...already standing at the end of the field, leaning casually against a tree, waiting.
Razar and Ma-Ho blinked, gasping for breath, barely halfway through their first lap.
"Come on!" Naeem shouted with a smirk. "If you can throw fire fists and act tough, you can run like warriors!"
Both boys gritted their teeth. Razar's body was still sore, but there was a fire in his eyes—not just from his energy, but from pride. Ma-Ho glanced at his friend, then pushed forward with renewed strength.
Naeem watched them carefully. He didn't care about just discipline—he wanted to break their arrogance and rebuild it as strength, loyalty, and control.
After two rounds, Razar stumbled.
"I'm not gonna carry you," Naeem said coldly. "Get up."
Ma-Ho reached out a hand to help him up, and Naeem didn't stop him this time.
By the eighth round, both were barely able to breathe, their powers flickering in exhaustion. Naeem walked up to them.
"Now… why did I make you do this?" he asked.
Razar panted, falling to one knee. "Because… I was out of control."
Naeem nodded. "And you, Ma-Ho?"
Ma-Ho clenched his jaw. "Because standing up for your friend doesn't mean you walk away from consequences."
"Good," Naeem said. "Power without control is destruction. Loyalty without strength is weakness. But when you learn both, no one can break you."
He helped Razar to his feet. "That was your first real lesson."
Razar wiped his sweat and nodded with respect—not fear—for the first time. "Yes, sir."
Naeem turned to leave. "Now go home. Tomorrow, we begin again."
As the two boys limped away, Naeem stood alone under the setting sun, his axe resting on his shoulder.
Razar groaned as he hit the ground, dirt flying everywhere.
Naeem walked over, arms crossed, a faint smirk on his face. "I said use the fireball to boost, not wrestle the ground with your face."
Ma-Ho laughed under his breath, earning a glare from Razar.
"Alright, enough joking," Naeem said, kneeling beside Razar. "You're trying to force your power. That's not how it works. Energy should flow through your body, not explode out of it randomly."
He stood up and demonstrated again.
In one smooth motion, Naeem's shadow spread beneath his feet. His legs disappeared for a split second—then whoosh, he surged forward, reappearing nearly 20 meters away in a blink, as if the shadows had pulled him through space.
"That," Naeem said, turning back, "is control."
Razar pushed himself up, wiping his face. "I… I want to try again."
"Good," Naeem nodded. "This time, focus. Gather the fire in your soles, not in a blast—think of it like wind in a sail, not a cannon. Just enough to lift you, not destroy the ground."
Razar closed his eyes, concentrating. Flames gathered lightly beneath his feet. He grunted and pushed—
This time, he surged forward five meters, skidding to a stop with smoke at his heels.
"I did it!" Razar shouted, grinning wide.
Ma-Ho looked down at his own feet. The shadow wrapped around his ankle again.
"Don't focus on disappearing," Naeem said gently, walking to Ma-Ho. "Focus on where you want to appear. Think of the shadow like a bridge—not a hole."
Ma-Ho nodded, took a deep breath, and tried again.
This time, his entire lower body vanished—and in a blink, he reappeared just two meters ahead.
"Better," Naeem said. "You'll get more distance as your control grows."
Both boys were smiling now, breathing heavily but proud.
"You see," Naeem said, putting a hand on each of their shoulders, "your powers are not just weapons—they are extensions of your will. Learn to guide them… and you'll never fall behind."
Naeem gave her a wink. "Your turn tomorrow."
The sun began to dip below the trees, casting long shadows over the village ground. The training was over for the day—but the fire of growth had just begun.
Naeem's heart pounded like a war drum.
The house had been locked from the outside.
No sign of struggle, no sound from within.
And Anisha was gone.
His vision blurred—not from tears, but from the surge of raw, uncontrolled energy.
The air warped around him. Shadows spiraled at his feet, reacting to his rising panic.
One second.
He vanished into the shadows.
One kilometer.
He reappeared near the village edge.
Again—vanish, reappear, vanish, reappear.
Within minutes, he had searched every hut, alley, tree, and open field.
No trace. No scent. No clue.
He stood still, just outside the village now, chest heaving, fists clenched, energy leaking like smoke off his skin. The ground under him blackened and cracked.
"Where is she…"
His voice was barely a whisper, but it carried through the trees like thunder.
A low hum answered him—a faint, flickering sound.
Naeem snapped his head toward it. A torn piece of cloth fluttered on a nearby bush. Anisha's scarf.
He rushed toward it and knelt. The scarf was snagged—recently. The threads were fresh, pulled tightly. He closed his eyes and pressed his palm to the dirt.
Shadow Echo.
A wave of energy pulsed from his hand into the earth. Shadows around the bush deepened—shaping into silhouettes.
He saw it.
Three figures. One adult. Two teenagers. They crept behind the house during training. One held something—no, someone. A small shape… Anisha. She had fought. Kicked. Screamed. But they covered her mouth and ran toward the forest trail.
Naeem opened his eyes—glowing now like burning coals. His breathing slowed. Not calmer—focused.
"They had time to run. But they didn't run far enough."
The shadows around him howled.
He placed Anisha's scarf inside his shirt and rose.
"I gave this village peace. Now I'll give them fear."
He melted into the dark again, heading toward the trail shown in the shadows—leaving behind only a whisper of power, and a rising wind that promised vengeance.