Kael thought sleep would come easily.
After the ordeal with the black stone, his body felt drained, his limbs heavy, his mind scattered. He expected exhaustion to claim him the moment his eyes closed. Yet when he lay on his straw mat, staring at the cracked roof beams above, a strange anticipation hummed beneath his skin. His heart beat too loudly in his chest, echoing against the silence of the hut.
His grandfather sat by the dying oil lamp for a while, watching him, but said nothing. The old man's face was hidden in the half-shadow, unreadable, though Kael could sense the weight in his gaze. Eventually, he rose with his staff and disappeared into the adjoining room.
Kael was alone.
He drew the thin blanket over himself, curled up, and tried to breathe steadily. He told himself he was only tired, that tomorrow everything would return to normal. Yet somewhere deep within, he could feel it — the pulse of the seal carved into his Essence Core. It beat faintly, like a second heart.
And then… sleep took him. Not gently, not like drifting upon warm currents, but abruptly — violently.
---
At first there was warmth. A memory of the hut. The faint sound of the goats outside. The creak of wood. Then the world dissolved.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Kael opened his eyes to find himself standing. He looked around, but there was no hut, no bed, no ground beneath his feet. Only an endless, formless void stretching in all directions. Blackness above, below, around. Yet he did not fall. He simply… existed, suspended in nothing.
The silence was oppressive. Then came the whispers.
At first faint — a murmur at the edge of hearing. But quickly, they multiplied, dozens, then hundreds of voices overlapping. They spoke in countless tongues, some guttural, some lilting, some in languages Kael almost recognized but twisted into mockery. Yet all carried the same taste, the same meaning.
Fear.
The air grew thick, heavy, as though pressing into his chest. Kael clutched at his ribs, struggling to breathe.
And then it came.
From the depths of the void, shadows congealed. They writhed together, forming a shape. A figure tore itself from the dark like a nightmare given flesh.
It was tall — impossibly tall. Faceless, its head smooth and blank like polished bone. Its limbs were thin, crooked, stretched too long. Its arms dangled like broken branches, ending in fingers far too long, sharp like knives. Each movement scraped across nothing yet filled the air with a hideous screech, like nails dragged across stone.
Kael staggered back, but there was nowhere to retreat.
The faceless figure bent, leaning toward him. The air froze, colder than winter winds. Kael's knees buckled beneath its weight. He could not move.
"Mine," the thing whispered. Its voice was a sound Kael felt in his bones rather than heard in his ears. It echoed like the slam of a coffin lid.
"You gave me blood. Now… I will drink your dreams."
Kael's body trembled violently. He wanted to scream, to run, but he was frozen. His throat locked, his limbs refused him. Only his heart beat — fast, wild, frantic.
This is death, he thought. I've already lost.
The figure loomed closer. Its skeletal hand reached out, brushing against Kael's shoulder. Where it touched, icy cold spread into his flesh, into his bones, into his very soul.
Kael's vision darkened. The whispers grew louder, filling his mind. He was drowning.
---
Then, suddenly — a pulse.
Deep inside, his Essence Core stirred. The black seal etched into him glowed faintly. A warmth bloomed, fragile but defiant.
Chains erupted.
Dark, spectral chains shot outward from within him, wrapping around the faceless horror. The Karabasan shrieked, its cry piercing the void, shattering the chorus of whispers. It writhed violently, thrashing against the bonds, but the chains held.
Kael felt them — felt the connection, the bond of the seal anchoring the spirit to him. It was not gone, not defeated. It was bound.
Slowly, painfully, the nightmare spirit dissolved, its form unraveling into smoke. The chains dragged it back, sinking into Kael's core. The void trembled, cracks spreading through the endless black like shattered glass.
And then Kael fell. Down, down, through the breaking world, into suffocating darkness.
---
He awoke with a scream.
Sweat drenched his body. His chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, each breath a desperate struggle. His hands shook uncontrollably as he clutched at the blanket.
The door burst open. His grandfather stood there, staff in hand, eyes sharp, breath heavy. He froze at the sight of Kael — trembling, drenched, pale.
"You survived," the old man whispered after a long pause. His voice was hoarse, strained with both relief and dread.
"But from this night onward… you will never sleep in peace again."
Kael wanted to reply, but his throat was dry. He only stared at his hands. They no longer felt like a child's hands. Something had changed. Something had rooted inside him.
And deep within, he felt it.
The Karabasan.
Chained. Bound.
Yet laughing.