The morning sun crept across the mountains, casting pale light over the roofs of Duskvale, but to Kael it felt as though night had never truly ended. He woke drenched in sweat, his heart still pounding from the weight of the nightmare. The cold breath of the Karabasan seemed lodged in his chest, refusing to leave. When he pushed himself upright, his muscles ached and his bones felt hollow, as though something had gnawed at them all night long. Yet even in his exhaustion there was a strange clarity, a sharpness of thought that unsettled him. His eyes noticed every crack in the beams above, every whisper of wind against the hut, every faint bleat of the goats outside.
He dressed slowly, each movement dragging at his sore body. The memory of the void haunted him—the whispers, the faceless figure, the chains that had sprung from his core. His hands trembled as he tied his belt, and for a moment he stared at his fingers as though they no longer belonged to him. He remembered the old man's words: "You will never sleep in peace again." Perhaps they were true. Perhaps this was the beginning of something he could never undo.
Outside, the village was alive with its usual rhythm. Women hurried with baskets of herbs and grain, men prepared their tools for the fields, and children chased each other barefoot through the mud. To anyone else, it might have seemed ordinary, comforting even, but Kael felt the difference in the air the moment he stepped out. Whispers pricked at him, gazes lingered too long, and shutters closed as he walked past. The villagers had always looked at him with suspicion—he was the grandson of a disgraced Sealer, marked by cursed blood. But now there was something else in their eyes, something sharper than contempt.
Fear.
Two women carrying water jars crossed his path. They lowered their eyes quickly, turning their faces away, but Kael caught the hiss of their voices as he passed.
"Stay away from him," one whispered.
"He carries the curse," the other muttered back.
Kael's jaw tightened. He clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms. It wasn't new. They had called him cursed his entire life. But now… now they weren't just speaking out of malice. Now their fear had substance.
Children were braver in their cruelty. As he walked across the square, a group of boys followed him at a distance. Their voices rang out, shrill and mocking.
"Monster eyes!" one shouted.
"Careful! He'll curse you like his grandfather did!" another cried, and their laughter filled the air.
A stone struck his shoulder. Another skittered across the ground near his feet. The boys giggled, emboldened by each other. Kael froze, his fists trembling, rage simmering hot beneath his skin. He wanted to turn on them, to shout, to strike, but his voice caught in his throat.
And then, like silk sliding across his mind, the whisper returned.
"Let me out."
"I will silence them."
"They mock you now, but they will kneel in fear."
Kael's stomach twisted. His pulse quickened. The voice was not loud, not commanding—it was soft, tempting, sweet. He forced himself to shake his head, to walk away, but the echo clung to him, following him through the square and into the narrow alleys.
By midday he went to the well to fetch water, a task he had performed countless times before. The rope creaked, the bucket sank, and the pulley groaned in its familiar rhythm. Yet he could feel eyes on him, could hear the murmurs carried on the wind from behind closed shutters. He focused on the bucket, on the steady motion of pulling it back up, telling himself that this, at least, was ordinary.
But when the bucket reached the surface, Kael looked into the water.
His reflection stared back. Pale skin, tired eyes, a boy worn thin. But something else stirred in the depths. A shadow flickered beneath his reflection, twisting, grinning. Faceless, it leered at him from within the water.
Kael stumbled back, nearly dropping the bucket. Cold splashed against his legs, jolting him. The reflection rippled and vanished, but his heart thundered in his chest. For a heartbeat, he had felt the Karabasan watching him even here, in the daylight. It was no longer confined to the void of dreams. It followed him. It lingered within his gaze, waiting.
When he returned to the hut, his grandfather was waiting by the doorway. The old man leaned heavily on his staff, his eyes sharp, unreadable.
"You look pale," he said. "The night has marked you."
Kael said nothing. He kept his eyes down, ashamed, frightened, but also unwilling to admit what he had seen in the well.
The old man continued, his voice heavy with warning.
"The Jinn is bound to you now, Kael. But do not mistake that bond for friendship. It is no ally. It is a parasite, feeding on what you fear. Each time you use it, each time you listen, it will take something from you. Your rest. Your spirit. Perhaps more."
Kael's hands shook. His lips parted, and finally he whispered:
"They already hate me. They already call me cursed. Even before this… I was nothing. With it… at least they see me. At least they don't ignore me."
The old man's face darkened, sorrow and anger burning in his eyes.
"Do not be deceived. Power always demands a price. If you embrace it, if you let its hunger grow, it will consume you. You will cease to be Kael. You will be nothing but the Jinn's vessel."
Kael's chest tightened. He wanted to argue, wanted to shout, but the words died in his throat. His grandfather's warning weighed on him, but so too did the memory of the children's laughter, of the villagers' whispers, of the shadow that smiled in the well.
That night, as he lay down once more, the whisper returned before his eyes had even closed.
"They despise you."
"You will never belong."
"But you don't need them… you need only me."
Kael buried his face in the blanket, gripping it until his knuckles turned white. His grandfather's words echoed in his head: Power is poison. Power demands a price.
But the whisper was softer, sweeter, more convincing.
And as the night swallowed the village, Kael's heart whispered back a thought he dared not speak aloud.
Perhaps the price… was worth paying.