Chapter 1: The Box at Dawn
The morning began with a silence that felt wrong.
It wasn't the quiet one expects before dawn, when the world holds its breath between night and light. No, this was heavier — oppressive. He could feel it pressing down on his chest as he sat up, the blanket tangled around him, sweat damp at the back of his neck. Even the usual sounds of the village were absent. No birds, no dogs barking, no the distant laughter of children racing along the dirt paths. Nothing.
Jabari swung his legs off the bed and planted his feet on the floor. The wooden planks creaked under his weight, but that was the only sound. His pulse throbbed in his ears. Something was waiting. Something was watching.
He stepped toward the door, each movement cautious, as though he might disturb whatever had taken residence in the stillness. That's when he saw it.
A wooden box sat on his doorstep.
It hadn't been there yesterday. He was certain of it. He would have noticed. The idea of someone placing it there overnight seemed improbable. No footprints in the dusty path leading to his gate, no marks on the worn stones, not even a stray leaf disturbed. It was as if the box had simply appeared.
He crouched down and studied it. Roughly hewn, the wood was scarred with jagged scratches, deep lines that clawed across the surface. Not decorative, not accidental. It felt… desperate. Almost alive.
There was no note. No explanation. Just the box, waiting.
He considered leaving it, ignoring it. But curiosity is a persistent thing. With trembling fingers, he lifted the lid.
Inside lay a stone, wrapped in a plain cloth. Oval, smooth, no bigger than his palm. Ordinary.
Except it glowed.
A faint light pulsed through the stone's surface, subtle at first, like the slow blink of a lighthouse in fog. Jabari leaned closer. The warmth it radiated brushed against his fingers as he touched it, and the glow grew stronger, almost aware of his presence. He jerked his hand back, heart hammering.
He dropped it, the glow dimming to a soft, steady thrum. He swallowed hard. Something about it felt wrong, yet compelling, drawing him in with a gravity he couldn't explain.
He shoved the box into the corner of the room, covering it with a blanket. "Just a rock," he muttered to himself. "Some prank. Some idiot trying to scare me."
But no one in the village had the cunning or reason to do something like this.
---
The hours crawled by. Jabari tried to distract himself with mundane chores — chopping wood, repairing a broken chair, sweeping the floor. But his eyes kept straying to the corner where the box lay hidden. Every glance made the air feel heavier. Every shadow seemed to stretch closer.
By evening, he convinced himself to ignore it. Tomorrow, he would take it far from the village, throw it in the river, and forget it ever existed.
---
Night brought no relief. Sleep arrived reluctantly, heavy and fitful, his mind restless. The air in the room thickened, clinging to his skin like mist. Then came the whispers.
At first, faint and indistinct. Soft murmurs, weaving through his thoughts like threads of wind. But the wind was still. The murmurs were not from the outside world.
Fragments of words, syllables in languages he did not know, echoed in his mind. "…forgive me… lost it… she's gone… don't look at me…"
The shadows in his dream were faceless, drifting along a misty plain. Their whispers carried grief and regret. He felt their emotions as if they were his own — sorrow that squeezed at his chest, guilt that clung to his bones.
He tried to run. Tried to look away. But the mist closed in, guiding him along a narrow path that stretched endlessly.
And then one shadow stopped.
It turned toward him. Slowly. Its face was featureless, yet he felt the weight of its gaze.
"Jabari."
The name sliced through the murmurs like a blade.
He froze. His throat tightened. "Who… who are you?" he whispered.
The shadow moved closer, and its voice became a rasping whisper that carried desperation.
"I've been waiting for you."
The mist thickened, choking him. Panic rose in his chest, and he stumbled backward —
He awoke with a gasp, body drenched in sweat. His room was dark, the moonlight weak through the cracked window. His heart pounded. Relief washed over him. It was only a dream.
Then he saw it.
The stone.
Glowing softly on his nightstand.
He had left it under the blanket in the corner. He had locked it away. He was certain.
A chill ran down his spine. His limbs refused to obey. The glow throbbed, steady and alive, like the pulse of a heartbeat.
And then, faint, almost imperceptible, he heard a phrase brush through his mind:
"Do not be afraid."
It was quiet, calm, unlike the shadows' whispers. He blinked, confused. Did it come from the stone? Or from somewhere else — somewhere beyond the room?
He swallowed. The words lingered only a heartbeat before vanishing, but they left a strange warmth in their place.
He wanted to reach out, to touch the stone again, but a fear rooted him to the bed. He couldn't explain why. Every instinct screamed to flee, yet part of him was drawn toward it, mesmerized.
Hours passed. He stared at the pulsating stone, heart hammering, senses taut. Outside, the silence persisted, unbroken and unnatural. He could hear his own breathing, shallow and ragged.
The stone seemed to call him, quietly, insistently. A gravity pulling at his soul, drawing him toward something he could not yet name.
And then, as if sensing his hesitation, the glow brightened. A pulse, strong and deliberate, like a heartbeat. A rhythm that matched his own.
Jabari's fingers twitched, yearning to reach out. Something deep within whispered a warning, a memory of a fleeting phrase from childhood, a verse from his mother's Bible tucked away on the shelf: "The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?" (Psalm 27:1)
He shivered, unaware that the memory had surfaced. The words brought no comfort yet, only confusion. Fear and curiosity warred in his chest.
The glow dimmed once, twice, then surged, bathing the room in silver light. Shadows in the corners seemed to retreat, only to stretch longer moments later, creeping toward him.
His chest tightened. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run. And yet… he couldn't look away.
Whatever this stone was, it was not ordinary. He could feel that with certainty now. And it was far from done with him.
The room grew colder, the glow of the stone pulsing faster. A whisper, faint but unmistakable, brushed against the edge of his mind:
"Do not be afraid."
And for the first time, amidst the fear and uncertainty, Jabari realized he was not entirely alone.
He did not understand it, but the words echoed, faintly comforting — a thread of something greater, something beyond him, that had touched his soul in a moment he could hardly believe.
The heartbeat of the stone quickened, and as he stared, frozen and trembling, Jabari knew one thing with a certainty that terrified him:
This was only the beginning.