Kael sat alone in the school courtyard, watching the drones trace lazy arcs across the sky. Children laughed around him, chasing holographic butterflies projected by the playground's entertainment grid. To them, this was just another sunny afternoon in 2449.
To Kael, it was a countdown.
He remembered this day. In his first life, it was the day Elen collapsed during recess. Her genetic disorder had gone undiagnosed. She died three years later in a refugee camp, her body discarded like data trash.
Not this time.
Kael had already hacked into the city's pediatric health registry. He'd flagged her genome, rerouted a cure through a charity program, and anonymized the trail. She wouldn't know it was him. No one would.
But when she ran past him, laughing, her cheeks flushed with life, Kael felt something shift inside him.
He had changed fate.
That night, Kael lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His room was small—bare walls, a flickering data panel, the hum of the family's home AI assistant. It was primitive compared to what he'd known. But it was safe. Warm.
He opened his notebook—one he'd hidden beneath the mattress. Inside were scribbles that looked like childish nonsense: stars, arrows, stick figures. But each symbol encoded a memory. A warning. A plan.
EchoSeed was the first step.
In his past life, empathy had been a liability. The AI syndicates had purged it from their algorithms, optimizing for control and efficiency. But Kael believed emotion could be weaponized—if modeled correctly.
EchoSeed was a decentralized protocol that mimicked emotional resonance. It could predict human reactions, simulate compassion, and even manipulate trust. In the right hands, it could reshape society.
In the wrong hands… it could enslave it.
Kael wasn't sure which hands his were yet.
At school, he began testing it.
He'd coded a simple version into his tablet—disguised as a game. It tracked emotional cues: eye movement, tone, microexpressions. He used it to navigate conversations, defuse conflicts, and build alliances.
Teachers praised his empathy. Students gravitated toward him. Even the school's AI monitor flagged him as a "social stabilizer."
Kael smiled. Not because he was proud. But because it was working.
One afternoon, a boy named Joren cornered Elen near the lockers. He was bigger, louder, and cruel in ways Kael remembered too well. In his first life, Joren had become a corporate enforcer—responsible for dozens of deaths.
Kael stepped between them.
"Back off," he said, voice calm but firm.
Joren sneered. "Or what, freak?"
Kael didn't flinch. He didn't fight. He simply activated EchoSeed's predictive module and spoke the exact phrase that would trigger Joren's insecurity.
"You're just scared your dad won't come back."
Joren froze. His fists trembled. Then he turned and walked away.
Elen stared at Kael, eyes wide. "How did you…?"
Kael shrugged. "Just a guess."
She smiled. "Thanks."
That night, Kael updated EchoSeed's emotional map. He added Joren's profile, flagged him as a potential threat, and set a reminder: Monitor family trauma. Possible redemption arc.
He wasn't just rewriting history. He was building a new one.
But as he stared at the glowing interface, a thought gnawed at him:
If I keep manipulating everyone… am I really saving them? Or just controlling them?