Kaiser had grown up wrapped in silence, the kind that clung to the walls like mildew. The house he called home wasn’t filled with warmth or laughter—it was filled with cigarette smoke, empty bottles, and a man who only knew how to speak with his fists. His father didn’t raise his voice often, but when he did, it was always followed by something worse.

Kaiser had long stopped asking what he did wrong. Punishment didn’t follow logic in their home. He could be quiet and still get slapped. He could be helpful and still get shoved. But deep inside, in a place untouched by bruises, he still held on to a fragile hope—that maybe, just once, his father would look at him and say, “I’m proud of you.” Or even, “I love you.”

When those thoughts weighed too heavy on his chest, he’d slip out the door and wander the broken roads of his town. The streets were always gray, the buildings chipped and leaning. And yet, Kaiser would whisper to himself that someday he’d leave this place. He had to. There had to be more than this life, more than cold dinners and colder stares.

Sometimes, after stealing a loaf of bread or a bruised apple his father couldn’t afford, Kaiser would head toward the countryside. It was only a short walk, but it felt like entering another world. Here, the air was clean, untainted by smoke or shouting. Green hills rolled into the horizon, and old wooden windmills creaked gently in the wind.

He always stopped at the lake. It was quiet there—so quiet he could almost pretend he belonged somewhere peaceful. He’d stand at the water’s edge, breathing deeply, pretending the air didn’t sting his lungs like it did back home. His hand would find a flat stone, and with a flick of his wrist, he’d skip it across the surface. One, two, three ripples before it sank.

Then he felt it.

A pressure behind him. Heavy. The hair on his arms lifted. Something—someone—was there, watching him. His breath caught. His body froze. The presence was strange, almost electric, like the air before a storm. And though it didn’t feel violent, it felt… wrong. Too powerful. Too aware.

“Who… Who are you?” He finally mustered out, his mouth dry. In his peripheral vision, he could see the person more clearly now, a child like him—no older than he was. Not a threat.