They called him Kael of No-Name, not because he lacked one, but because his name had been struck from the House of Ibrim.
In the sandstone city of Yahran, ruled by power-hungry nobles and warlords, Kael had been the fourth son of a minor concubine. His father, High Lord Veshar, valued sons only by the strength of their armies or the size of their tributes. Kael had neither.
At seventeen, after his mother was poisoned by a rival wife and his older brother "accidentally" shoved him from a rooftop, Kael decided the desert was kinder than family.
With only a stolen camel, three dates, a bottle of his stepmother's perfume (which he kept purely for spite), and a dagger he didn't quite know how to use, Kael vanished into the sunrise.
Three days later, delirious from heat and thirst, Kael stumbled upon a traveling circus. There, half-conscious, he punched their lion tamer in the face, called a juggler a flaming chicken, and promptly collapsed.
He awoke to laughter. Real laughter—not the scornful kind he'd known. And thus, he found his first companions:
Tavo, a drunk performer who claimed to be a prince in exile (he wasn't, but he was royalty at lying).
Ilya, a nimble-fingered thief who could pick your pocket while flirting with your mother.
Rashad, a cook with a warrior's arms and a fear of squirrels.
Together, they became both legend and nuisance across a dozen towns.