Ever since I was old enough to remember, my main goal in life was to be normal. Who knew that would be the biggest backfire of the century.

My mother always talked about how I would be this amazing leader. That someday I would be brave and daring, saving lives and being front and center in the spotlight, with the world singing my praises. She wouldnt talk about him much, but my dad was the same way. He was the kindest soul I had ever met, and I’m not being baised. Everyone talks about how incredible he was, and how he saved the world with only two other people, one of them being my mother.

The amount of pressure to live up to his greatness scared me. So to my mothers dismay, I stayed in the background, hoping that nobody would notice what my mother saw in me. What everyone saw in me.

My dad died four years ago, a hunting accident, or thats what people told me.

Before he left, he gave me my final birthday present. It had been my thirteenth birthday, and he had woken me up with the biggest smile on his face. He was always so enthusiastic about birthdays. He never had a proper one growing up, so he had always tried to make mine special. Every year I had gotten a cool book from one of his travels or maybe even a welded sword from his glory days. The only thing that was consistant was the letters he had written to me. They always started the same, “To my brave Kiandra, stay strong.” I had always been confused at why he had written that, but now looking back, maybe he had meant it as a comfort?