The morning sun crept through the shutters, throwing thin bars of light across Darrel's room. He sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, heart pounding like a drum that would not still. The night at the mill haunted him—the glow of Marcus 's eyes, the feeling of his will slipping away like water between his fingers, the way his fist had struck the beam without question.
No matter how many times he told himself it was a trick, something he could shake off, the truth whispered otherwise: he had obeyed.
The sound of distant voices drifted through the window—villagers gathering in the square. Today was the first market day after the festival. Stalls would be bursting with goods, traders from nearby villages would crowd the streets. And, inevitably, Marcus would be there.
Darrel's stomach twisted.
A knock startled him.
"Darrel! You're coming, right?" It was his sister, Lira, cheerful as always.
He forced a reply. "Yeah. I'll be down in a moment."
When her footsteps faded, Darrel stared at his reflection in the small polished metal mirror hanging by the wall. His eyes looked the same—brown, tired, a little afraid—but somewhere beneath, he saw the faint shadow of Marcus 's gaze. He clenched his fists.
He won't control me again. Not today.
The market was alive with sound and color. Baskets overflowed with fruit, cloth stalls rippled like sails, the air rich with the smells of spiced bread, smoke, and animals. Children darted between legs, chasing each other with sticks. Laughter rose above the buzz like birdsong.
Darrel's family wove into the crowd, greeting neighbors, inspecting goods. He followed silently, scanning faces. He didn't have to look for long.
Marcus stood near the well, leaning casually against the stone rim, as though he owned the place. A group of older boys surrounded him—Alexamong them—laughing at something he'd said. When Marcus noticed Darrel, his smile deepened, slow and deliberate.
Darrel froze. A cold pressure crept along the back of his neck, like invisible fingers brushing his skin. He looked away quickly, forcing himself to focus on a fruit stall.
Not here. He can't do it here.
"Darrel!" Marcus 's voice rang out, friendly and loud. "Come here, you've got to hear this!"
Every muscle in Darrel's body tensed. His family turned toward Marcus , smiling. They thought it was nothing. Just friends.
He didn't move.
"Come on!" Marcus beckoned. His eyes gleamed in the sun—blue, bright, dangerous.
Something inside Darrel jerked, as if pulled by a string. His foot shifted forward against his will.
No… no, stop.
Another step.
The crowd blurred at the edges as the pressure tightened. It was subtle, almost gentle—but irresistible. His heartbeat roared in his ears as his legs carried him toward Marcus like a puppet drawn by invisible wires.
When he reached the group, Marcus clapped him on the back. "There he is! My good friend Darrel. I was just telling Alex about your amazing performance at the festival."
Alex snorted. "Yeah, the way you swung that stick like a madman. Thought you were possessed!"
Laughter erupted. Darrel's face burned.
Marcus leaned closer, voice low enough for only Darrel to hear. "Don't fight it. Let go."
Darrel's thoughts slammed against an invisible wall. His jaw clenched. He wanted to walk away, to shout, to do anything—but his body remained frozen.
"Hey, Darrel," Marcus said suddenly, louder now. "Why don't you show us that little trick again?"
Darrel's stomach dropped.
"I don't—"
"Of course you do," Marcus interrupted smoothly. "Everyone! Step back. You've got to see this."
The boys stepped aside, eager for entertainment. Marcus 's eyes locked onto Darrel's. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to that gaze—cold, luminous, inescapable.
"Lift your arm," Marcus whispered.
Darrel's arm rose.
The laughter swelled. Someone jeered, "Look, he actually listens!"
"Spin," Marcus said.
Darrel's body twirled stiffly, awkward, like a marionette. The crowd howled with laughter.
Inside, Darrel screamed. He could feel everything—the humiliation, the fury—but the chains of Marcus 's will were wrapped too tightly. His mind was awake, but his body was not his own.
"Bow," Marcus commanded softly.
Darrel bent at the waist.
"Now," Marcus added, louder, "tell everyone how much you admire me."
Darrel's lips trembled. The words spilled out, flat and forced: "I… admire Marcus ."
The boys roared. Alexslapped Marcus on the shoulder, wheezing with laughter.
Tears burned at the corners of Darrel's eyes. He wasn't just being controlled—he was being made into a joke. A spectacle.
Marcus finally clapped his hands. "That's enough. He's shy, you know."
The pressure snapped. Darrel stumbled back, breath ragged, the sound of laughter echoing like hammers in his skull. His family stared from a distance, half-smiling, confused. They thought it was a prank.
But Darrel knew better.
He fled to the edge of the market, past the traders and noise, until he found the quiet of the woods. There, he collapsed against a tree, fists pressed to his forehead.
He did it again. In front of everyone.
He had sworn it wouldn't happen. But the moment Marcus 's gaze locked on, the chains wrapped tight, and he was helpless.
His humiliation burned hotter than ever before—not because the village laughed, but because Marcus was right. No one saw. No one cared. To them, he was still the fool, still the boy they could mock without consequence.
And Marcus controlled even that.
Leaves rustled. Darrel looked up to see Marcus approaching, calm as ever, hands in his pockets.
"You're getting stronger," Marcus said mildly. "You resisted for longer this time."
Darrel surged to his feet, rage trembling through him. "You made me—"
"I showed you," Marcus cut in smoothly. "I showed you what happens when you fight instead of trust. You embarrassed yourself, not me."
Darrel clenched his fists. "Why are you doing this to me?"
Marcus tilted his head. "Because I can. And because, deep down, you need me. They'll never stop laughing, Darrel. But with me… you could make them kneel."
Darrel's breath caught.
Marcus stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Stop fighting me. Accept it. Together, we're unstoppable. Without me, you're just the boy they laugh at."
Then, softer: "You felt the power at the river. You liked it. Don't lie."
Darrel's heart pounded. Because he had liked it. That terrified him more than anything else.
Marcus smiled knowingly. "Good. Let the chains hold you. They're not prison, Darrel. They're protection."
He turned and walked away, leaving Darrel alone with his fury, shame, and the cruel truth:
The chains of the mind were invisible, but stronger than steel.
And they were tightening.