble for us?"
Kael met his gaze directly. No boast. No threat. No hidden agenda. "The forest is large, and I am small," he said slowly. "I'm not here to take anything. I'm here because I want to keep breathing. If I can help your sister with the herd, or the village with heavy work, I will."
The boy went quiet, absorbing the words. This wasn't the answer of someone seeking power—it was the answer of someone who understood that the finish line meant nothing if you didn't survive to reach it.
The Grounding
As night fell, the wind moved through the border fields, carrying the scent of wild herbs and the rhythmic clicking of the Glimmer-backs. Kael sat by the fire, its heat seeping into his aching bones.
In another life, he had been a god of speed. Here, he was just another body near a fire. Yet a strange sense of grounding settled over him. His ego was being stripped away, layer by painful layer.
Lyra sat beside him, watching the flames. "You don't talk like someone who wants to be noticed," she said.
"I don't want fame," Kael murmured.
"What do you want, then?"
He watched sparks rise into the unfamiliar sky. "Safety. Protection. Stability."
Silence followed, broken only by the crackle of burning wood.
"You are different from other travelers," Lyra said softly.
"How?"
"Most who look like you want to lead or own," she said. "You just want to endure."
The First Layer of Armor
That night, the villagers allowed him to stay near the settlement. He wasn't inside the houses yet, but he was closer than the woods. In this world, trust was built like armor—slowly, piece by piece.
Kael lay down near the firelight, staring up at the stars.
Speed once gave me victory, he thought as sleep finally took him. But survival will give me a future.
Tonight, the goal was simple: survive until morning.