The first light of dawn crept slowly over the hills, but the village carried no warmth from it. Smoke curled lazily from dying fires, mixing with the sour scent of fear that clung to every alley and rooftop. Doors creaked open hesitantly, and weary faces emerged, eyes rimmed red from a night of terror.
Jabari stood in the center of the square, muscles stiff, mind raw. He hadn't slept since the stone's whisper had dragged him into that nightmare. His body begged for rest, but the sight of his neighbors stumbling into daylight forced him upright. Their gazes flicked toward him, some sharp with accusation, others hollow with dread.
Musa had warned him this would happen. They will sense the tie between you and the stone. But knowing it and standing in the middle of it were different things.
An elderly woman shuffled forward, clutching her shawl tight. Her eyes glistened with a mix of grief and anger. "It was you," she rasped, voice trembling. "You brought the shadow into our dreams."
Murmurs swelled through the crowd. "He's cursed." "The boy carries it." "We'll all die if he stays."
Jabari's chest tightened. He wanted to protest, to shout that he hadn't chosen this, that the stone had invaded his life like a thief in the night. But when he opened his mouth, only a whisper came out: "I tried to stop it."
A man with broad shoulders and soot-streaked hands stepped forward. Kioni, the blacksmith. His voice cut through the murmurs like a hammer striking iron. "Then prove it. Show us how. Or we will cast you out before it consumes us all."
The air thickened. Jabari's throat closed. Images of the dream—faces melting into shadow, the figure's blazing eyes—flashed behind his eyelids. Cast out? Alone? He would never survive. The stone would swallow him whole without anyone to ground him.
Musa limped to his side, staff digging into the earth. "You fools!" the elder barked. "You saw the shadow but not the light. He resisted when none before him could. Without him, you would have been corpses in your beds."
The villagers shifted uneasily. A few muttered agreement, but suspicion lingered like smoke.
Jabari lowered his gaze. He didn't feel like a savior. He felt like a boy trapped in a nightmare too big to wake from.
The stone pulsed in his pocket, faint but insistent. Its rhythm matched his heartbeat, almost comforting if not for the memory of its voice. He clenched his fist against it, as if he could silence it through sheer will.
Then he heard it again—not out loud, but clear in his mind: They will never accept you. You are mine. Only I will remain when they turn their backs.
He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. No. Not mine. Not yours.
But the whispers carried a poison that made doubt swell in him. What if they are right? What if the village cannot survive with me here?
A small hand tugged his sleeve. He opened his eyes to see little Nyasha, the baker's daughter, staring up at him. Her eyes, unlike the others, held no fear. Only quiet trust. "You prayed," she whispered. "I heard it. It made the bad dream weaker."
Her words struck deeper than the villagers' accusations. For a moment, the heavy fog in Jabari's chest lifted. He dropped to one knee, managing a weak smile. "You're brave, Nyasha."
Musa leaned close, murmuring so only Jabari could hear. "Faith always leaves a mark, even if faint. Remember that."
The crowd began to disperse reluctantly, though their eyes still darted toward Jabari with unease. Kioni lingered longest, arms crossed, expression hard. "Prove yourself, boy," he said flatly. "Or the village will decide for you."
When they were gone, the square felt colder than before. Jabari let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. His hands trembled. "They hate me."
Musa shook his head. "No. They fear what they do not understand. Fear twists people more cruelly than hatred ever could."
Jabari glanced toward the horizon, where the mist from last night still clung stubbornly to the treeline. His heart sank. He knew this wasn't over. The stone's hunger hadn't been quenched—it had only grown bolder.
For the briefest second, he thought he saw red eyes gleaming within that mist, watching, waiting.
And the whisper returned, soft as breath against his ear: Soon, Jabari. Soon, they will beg for me through you.
He staggered back, pulse hammering. Musa caught his arm, steadying him. "What did it say?"
Jabari swallowed hard, staring into the mist. "It said… it's not finished."
And in his heart, he knew the stone was right.
The day moved sluggishly, as though the sun itself were reluctant to shine on the village. Jabari followed Musa through winding paths toward the river, every step shadowed by watchful eyes from doorways and fences. The whispers of the villagers trailed behind him like gnats—unrelenting, stinging.
"He carries it."
"He brought the nightmares."
"Why should we suffer for his curse?"
He tried to keep his gaze forward, but the weight of their words bent his shoulders. Each murmur scraped against the doubts already clawing in his mind.
Musa tapped his staff against the ground sharply. "Ignore them," he muttered. "The stone feeds on division. If you let their fear seep into you, it wins."
Jabari clenched his fists. "But what if they're right? What if I am the curse?"
Musa stopped and turned, his eyes burning brighter than the morning sun. "You resisted last night when others would have yielded. You spoke words of light when the shadows pressed closest. That is not a curse, Jabari. That is hope—though small and trembling."
Jabari wanted to believe him. Yet the stone in his pocket pulsed harder, mocking Musa's words. Hope is nothing. You know their eyes. They will never see you as anything but poison.
They reached the riverbank. A crowd had already gathered, villagers standing in a wide circle. Kioni stood at the front, arms crossed, jaw tight. In the shallows of the river, a young goat bleated weakly, tangled in reeds and sinking mud. Its owner, a frail boy of maybe ten, wept quietly beside his mother.
Kioni gestured toward the struggling animal. "If the boy is not cursed, let him prove it. Let him pull the goat from the mire without the shadow swallowing it. If he fails, we will know the truth."
A ripple of murmurs swept through the crowd. Some nodded in agreement, others watched with unease. Jabari's stomach dropped. Was this a test… or a trap?
Musa whispered near his ear. "Be careful. The stone will try to twist this moment. Remember—faith, not fear."
Jabari swallowed hard and stepped into the shallows. Mud sucked at his feet, cold water lapping against his calves. The goat bleated louder, eyes rolling with panic. He reached for it, whispering softly, "Easy, little one. I'll help you."
The stone pulsed violently, and the water darkened around his legs. Shadows writhed beneath the surface, curling like snakes. A voice slithered into his mind: Let it sink. One life is nothing. Save yourself. Walk away.
Jabari's hands trembled. If he touched the goat, would the shadow claim them both? He looked back to the villagers. Their faces were tense, some expectant, others eager to see him fail. Kioni's gaze was hardest of all, sharp as an anvil's edge.
"No," Jabari muttered, more to himself than to the stone. "Not this time."
He took another step forward, mud gripping tighter. He reached the goat, hands grasping its slick fur. The stone pulsed furiously, and a wave of black mist surged from the reeds, curling around his arms. The goat shrieked, thrashing.
Jabari clenched his jaw. Words rose to his lips without thought, trembling but certain: "The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?"
The mist recoiled with a hiss. The stone pulsed again, but weaker, as though struck by the prayer. With a cry, Jabari heaved upward. Mud sucked, water churned, but slowly the goat slid free. It stumbled onto firmer ground, bleating in relief.
The boy rushed forward, tears streaming as he hugged his animal. His mother wept openly, murmuring blessings.
The crowd gasped. Some faces softened. Others still glared, unwilling to yield their suspicion.
Jabari collapsed to his knees in the shallows, chest heaving. The stone burned in his pocket, searing hot as if enraged. His vision blurred, the world spinning.
Then he saw it—just beyond the river's edge. The red-eyed figure, half-formed in the mist. It watched him, its gaze searing. Its voice scraped across his mind like claws on stone: You defied me once more. But every prayer feeds me, Jabari. Every spark you throw into the dark makes the shadow hungrier. Soon, your words will not shield you. Soon, you will beg me instead.
Jabari's lips trembled, but no sound came out. His strength was gone.
Musa waded into the water, helping him to his feet. The elder's voice boomed to the villagers. "You see! The boy is no curse. He resists the shadow even as it gnaws at him. You would cast him out when he may be the only shield you have?"
Silence rippled across the crowd. Then slowly, reluctantly, a few heads nodded. Some eyes softened. But Kioni only narrowed his gaze, turning away without a word.
Jabari staggered back onto the bank, water dripping from his clothes. His body ached, but his heart burned with a truth he could no longer deny: the battle was far from over, and each victory only made the stone stronger. That night, the village was quieter, but it was not peace. Whispers traveled from house to house, voices debating in low tones. Some spoke of Jabari as a protector; others still called him cursed. The goat's rescue had not ended their fear—it had only divided it.
Jabari sat with Musa near a fire, exhaustion etched into his face. "Every time I resist, it feels stronger," he admitted. "The stone doesn't weaken. It fights harder. What if one day my strength fails?"
Musa poked the fire with his staff, sparks rising into the dark. "It is not your strength alone. Do not forget that."
Before Jabari could answer, a shout rang out. They rushed toward the sound and found villagers clustered around the healer's hut. Inside, a man thrashed on his bed, skin pale, breath ragged. His wife sobbed at his side.
"The shadow has him," someone whispered. "It spreads."
All eyes turned to Jabari. Fear, hope, and suspicion tangled in their gaze.
His legs shook as he stepped into the hut. The stone pulsed violently, feeding on the man's agony. Shadows coiled along the walls, crawling toward the ceiling. Jabari's throat tightened. What if I fail? What if he dies because of me?
The whisper slid into his mind: Step back. Let him go. His life is nothing. Save yourself.
Jabari fell to his knees beside the man. His hands trembled, but he forced words through choked breath: "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…"
Light flickered faintly across the man's chest. The shadows hissed, writhing as if burned. Jabari pressed harder, voice steadying with each word. "For You are with me. Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me."
The shadows shrieked—and then dissolved. The man gasped, air rushing back into his lungs. His wife cried out in joy, clutching him tightly.
Jabari slumped, drained but alive. The villagers stared in stunned silence. Some fell to their knees, whispering prayers of their own. Others backed away, unsettled by what they had seen.
Musa laid a hand on Jabari's shoulder. "You see? It is not strength, but faith. That is your weapon."
But outside the hut, at the edge of the mist, the red-eyed figure lingered. Its gaze burned, and its voice curled into Jabari's skull: Every prayer binds you to me as much as it frees them. The more you fight, the closer you draw me. Soon, Jabari… soon you will not know whether the words you speak are yours, or mine.
A chill swept through him. Even in victory, he felt the stone's grip tightening. And for the first time, he wondered if the figure's warning might hold a twisted truth.
The stone had not been silenced. It had only begun to sing.