The silence in Mani's room that night was a lie. It was a thin blanket over a roaring truth. He lay in bed, staring at the faint patterns the streetlights cast on his ceiling, but all he could see were the faces of the two bullies—the way their confidence had crumbled for no reason they could understand. He had replayed the scene a hundred times. The surge of power, the feeling of his will sliding into their minds like a key into a lock, the sickening ease of it all.
He had used the strength, too. Not much, just a firm grip on the taller boy's arm when he'd first stepped in, a grip that had made the boy's eyes widen with a flicker of pain and surprise. Two parts of the curse, used in tandem. He felt like a thief and a bully himself.
Sleep was a distant country. Every time his eyelids grew heavy, the mental static of the day would rush back—not the words, but the feel of the violated minds, the oily residue of their fear and confusion. He felt contaminated.
A low groan escaped him. He rolled over, punching his pillow in frustration. The movement was too sharp, too fueled by the restless energy humming in his veins.
CRACK.
The sound was sickeningly familiar. A long, jagged split appeared in the headboard of his bed, a dark scar in the wood. Mani stared at it, horrified. He hadn't meant to do that. He had just been… upset.
This was his life now. A constant, terrifying balancing act. His emotions were directly tied to a force that could break the world around him. Anger could splinter wood. Fear could invade thoughts. He was a bomb wrapped in skin, and he was his own fuse.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it all out. "What did you do to me?" he whispered into the darkness, a question aimed at the ghost of the old man. "Why me?"
The air in the room grew still. The usual nighttime sounds—the hum of the refrigerator downstairs, the distant swish of a car—faded into an absolute, profound silence. It was a silence that had weight, that pressed in on his eardrums.
Then, a faint, golden light began to glow in the corner of his room. Mani sat bolt upright, his heart hammering against his ribs, the power inside him flaring in alarm, ready for a fight.
The light coalesced, shimmering like heat haze, and then solidified into a familiar form.
Bali.
He looked different than he had in the alley. Translucent, like a figure seen through old glass. The lines on his face were softer, his expression one of immense, ancient sadness. He was there, but not there—a memory given shape.
Mani scrambled back against his broken headboard, his breath catching in his throat. "You're… you're not real," he stammered. "I'm dreaming."
'Is this a dream, Mani?' The voice was in his mind, the same as in the park, but fainter, like a whisper from a thousand miles away. 'Does it feel like a dream?'
It didn't. It felt more real than the bed beneath him. The presence filled the room, a calm, heavy truth.
"You… you died," Mani whispered, his eyes wide.
'My body is gone. My time was finished. But a piece of my consciousness remains, tied to the power I gave you. I felt you use it today. Not just the strength. The other part. The true gift.'
Mani looked away, shame burning his cheeks. "I didn't mean to. They were hurting that kid… I just… I made them go away."
'I know why you did it.' Bali's spectral form drifted closer, not walking, but simply moving. 'The heart I chose was a good one. You acted to protect. But you have felt the cost, haven't you? The stain it leaves on your own spirit.'
Tears welled in Mani's eyes, hot and sudden. He was so tired of being brave, of being confused. "It feels wrong," he choked out. "It feels like I'm cheating. Like I'm a monster. I broke my headboard. I could break a person. I don't want this! Take it back!"
'I cannot,' Bali's thought was firm, final. 'The gift is given. It is a part of you now, like your own blood. To tear it out would be to destroy you.' He paused, his luminous eyes seeming to see straight through Mani, into the frantic, frightened core of him. 'This power is not a toy. It is not for winning fights or making your life easier. What you did today was a small thing, a whisper. But even a whisper can change a life. You must understand the weight of it.'
"What weight?" Mani asked, his voice small.
'To control a mind, even for a moment, is to steal a piece of that person's freedom. It is the greatest violation there is. You have felt this already. This sickness in your soul? That is your goodness recognizing the trespass.'
Mani hugged his knees to his chest. "So I should never use it? I should just let people get hurt?"
'No.' The thought was sharp, a clear bell ringing in his mind. 'You must use it. But only when there is no other way. Only to protect life, to prevent a greater evil. It is a shield, Mani, not a sword. You must never use it for personal gain, for revenge, or for pride. The moment you do, the power will begin to corrupt you. It will twist you into the very thing you seek to fight.'
Bali's form began to flicker, like a candle in a draft. 'The strength in your body… it is the same. It is for protecting, for lifting up, for building. Never for breaking in anger. Your anger, fueled by this power, could level a city. Your fear could shatter every mind on this street.'
A terrifying image flashed in Mani's mind: his own uncontrollable rage causing buildings to crumble, people screaming not in fear of others, but in fear of him.
"I can't control it," Mani confessed, a sob catching in his throat. "I don't know how."
'You have already begun. You found the volume knob for the voices. That was the first lesson. Control is not about suppression. It is about focus. It is about channeling the river, not damning it. You must learn. You must train. Your life, and the lives of many others, will depend on it.'
The light around Bali was fading, his form becoming transparent, merging back into the darkness of the room.
'A storm is coming, Mani. A darkness that feeds on chaos and fear. It will seek to use you, to twist this gift into a weapon for its own ends. You must be stronger than your anger. You must be wiser than your fear. Use the power only for good. This is my warning. This is your charge.'
The voice was now the faintest echo.
'You are not a monster. You are a guardian. Remember… the quiet tune…'
And then he was gone.
The ordinary sounds of the night rushed back in. Mani was alone, sitting in his bed, the split in the headboard a stark reminder of everything that was at stake.
He wasn't just a boy with a secret anymore. He was a soldier who had been given his orders in a dream. The fear was still there, a cold stone in his gut. But beneath it, something else was stirring—a sense of purpose.
Bali was right. He had to learn. He had to train. He had to build a dam strong enough to hold back the river, and a channel true enough to direct its power.
He lay back down, staring at the cracked wood. He had his warning. Now, he had to find his way.