"Don't trip over, Kalen!" a voice echoed down the school hallway, laced with mockery.
Kalen kept walking, his eyes downcast as he navigated the endless gauntlet of daily harassment. Each insult felt like a needle under his skin, irritating the wounds that never seemed to heal. His glasses, held together by a mess of tape, slipped down his nose once more. Annoyed, Kalen pushed them back up, the crooked frame doing little to help his already blurry vision.
He stopped and turned, fury bubbling inside him. Without a second thought, Kalen raised his hand and gave the middle finger to the group behind him.
"I bet you don't even know how many fingers I'm holding up!" he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
The leader of the group, a boy with a perpetual sneer on his face, clenched his fists and started toward him. "You Level 1 reject! When are you going to figure out that you don't belong here?"
Kalen braced himself as the boy's hands glowed, green energy swirling into a concentrated ball. It wasn't the first time he'd seen such magic, but it was always too fast for him to avoid. Before he could react, the boy unleashed the energy, the green light hurtling toward Kalen.
The blast hit him squarely in the chest. Kalen felt his body lift off the ground as the force sent him crashing into the wall behind him, the sharp impact knocking the air from his lungs.
"Are they really fighting on the last day of school?" a student nearby whispered, as a crowd quickly gathered to witness the spectacle.
The dust began to settle around Kalen's crumpled form. He could hear the faint whispers and laughter. As a female student cautiously approached, her expression shifted from concern to indifference the moment she recognized him. She backed away without a word, returning to her friends as if nothing had happened.
"Can't believe you tried to help him," one of her friends teased, prompting more laughter.
Kalen dragged himself to his feet, adjusting his broken glasses. One side had snapped off, again. He let out a frustrated sigh. "Damn it, not again…"
It was always like this. On the last day of school, when everyone else seemed to be celebrating or saying their goodbyes, Kalen remained invisible, unwanted. He was sick of it. But retreating wasn't an option for him either; he had seen others try to avoid the bullies, only to suffer worse in the end.
Once the school day was over, Kalen wasted no time leaving. While other students hugged, cried, or made promises for the future, he walked alone. He had no friends, no one to miss, and no one who would miss him.
When he finally reached his tiny apartment, a wave of quiet relief washed over him. The place wasn't much—just a single room with barely enough space for a bed, a desk, and an old TV. It was provided by the government after his parents had died when he was ten. They gave him a roof over his head but nothing more.
Kalen's eyes landed on a single suitcase, neatly packed with all his belongings, sitting on his bed. His gaze then shifted to the drawer. He pulled it open, revealing a thick, black book inside. Its cover bore a strange ring in the center, with lines radiating outward in all directions. He placed the heavy book on his desk.
"Let's try again today," Kalen muttered to himself. He reached into his bag and pulled out a test tube filled with clear liquid.
"Test 112, Hydrochloric acid," he whispered, carefully pouring the liquid onto the book's surface. He watched intently, but just like all the times before, nothing happened. The book remained unchanged, impervious to every experiment he had tried.
"Why won't you open?" he growled in frustration. "Why did my parents even have this thing?"
For years, Kalen had tried to unlock the mystery of the book his parents had left behind. No fire, blade, or acid could even scratch its surface. It was as if the book was invincible—or worse, mocking him.
He collapsed onto his bed, turning on the TV for some background noise. The familiar hum of voices filled the room, comforting in its mundanity.
"... tensions with the Dalki continue to rise as the peace treaty edges closer to breaking. Officials are preparing for possible conflict..."
Kalen barely paid attention to the news. Talk of war with the Dalki was nothing new. The dragon-like race had appeared thirty years ago, demanding humanity's resources and threatening their very survival. His parents had died fighting in that war. When Kalen was only ten, a government agent had delivered the black book to him, claiming it was the only thing his parents had left behind.
And ever since, it had been a source of endless frustration.
"Why is the world so unfair?" Kalen muttered, staring at the broken lens of his glasses. He pressed the glass back into the frame, trying to fix it, but his hand slipped. The lens shattered, a shard slicing deep into his thumb.
"Damn it!" he hissed, grabbing at his bleeding thumb. As he cleaned up the broken glass, a single drop of blood fell onto the book's cover.
Suddenly, the ring in the center of the book began to glow. Kalen froze, eyes wide in disbelief. The book floated up from the desk, shaking violently. A blinding light erupted from it, and the pages began to turn on their own, faster and faster.
"What's happening?!" Kalen shouted, panic flooding him.
The pages flicked through, the symbols on them glowing with a strange, otherworldly energy. Though the writing was unfamiliar, Kalen found himself understanding every word as if they were being imprinted on his mind.
The book stopped, its last page glowing brighter than the rest. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the light faded. The book dissolved into dust, vanishing into the air. Kalen's vision blurred, his body weakening as he struggled to remain conscious.
Just before darkness claimed him, he heard a voice, calm and distant:
"Congratulations, you have been granted the power of—"
But before he could hear the last word, Kalen passed out, collapsing onto the floor.