The days in Duskvale crawled by slowly, yet for Kael time seemed warped, stretched by fear and whispers. Ever since the market incident, the square echoed not with laughter or trade but with a silence that clung to him like a shroud. Mothers hushed their children when he passed, doors shut like jaws, and the eyes of his neighbors followed him with something sharper than contempt—raw fear.
Kael could feel it with every step through the village's narrow alleys. The world had shifted. Once, he had been the cursed boy, mocked, tolerated only because of his grandfather. But now, after the shadows had stirred before so many witnesses, he was no longer just a misfortune. He was a threat.
At the well one evening, Kael knelt to lower the bucket. His reflection rippled faintly on the surface before he dared to look away. Behind him, voices carried, quiet yet clear to his sharpened ears.
Two elders stood together: Torven, a man whose word weighed heavily in council, and Aras, older still, bent but sharp-eyed.
"That boy will bring ruin," Torven muttered. "Everyone saw what happened to Roran."
"Perhaps it was only fright," Aras replied, though uneasily. "But I saw it, Torven. In his eyes. That boy no longer belongs to us. There's a darkness behind him."
Torven struck his staff against the ground, his voice filled with iron. "We must cast him out. Before he grows. Before he becomes stronger."
Kael froze. His fingers trembled on the rope of the bucket. They had never truly accepted him, but to hear the words spoken aloud, cold and certain, carved something deep into his chest.
And then came the whisper.
"Scare them. Let me show them. One scream, and they'll never dare again."
Kael closed his eyes, biting his lip. He shook his head furiously. But the voice lingered, soft as breath against his ear.
---
Nights were no longer simply haunted; they had become conversations. When Kael drifted into the void, the Karabasan was there, waiting. No longer just pressing, no longer just terrifying, but speaking, tempting, bargaining.
One night the chains coiled between them, shimmering faintly in the black. The faceless figure tilted its head as if amused.
"Why do you resist?" it asked, its voice a thousand echoes at once. "Your power is bound to me. Their hatred has been your burden all your life. I can turn that burden into strength. I can give you what you deserve."
Kael's fists clenched. "I don't want revenge." His words were weak, and even he could hear the tremor in them.
The Jinn laughed. A sound like stone cracking, like coffins opening.
"Lies. You tasted it already, didn't you? Their fear. It fed you, it thrilled you. You want more."
Kael woke with a start, the first rays of dawn sliding through the cracks of the hut. His eyes burned with sleeplessness. His chest heaved, yet deep inside the black seal pulsed faintly, alive.
---
In the village, Roran had become the loudest voice. He told his story again and again, each retelling more twisted, more dramatic.
"He bound me with shadows!" Roran would cry, his hands shaking in exaggerated terror. "I saw death in his eyes! He's no boy—he's a demon!"
At the butcher's stall, his father repeated the tale to every customer. "The cursed one made a pact with darkness. If we don't act, he'll bring ruin to us all."
Fear spread like rot. Some spoke of driving Kael and his grandfather out. Others muttered that perhaps worse would happen if they dared confront him. The village split, whisper by whisper, into those who wanted him gone and those who chose silence.
Kael felt it whenever he tried to buy food. Merchants no longer haggled; they simply shoved goods into his hands and told him to leave. No prices. No words. Only fear. He would walk away with bread or dried fruit clutched in his hand, shame and anger knotting together inside his chest.
---
His grandfather saw it too. One night, by the fire, the old man's eyes fixed on Kael, shadowed and grim.
"There is a storm inside you," he said. "The Jinn whispers, and you listen."
Kael looked down at his hands. His knuckles were white. "Then show me another path. Show me how to stop it. I don't want this…"
The old man's silence was long, his face lined with sorrow. At last he spoke. "Our bloodline was born of Sealers, Kael. Each generation tried to bind what should not be bound. Every Sealer thought he could control it. Every one of them was wrong. The more you use its power, the deeper its roots dig into you. Already your eyes carry shadows. One day, if you let it grow, no one will see you. They will see only it."
Kael shivered. He wanted to deny it, but in the quiet of his mind, another voice rose to drown his grandfather's.
"They will never accept you. But with me… with me, they will bow."
---
Kael began spending more time outside the village, wandering near the edge of the forest. At first it was to escape the stares, the whispers. But soon he realized something else. The shadows behaved differently there. Under the trees, when the light fell through the branches, his shadow seemed to stretch unnaturally. When he moved his hands, sometimes the dark outline lingered half a heartbeat too long.
One evening he knelt in the clearing, breathing slow, closing his eyes. He reached inward, toward the pulsing seal. He felt the cold weight of the Karabasan, and he tried to call it forth.
The ground around him stirred. His shadow rippled. Thin strands of blackness rose like threads of smoke before collapsing. Kael gasped. Pain tore through his head, his nose bled freely, but he had done it. For a heartbeat, he had called the darkness with intention.
That night in the void, the Jinn laughed softly.
"Do you see? My strength is yours to summon. Call me, and I will come. But every call has its price."
Kael wiped the blood from his lips, whispering into the dark. "I'll pay it."
---
Back in the village, the elders debated in hushed gatherings. Torven pressed harder. "He must go. Already the boy plays with shadows. Do you not see? Every day we wait, his power grows."
Aras was quieter, troubled. "Perhaps the boy is cursed. But if we drive him out, what then? What if the curse follows us? What if it grows in anger?"
The butcher slammed his fist on the table. "He humiliated my son. Fear is not enough. We must strike first."
But fear outweighed anger. Few dared to move openly against Kael. Instead, they whispered, plotted, and watched from behind their shutters.
---
Kael, meanwhile, pushed himself further. Night after night he returned to the forest edge, trying again, failing again, until the shadows began to obey in small, fleeting ways. Chains would flicker, only to vanish. The effort left him weak, sick, trembling. Sometimes he lay on the forest floor until dawn, too exhausted to move.
Yet he kept trying. For the first time in his life, he had purpose. The villagers' fear was no longer just torment. It was proof that he mattered. Proof that he was not invisible.
In solitude, Kael began to grow.
And deep inside, bound yet ever-present, the Karabasan laughed with him.