Elham had been wandering near the back of the temple, trying to find a quiet place to think. The sun slanted low, casting long shadows across the courtyard, and he felt the familiar tightness in his chest—the unease that always came when he noticed something that didn't fit.
A soft thud caught his attention. It came from the side hall of the temple, where an old wooden door leaned slightly ajar. Elham froze. The sound was almost imperceptible—a shuffle, a whisper of cloth against stone—but enough to draw him closer.
"John?" he called softly, stepping toward the door.
No answer. Just the faintest echo of movement. He pressed his eye to the crack and froze.
Inside, the room was dim, lit only by the pale morning light filtering through a narrow window. Jahova was there, standing rigidly in the center. At first glance, he seemed normal. But something about him… wasn't. His movements were stiff, his head tilted unnaturally, and the familiar warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by a hollow shadow.
And then Elham saw John.
He wasn't supposed to be here. Not in this room. Not doing… that.
John's hands hovered over Jahova's shoulders. His lips moved, murmuring words Elham didn't understand. The air seemed to thicken, pressing against Elham's chest. A faint, unnatural shimmer radiated from John's palms, and for a split second, the light cast Jahova's shadow across the walls—it moved independently, twisting, writhing like smoke.
Elham's breath caught. The shadow wasn't following Jahova. It was resisting him, clawing to escape. His eyes widened in horror.
"John… what—what is he doing?" Elham whispered, barely moving.
John's voice was calm, almost soothing, though tense. "Stay hidden. Watch carefully. Do not intervene."
Elham's pulse raced. He pressed himself closer to the door, desperate not to be seen, every muscle tense.
The shadow shivered violently. Jahova's body jerked, his face twisting in a grimace that wasn't his own. He tried to speak, but only a strangled sound came out. The room smelled faintly of iron and smoke, and Elham's stomach churned.
John leaned closer, chanting softly now. His hands glowed brighter, and the shadow shrieked—a sound that seemed too terrible to come from any human throat. Jahova's knees buckled, but John held him steady, every movement precise, almost surgical.
Elham couldn't look away. The fear, the awe, the impossibility of it all rooted him to the spot.
The struggle lasted moments that felt like hours. Then, finally, the shadow recoiled, twisting violently before John pressed it into a small crystal vial. A soft click, and it was gone. Jahova sagged into John's arms, trembling, human again.
Elham's hands flew to his mouth. "…He… he's alive?"
John glanced toward the door. His eyes met Elham's through the crack. For a heartbeat, they held something unspoken—a warning, a challenge, an acknowledgment that he had been seen.
"Yes," John said quietly. "But what you just saw… do not speak of it. Some things are not ready for understanding."
Elham nodded, though his heart pounded so hard he thought John must have heard it. Jahova, unaware, leaned weakly against the wall, blinking as if waking from a nightmare.
As Elham backed away from the door, his mind raced. Fear, wonder, and a strange thrill mingled in his chest. The world he thought he knew was smaller than he had imagined. Shadows moved in ways he couldn't yet explain, and even John—John, the calm, steady guide—was capable of things that defied reason.
He stepped into the courtyard, and the door creaked softly as it settled back into place. Behind it, the room was quiet. Jahova sat silently, unaware of what had just been pulled from him, and John… John simply leaned against the wall, catching his breath, as if nothing had happened.
Elham pressed his hand to his chest, trying to steady the hammering of his heart. He had seen something he wasn't supposed to see. Something dangerous. Something powerful.
And he knew—without a shadow of doubt—that nothing in his life would ever feel safe again.