Kellan lay sprawled out on the grassy mountain field, his tiny limbs akimbo as if he'd just lost a fight with gravity. His jet-black hair rippled in the breeze, and his eyes, so dark they seemed to swallow all light, held an enigmatic intensity. So unnaturally vivid for a five-year-old, he scanned the horizon with a mixture of determination and exasperation. The wind, as if mocking him, blew a chilly gust down his back, making him shiver and mutter, "Great. Just what I needed. Nature's personal air-conditioning unit."

He sat up and dusted himself off, brushing grass and dirt from his too-small tunic. His stomach grumbled loudly, as if in protest of his ambitious plans. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Food first, conquering ancient ruins later," he mumbled to himself. But even as he considered his hunger, his thoughts remained fixed on the Ruins of Keplar.

The Blade of Eternity wasn't just any artifact—it was the artifact. It could slice through time and space like a hot knife through butter. Owning it would make him the most powerful being in this timeline, even if he was currently stuck in the body of someone who could barely tie his own shoes. "If I can get my hands on that blade," Kellan murmured, rubbing his chin in thought, "not only could I change my situation, but I might finally be able to make Plenthota regret everything. I'll trap that floating ball of smug energy in a snow globe and shake it every morning for fun."

The thought made him chuckle, but his laughter was short-lived. He had to face reality: getting to the Ruins of Keplar was no small feat, especially when he was five years old and lived under his mom's ever-watchful eye. "She's not exactly going to let me waltz out the door with a 'Bye, Mom! Just off to retrieve a reality-warping weapon!'" he muttered, kicking a pebble.

He stood up, dusted off his knees, and began mentally cataloging what he'd need for the journey. First, rations. He needed food—something lightweight but filling. His mom always packed those weird oat bars she called "healthy snacks" that tasted like cardboard, but at least they wouldn't spoil. Second, water. He'd grab his canteen, fill it up at the kitchen sink, and hope it lasted long enough to get him where he needed to go. Third, something to defend himself. His current options were a wooden spoon from the kitchen or a stick he could pick up on the way. "Fantastic," he muttered. "The next great artifact hunter, armed with a spoon. Truly legendary."

Finally, he'd need an excuse to leave. Mom wasn't exactly going to buy the whole "off to save the world" spiel. She'd think he was playing knights again. He rehearsed his alibi in his head. "Mom, I'm going to play with the other kids in the village," he murmured, trying to mimic an innocent tone. "Don't wait up! I might be 'pretending' to explore some old ruins." He paused, scrunching his nose. "Okay, maybe cut the last part."

But the truth was, lying to his mom wasn't going to sit right with him. She was the only constant between his old timeline and this one, the one person who hadn't changed. He sighed, a small pang of guilt tugging at his chest. "I'll leave her a note," he decided. "Something vague but reassuring. Like, 'Gone to make my destiny. Back by dinner!'"

The thought of sneaking around his mom, coupled with his small stature, made him laugh quietly to himself. He could already picture her fretting when she realized he was gone. "I'll probably get grounded for life when I come back," he said, shaking his head. "If I do come back, that is."

He turned and looked down the mountain trail that led back to the village. The grassy field stretched out before him, dotted with wildflowers swaying in the breeze. The path ahead was long, winding, and filled with uncertainty—but it was his only option.

As Kellan began his descent, he found himself muttering a pep talk under his breath. "Alright, here's the plan. Sneak into the kitchen, grab those oat bars and the canteen. Maybe snag a blanket in case I need to sleep outside—ugh, bugs. Then tell Mom I'm going to play, smile a lot, and don't look suspicious. Easy, right?" He paused, then sighed. "Yeah, because nothing about this is suspicious. Five-year-olds totally disappear for days without raising questions."

His noir eyes scanned the trail ahead, his thoughts already darting to the ruins. He could still picture the Blade of Eternity, encased in its ancient pedestal. It was deep within the Ruins of Keplar, surrounded by traps and puzzles that no ordinary child—or adult, for that matter—could solve. But Kellan wasn't ordinary. His knowledge of artifacts gave him a head start, and even if his body wasn't cooperating yet, his mind was sharp enough to make up for it.

The only problem? He couldn't use magic. No matter how hard he tried, no spell would take hold. It was like the timeline itself was rejecting him. His soul wasn't meant to exist here, and it showed. He'd tried summoning sparks, conjuring water, even levitating a pebble. Nothing. Magic felt like a door slammed shut in his face.

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But he wouldn't let that stop him. "I don't need magic," he said to himself, his voice firm. "I've got brains, I've got artifacts, and I've got… uh… charm?" He smirked, brushing a stray lock of black hair out of his face. "Okay, maybe not charm. But I've got determination. That's something, right?"

The sun dipped lower in the sky as he finally reached the base of the mountain. His village was just a short walk away, and beyond that lay his first challenge: preparing for a journey that could very well change the fate of this timeline.

He straightened his tunic, his expression hardening. "Watch out, Ruins of Keplar," he muttered, a sly grin forming. "This five-year-old is coming for you. And watch out, Plenthota. I'm keeping a snow globe just for you."

And with that, Kellan marched onward, his tiny frame carrying the weight of enormous plans, his mind racing with thoughts of power, revenge, and oat bars.

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The moon shimmered in the vast, inky night sky, its silvery light casting a soft glow over the quiet town. Kellan stood just outside his front door, clutching the straps of his overstuffed backpack like a soldier ready for battle—or at least, like a very small soldier with an oversized burden. Somewhere inside, on the kitchen counter, was the hastily scribbled note he'd left for his mom. It read: Gone out. Don't worry, I'm fine. Back soon. Love, Kellan. He figured that was better than trying to explain face-to-face why her five-year-old was setting off to find a mythical ruin armed with canned beans and applesauce.

He adjusted his backpack, which was so comically large on his tiny frame it looked like it might topple him over with one wrong step. Inside, he'd crammed as much as he could: a few canned foods (because nothing screams "adventurer" like a can of creamed corn), a couple of squished energy bars, two bottles of water, and, of course, applesauce. Why applesauce? Because even in this bizarre second life, Kellan still had the dietary preferences of a toddler. "Travel light," he muttered sarcastically, glancing down at his bulging bag. "Yeah, nailed it."

But food and water weren't all he'd packed. Sitting awkwardly strapped to the side of his backpack was his "weapon"—a rusty, bent crowbar he'd found in the shed. It wasn't exactly Excalibur, but it was the closest thing to a sword he could get his tiny hands on. He'd tested it earlier by pretending to fight an invisible Wretched in the backyard and managed to not hit himself in the face, so he considered it a solid win.

"I'll call you… uh… Rusty," Kellan said to the crowbar, swinging it lightly in the air. The weapon, unbothered by his naming skills, gleamed dully in the moonlight. "Alright, Rusty, let's keep me alive."

His first real challenge of the night wasn't a monster, though—it was the house itself. Kellan tiptoed down the staircase, one creaky step at a time, holding his breath like he was disarming a bomb. Every groan of the old wood sent a jolt of panic through him. When he reached the bottom step and it let out a particularly loud CRACK, he froze, wide-eyed, half-expecting his mom to burst into the room. He imagined her standing there, hands on hips, saying something along the lines of: "Kellan Veyra, where do you think you're going? And why do you have my applesauce?"

After a painfully long pause, no such figure appeared. Kellan let out a sigh of relief, which, unfortunately, sounded more like a tiny whistle of air thanks to his small lungs. "Stupid door, stupid stairs, stupid everything," he muttered under his breath, shuffling toward the front door.

Then came the next boss battle: the front door. He pulled it open as slowly as he could, wincing with every agonizing creak of the hinges. The sound was so loud in the quiet night, he half-expected it to wake the neighbors. "What's next, a burglar alarm?" he grumbled. When he finally squeezed through the barely opened door and shut it behind him, he felt a rush of triumph, as though he'd just defeated a dragon.

Stepping into the crisp night air, Kellan took a moment to orient himself. The cool breeze rustled his jet-black hair, and his dark, fathomless eyes reflected the pale light of the moon. The grassy fields stretched out before him, endless and bathed in silver, and for the first time that night, he felt a small pang of doubt.

"Maybe I should've waited until I was, I don't know, eight?" he muttered, adjusting the backpack that seemed determined to pull him to the ground. "At least then I'd have, like, actual arm muscles." He gave his tiny bicep an experimental flex. It didn't flex back.

Still, he had a plan. Sort of. "First stop, Ruins of Keplar," he whispered to himself, squaring his shoulders and gripping Rusty like the crowbar was a legendary blade. "Then, maybe I'll find the Blade of Eternity and become… well, less squishy." He paused, then added under his breath, "And maybe I'll figure out how not to lose a fight against a chair."

He started walking, his tiny legs carrying him across the moonlit fields. With every step, his backpack swayed, threatening to throw him off balance. He let out an exaggerated sigh. "If this bag gets any heavier, I'm gonna have to invent a cart just to carry it."

As he trudged along, he mentally rehearsed what he'd say if his mom caught him—or worse, if someone in the town spotted him. "Oh, hi! I'm just… uh… going on a walk! With all my worldly possessions! At night! Totally normal!" He shook his head. Maybe he should've come up with a better cover story. Too late now.

Kellan stopped at the edge of a small hill and looked back at the house, its warm glow faint in the distance. He felt a pang of guilt knowing his mom would wake up to an empty bed and a vague note. "I'll make it up to you, Mom," he promised softly. "Just as soon as I figure out how to save this messed-up world."

And with that, he tightened his grip on Rusty, adjusted his oversized backpack, and began his journey in earnest. The Ruins of Keplar awaited—and if they weren't ready for him, well, they were about to meet the most determined toddler in history.