Darian could still hear the scream.
It hadn't left him since that night the pawn collapsing in the street, convulsing like a puppet cut from its strings. He had told himself it was coincidence, that the page had shown him some cruel illusion. But deep down, he knew.
It was real.
And it was his fault.
He had wrapped the torn page in cloth and shoved it into a chest beneath his bed, locking it tight. He hadn't touched it since. But every night, the whispers grew louder.
Why do you hide me, vessel?
You are stronger than they are.
Play, and all will kneel.
He pressed his hands against his ears, but the voice wasn't outside it was inside. In his blood.
That morning, he tried to carry on as if nothing had changed. He joined the market crowd, bought bread, even forced a smile at the baker's daughter. But when he reached for the coins in his satchel, his hand brushed the cloth wrapped page.
And the world tilted.
The crowd around him froze mid-step. Dozens of faces turned toward him in unison, blank and pale, their eyes rolling white. Their mouths opened, speaking with one voice...
"Move us."
Darian stumbled back. "No. Stop."
He clenched his fists, refusing to lift his hand. But his fingers twitched against his will and suddenly a man at the edge of the square dropped his basket and fell to his knees, clawing at his throat.
"No!" Darian lunged forward, catching the man's shoulders. "I didn't mean...please, breathe!"
The man's eyes bulged, his face purple, as if invisible chains were strangling him.
One command, the page whispered. One word, and he will obey.
Tears burned Darian's eyes. His heart hammered. "Let him go!"
The chains vanished. The man collapsed, gasping for air, alive but trembling.
And the crowd moved again as if nothing had happened. People walked past, chatting, laughing, oblivious to what had just unfolded. Only Darian had seen it. Only Darian had caused it.
His hands shook as he backed into an alley. He pressed his forehead against the cold stone wall, the weight of it crashing over him.
The page wasn't waiting anymore. It wasn't asking. It was using him.
And the worst part he had felt it. In that instant of power, of control, it had been like a fire in his veins. Terrifying... but intoxicating.
He hated it. He needed it.
Somewhere in the distance, a temple bell rang, but to Darian it sounded more like a warning. The gods were watching.
And he feared they already knew.